Spy (Scaramouche x Reader)

☾ Chapter 2 ☽

"(Y/N)...(Y/N)!"

Distant shouting creeps into the dark room, filling the air with an eerie echo. Moonlight shines through the windows, illuminating the floor in a mellow glow. You jolt out of bed with a start, recognizing the voice. Callista.

That's right. You were babysitting her for the night.

"Callie? what's wrong?" you call out to her groggily from your room, wiping at your eyes.

You heard no answer.

As if a switch was flipped, you were alert. Jumping out of bed frantically, you yank out the gun from under your mattress and raced through the house, heart pounding in your chest. Such panicked screams from a normally quiet girl could only mean something was horribly wrong. "Callie!" you screamed.

"(Y/N)! Help!"

The voice came from outside, and was quickly getting more distant. Your legs ached, you didn't think you'd ever ran so fast in your life. Your throat burned, eyes stinging as you willed every inch of your body to move faster. 

It was too late.

A hooded figure was clutching her, moving so fast they were barely rustling the grass behind them. You saw them turn back, their glowing eyes piercing yours. A red star symbol on their cloak sleeve shone in the moonlight.

The figure jumped off the apartment building with the girl.

"(Y/N)!"

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You awoke with a start.

Breathing heavily, you wipe the sweat off your brows with the palm of your hand. Tears stung the back of your eyes, threatening to spill.

Don't cry. Crying makes you weak in the eyes of the enemy.

Sweet, kind Callista would never have a future. And it's all because of the Balladeer. Those sharp eyes you saw that day is the only thing fueling your search for vengeance. 

You don't know for sure that it was him, but you have every reason to believe it was. You've seen blurry pictures of him in his cloak that others have managed to take, despite his speed. In every picture was the same red star you saw that night. No recorded organizations share the star symbol, leading everyone to believe that he worked on his own. Perhaps it's a trademark symbol of his. A sort of sick mark he likes to leave.

You sweep the strands of (H/C) hair stuck to your forehead, letting out a slow, shaky breath. You look at the clock.

3:12 AM.

It would take a miracle to fall back asleep. 

So you did the only logical thing. You didn't. 

'I don't get much sleep these days anyway. What difference would it make?' You think as you sluggishly drag yourself out of bed. "Sleep is stupid anyway," you mutter to yourself.

A few hours later, at around six a.m, you get a call-in from A.C.E. Your body, now used to your destroyed sleep schedule, has enough energy to get you fully awake and dressed.

'What now?' You wonder as you exit out and make your way to your car. 'It better be something about the Balladeer case.' The cold wind wind bites at your skin, ruffling your hair. 'I'm gonna need as much info as I can get.'

Throughout your drive, your eyes wander every few minutes to make sure no one is following your car. The location of A.C.E's bases are highly confidential, being run by a secret branch of leaders that are permitted to commit acts that may seem "immoral" for the purpose of taking down persistent criminals. If the public were to find out, they'd riot.