Codename: WILD

Chapter One

Tyler's point of view

I walk quickly down the corridors of the underground passageways, heading towards my bosses office. My boots squeak like a rusty door hinge and I curse aloud, bothered by the incessant ear-piercing sound that continues to resonate off the stone cold walls.

I stop in front of the dark gray door, taking a minute to compose myself before I ball my hand up into a first and bang on the cold, metal door. Nervousness rolls over me like a two-ton bulldozer as I wait for a response. This happens to me every damn time that I am assigned a new mission. I always let the anxious thoughts ease their way into my head, effectively fucking me up. "Come in, Mathew." My boss, Mr. Butler called for me.

"I told you already, if you're going to call me anything, call me by my last name." I stepped into his office, letting the door slam shut behind me. I didn't sit, I instead stubbornly crossed my arms in front of my chest. "You called me when I was eating Chinese food. This better be really fucking important, Butler." He swallowed, looking down at his dark, wooden desk as he rubbed his stubbly chin.

"Look, Oakley, you're one of the best in the business, and I need you." I pulled out the black chair across from his desk with my foot. I leaned back in my seat, arms still crossed. "I'm listening," he swallowed again, picking a TV remote off his desk. He pointed it to the set behind me, clicking play. A young man with dark brown, curly hair appeared on the screen. It wasn't just your average video, no, it was much more than that. It was video surveillance. It showed clips of him singing on a stage, then there were clips of him being followed by three men. The men had on all black attire in the late evening, indicating that they don't want to be seen or heard.

"Do you know who that is?" Marcus paused the video, clasping his hands together as he slightly leaned over his desk. I nod slowly, wetting my lips using the tip of my tongue. "That's Troye Sivan, correct?" He nods in response, grabbing a thick folder filled with paper. He slides a thinner, tan folder across the desk. I open it, looking at a mugshot-style photo of Mr. Sivan. They have all of the agents get their pictures taken this way. Even their weight, height, and criminal record are on file. I brush my fingertips along his fingerprints on the paper, quickly retracting them when Marcus cleared his throat.

I slid the folder back over to him. "What's my mission?" I say, getting straight to the point.

"Capture the flag," he lets out a huff of air. "As you may know, Troye was a very well trained field agent here back when he was only sixteen years old. He's now twenty-six and left this business back in his late teens. He's being targeted by a very dangerous criminal ring and I need you to bring him back here safely." He points back to the TV screen, flipping through pictures of Russian assassins with lots of tattoos going along their arms, backs and necks.

I already know everything about Troye. He was my mentor when I was recruited to the agency. He's what got me through initiation. He was actually the one who trained all of the new recruits. I was one of them. I was his so called 'most promising student' I guess he was right, seeing as I am the top field agent that this place has. Well, ever since he left.

"You can do better than that, Oakley." Troye yelled at me, insisting that I could hit the dense, black punching bag harder. I wiped fresh beads of sweat off my forehead, doing a few punch and kick combos. I fell to the floor, clutching at my bruised up arm. My hands are split open, bleeding, blistered and callused.

"Take five," he walked away, soon coming back with a role of gauze, sports tape and some antiseptic wipes. He may as well have just brought over the entire first aid kit. He kneeled beside me on the black training mats, setting the supplies between us. "Let me see." With great difficulty, I held out my mutilated hands. He shrugged it off, looking at them as if he's seen worse- and maybe he has.

"They don't even look that bad," I bit my lip harshly as he cleaned my fresh wounds. He completely disregarded my pain, tossing the antiseptic wipes to the side when he was finished with them. "You know, that fucking hurts." He hummed in response, the sound vaguely similar to bees buzzing around a large hive. "Soon, you won't even be flinching."

He tightly wrapped my hands in the white gauze, wrapping sports tape over it when he finished. "Good as new." He joked, walking away to put all of the first aid supplied away. "Your training session ends in fifteen minutes, so you better wow me." He stepped aside, giving me enough room to do as I please with the punching bag.

I punched it and kicked it, falling directly on my ass. "I suck..." I muttered angrily, not bothering to get off the floor. "Why haven't you kicked me out of initiation yet?" I stared at him incredulously. Troye cleared his throat, offering me a hand. "Because, I know that you're capable of great things. You're my most promising student, Tyler."

"Call me Mathew." I got off the mat, punching and kicking at the bag again. He wore a small smirk, shouting encouragements as beat up the heavy, sand filled bag.

"Mathew, you leave tonight. Caspar will be flying you to Australia for your mission. I'll have one of our allies hide your weapons and disguise in the small motel room I rented for you." He slid a brown paper bag across the desk. I looked to his eyes then back down to the bag. I snatched it off the desk, opening it slowly. I found a silver gun along with a holster to carry it in. Underneath that stuff was a cellphone and a fake ID. "I'll do it. I'll bring Troye back." I nodded, tucking the paper bag under the arm of my jacket.

Marcus clears his throat. "Make sure to wear dark clothes." I smirk at that, leaning over his desk. "Don't I always?"

~

Even at night it's blazing hot in Austin Texas. I run over towards the dark runway, finding a tall man in all black attire standing beside it. "Mathew, its good to see you again." He clapped me on the back, opening the helicopters side door. It'd be a friendly greeting if not for the circumstances. "I have a gun, Cas." I sigh, hopping in the helicopter. I take a seat in the back, buckling myself up.

He clicked his tongue obnoxiously. "Now that's no way to speak to your pilot." I pull out my gun, handing it to him with the muzzle facing in my direction. "Fine. I had a gun, Captain." He smiles, stuffing the gun in his back pocket. "Atta boy." He slides the door shut, going around to the pilots door. "Say, what's your mission this time? Australia's pretty far away. Usually we'd have agents in that area do the missions for us."

I stay silent for a minute, wondering whether or not I'm allowed to tell him. Marcus never said not to, so I go along with it. "Russian assassins are after our most powerful agent- well, ex-agent." I put on the headphone set that Caspar handed me. "Troye's in danger?" He abruptly stopped clicking buttons, looking over his shoulder with a concerned expression. He reminds me of a concerned mother- one of which I've never had.

"I suppose he is." I shrug, leaning back in my seat. He shook his head, looking agitated. "I knew that kid would never be able to truly leave the agency." "It's not your fault, Cas. You wouldn't have been able to stop him even if you wanted to." Even I couldn't, I thought to myself.

"I guess you're right, but I could've at least tried."

And with that, Caspar started the helicopter and we took off, heading towards Sydney Australia. It's been a while, but I'm sure that Troye's still single and living alone. He's touring around Australia right now, and is stopped in Sydney for the next few days. I'll have to get a fake ticket to get into one of his live shows, or I could always just sneak in. I'm sure I can get past whatever mediocre security team he has. After all, the student has become the master.

~

A/N

Ooh, I'm writing a secret agent Troyler spy book thing... Idk I'm dead. This is very different from everything else I've written. I really hope I don't get bored of it. *prays that I finish writing it*

Bye|Rachel.

Twitter|@Troylerflamingo