domine dirige nos | bungou stray dogs |

ᵛᵉʳʸ ᶠᵉʷ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢ ᵃʳᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʷᵉ ˢᵉᵉᵐ

Agatha tapped her fingers on the leather armchair as she watched the call connect. "Mr Sakaguchi, how have you been?" He fixed his glasses.

"Ms Christie, Mr Dahl, good to see you two." Agatha bowed her head politely. "I'm sorry, but there are more pressing matters." Roald looked over at Agatha curiously, but remained quiet. He knew better than to talk in these meetings.

"The diplomat? I've heard." She crossed her legs. "What a tragedy."

"Truly," Roald spoke. "It's very curious. From our intelligence, we understand he disappeared from within the Mandarin Oriental. We're treating this with upmost priority."

"With the missing ambassador and the explosions, people seem to believe the UK isn't as safe as you would like to think."

"We have a profile on the main suspect for the bombings, Mr Sakaguchi, I assure you there's nothing to worry about." Roald always thought it was admirable how Agatha could tell such bold-faced lies with ease. From her body language—her relaxed shoulders, her calm features, her indifferent gaze—one would've never thought she was lying.

"There's just one more thing I'd like to mention." Ango paused and Agatha motioned for him to continue. He did with slight hesitation. "There was a maximum security prison break last week, the one where all the international threats are kept, and luckily the majority of the escapees were brought back to custody. All except your exiled citizen."

Agatha leaned back in her seat. "I see." Her tone was grim.

"It's likely he might come back to the UK, but this is just a precaution to keep an eye out."

"Well, we certainly appreciate your cooperation." After a few more pleasantries, the call ended. Agatha Christie was known for her calm, calculated demeanour and yet something about her seemed on edge.

"What was that last part about?" Agatha shook her head dismissively, raising the phone she was tapping in to towards her ear.

"Ask Arthur about it." She chewed her lip impatiently before motioning Roald to leave. Needless to say, the whole situation was fairly peculiar. A missing diplomat, serial bombings, and an exiled prisoner who has Agatha on edge? Fairly peculiar indeed.

Roald decided to swallow his anxiety and knock on Arthur's office door. It wasn't that he was scared of the leader, it was more the fact that the other man just didn't seem to like him. His blasé attitude seemed to aggravate Arthur, and at times, he didn't quite blame him.

There was a muffled grunt and Roald opened the door. "Hey, Arthur! How have you bee—"

"The library's all access to the executives." Arthur gave a brazen, disinterested response, brows furrowed as he scanned over the paper. Roald stood at the door, unsure of what to say next.

"So I can just figure it out?"

He glanced up from the file, seemingly exasperated. "You are Chief of Intelligence, are you not?" He turned the page. "If I need you, I'll let Christie know."

"Yes sir." And with that, he closed the door. Arthur had the conversation skills of dried paint, he thought as he made his way to the library. It was an interesting wager, as it seemed to be the boss' way of challenging his skills. Roald grinned; he was always up for a challenge.

He scanned his ID card, going into the classified section of the grand, underground library, humming jovially as he strolled into the executives' files sections. The files dated back centuries, back to Queen Victoria's reign, with information about the old executives and founders. The old, irrelevant information was easy to read despite the yellowed pages and smudged ink, but everything from the two most recent decades—since Arthur came to power, Roald assumed—was encrypted. He grabbed the leader's file, grinning mischeviously at the thought of finding some damming information, only to frown. The photo used was not a recent one, probably from when he was eight or so, and the folder was bulky. Neither of those things were inherently bothersome, it was just the man's special ability that got on Roald's nerves.

"Damn those Dancing Men," he muttered bitterly, scanning his boss's file before stopping. There was a sixth folder stashed in with the current executives. A name, ANTHONY BURGESS, was written in large, bold letters on the top and the photo was of a man he never saw before. A strikingly handsome man, with the softest, curly platinum blonde hair and the most beautiful emerald eyes stared back at him. His porcelain skin was dotted with a smattering of beauty spots that almost looked like faraway constellations.

But there was something wrong. His ruby red lips were pulled into a devious smirk, his green eyes were darkened with malice, and the more Roald stared, the uneasier he felt. Nevertheless, a name was a name, and a name was all he needed.

Meanwhile, Mary was counting her lucky stars. The crystal wasn't a crystal, it was a solidified concoction of blood, fibrin and azidoazide azide, a chemical so unstable that a simple laser pointer can make it explode magnificently. She hypothesised that's the fibrin stabilised it somewhat, but she wasn't intending to test it to see if she was correct. Whatever the ability was, it meant the user could weaponise their blood. Perhaps if she could isolate some of the blood from the chemicals—

With a startled yelp, she leaped back, activating her ability and turning the metal-sheet walls around her into a shield. The azidoazide azide exploded the moment she poked the crystal with her pipette, making her sigh in annoyance. Their only lead was gone.