Secret Silver | hiatus

v. G O L D

Global Organization of Liberated Defense

G.O.L.D.

Mission Statement:

To monitor the relations of different countries pertaining to trade, communication, and negotiation, and identify and eliminate threats to international security and liberty.

Since birth, I was branded as a member of the agency. My father, Parker Carson, left my mother when she was pregnant with me, and my mother, like me, was an agent since birth.

She was part of the Elite-the heads of the sectors. What she did-I was never allowed to know. All I did know for sure was that she was good at it, and I was always expected to live up to her reputation.

So that's what I did.

I was the top in the Academy growing up. I was the target for envy and scrutiny, but it never did matter to me.

All that mattered was my mother's approval. She would say repeatedly that she never wanted this life for me, but she didn't have a choice. If I wasn't taught the skills they had instilled in me, I would've never survived outside of the agency. Rose Dubois was a wanted woman, and I was just as valuable.

So I remained at G.O.L.D., unaware of a life outside of espionage. We were the best of the best. We were given missions and expected to carry through, even when it meant killing. In a way, we were desensitized, but it was the price we paid as spies. Even sitting in a park, I was hyper-aware of everything around me, even though there wasn't much to be aware of in River park that Wednesday afternoon. It was empty, save for some big, wide, green trees and swings that waved in the wind.

Children were in school, parents at work, and others were too busy with their own lives, entangled in their own unique messes. I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, enjoying the way that the chilled air bit at my skin, marking the final days of fall.

Winter was always my favorite, and when snowflakes began to grace the skies and the trees and the grounds, something within me would always be awakened, and even though the days seemed to die, I felt more alive.

Subconsciously, my hand reached for my belt, which held my mother's switchblade close to my torso. During her days at the agency, Rose Dubois was notorious for only ever using her switchblade. Her movements were silent and flawless, and she kept her distance from other weapons.

It was known far and wide that she was irreplaceable.

The crisp sound of crunching leaves made me snap out of my daze. I looked up to see Silas standing a few feet from the bench I was sat upon. He was sporting his usual thick glasses, his hands nervously fidgeting with the zipper of his coat, a backpack slung off of one shoulder.

It was five minutes before noon.

"Hey," he said, his voice just above a whisper. Clearing his throat, he pushed his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose. His hair was a mess, curls toppling over one another, and he was dressed in a Superman t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

It seemed like he'd had a restless night.

That made two of us.

I stood up and took a few steps towards him, eyeing the backpack.

"The journal?"

He gulped, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder. Before reaching into it, he met my gaze.

"Are you in trouble? I-I can help you." His words tumbled over one another as he took a step towards me. I reciprocated by stepping back, narrowing my eyes.