Operation Vanity

f o u r

Dedicated to orangechicken for being such a huge inspiration to this book.

"I like my coffee how I like myself: dark, bitter, and too hot for you." ~Teen

Daniel Zeavens

Sometimes I want to be some successful legend that accomplished everything he ever wanted, but other times I just want to be an angsty teenager that sits in his room doing nothing but listen to music on blast. Unfortunately, I'm usually the latter.

I'm what they call a royal screw up.

On my final graduating operation for the Central Youth Undercover Agency, I failed. My title ended up being revoked and I ended up putting a lot of people's lives in jeopardy. We don't speak about what happened. It was so bad that for the next twelve months I never heard from the agency again.

That is until I got a self destructing letter stating that I had been chosen to take part in the latest mission. You can only imagine the amount of confusion I went through. I'm a lost cause, they said it themselves. So I thought, unless they were putting me on a suicide squad- this must be a prank.

But it wasn't, so I guess life likes to shit on your face a bit and then hand you a towel to wipe it off. Poetic, am I not? See, I even switched the sentence structure a bit to make me seem smarter or whatever.

Ripon, California is a small town in the heart of a little valley that not a lot of outsiders have heard of. It was one of those towns in which everyone knew each other and about each other with a yearly population growing at an extremely low rate.

I walked through the city with my hood pulled down. I must admit though- to others my tall and somewhat bulky self raised some suspicion in civilian safety. All understandable, considering I have put lives in danger before. To be honest it should be their fault, I mean who in the right mind walks around at four in the morning? (Besides me, of course.)

What am I doing outside at four in the morning? My so called PTSD doesn't exactly allow my body to fall asleep. Yeah, I'm screwed up in the head as well. But, fuck the doctors, the CIA, my old friends, and anyone else who belongs in that category. I'm also here because my stupid self felt I should show up to briefing day and "redeem" myself.

Since the failure, I haven't done much besides crash a few parties and read. It's a strange combination, but it works for me. I became one of the people I used to hate and capture. For a little while I was on my way to becoming an alcoholic and druggie- don't tell my parents that. I'm pretty much all cleaned up now, besides a few healthy slips here and there. I hate to admit it, but I even picked up smoking along the way.

Yeah, life hasn't been so grand lately.

But here I am standing in front of the given address contemplating wether or not to go in or not. I know there are security cameras somewhere watching my every move. I also know that they recognize me, for if they didn't- I would be dead, or at least a step closer to death.

I remember my very first mission. My naive self was filled with excitement, anxiety, as well as a sense of purpose. Then a wave of reality hit me when I met her. And if that was reality, than I suppose reality ruined everything.

I looked at my z.e.r.o. watch that I kept from the previous missions I'd been on. It read 4:05am. Yeah, the instructions said to show promptly at four o'clock sharp, but they should know by now that I don't listen very well.

I prepped myself by masking my thoughts and emotions with a blank expression. I'm not going to be the same kid they asked to join them on Operation Delta Blue. As much as I wish I could, I can't.

The second I placed my hand on the rusted metal door handle, the center part of the door flipped over to reveal a simple keypad.

"Name," an automated voice demanded for me to type into the pad.

I pursed my lips at the disappointing entrance and typed my first and last name in.

"Welcome," the same female robot said while the door swung open.

Inside was the familiar face of Agent Cal and a group of kids around my age.

"Um, hello Daniel," Cal greeted awkwardly, "You're late."

I nodded unable to speak from the sudden nostalgia the old friend brought me.

"Take a seat and make sure the door locks behind you," he added after clearing his throat.

I sat down with my facial expression unwavering, studying each and everyone who's eyes were on me. There were seven other people besides Cal. There were four girls and three boys. I sat in between a light skinned African American and a tall almost lanky boy with glasses. The boy fidgeted awkwardly trying to act like he wasn't staring at me like the others. Next to the girl was a shorter, yet built guy with a sharp and defined jawline and cheekbones. On his left was a both tall, tan, and built guy with an almost bored expression on his face. The only thing that gave his attention away was the way his eyes darted across the room studying everyone much like myself. To his other side was a familiar looking face in which I could not find a name to. Her blonde hair was tied back like a curtain to her face, framing her large and expression filled eyes like the center stage. Next was a lean and friendly enough looking ginger. She wore a pair of glasses similar to the boy next to me's, yet hers weren't as thick. Finally at the very end was a small yet fierce looking girl with short spiked black hair. Despite the spunky appearance, her face was set at a neutral expression.

I cleared my throat hoping everyone would stop staring at me.

"So..." I began, "What did I miss?"

As if on cue, Cal regained composure and took a deep breath pointing to the guy in the glasses, "To your right is Adam Reyes. He'll explain."

Oh, how much I was not expecting what came next.