Elia

It was eight in the morning by the time I arrived back at the precinct. I was hungry, but that wasn't anything new. I had learned from a young age that food was precious, and I only deserved it if I earned it.

This is a toxic mindset, I know, but it had been imprinted in my brain since childhood and, no matter how hard I tried to remove the imprint, it always remained.

Like one of those extinct spider monkeys, I effortlessly climbed down the building and slid into the open window, careful to avoid the metal prongs sticking up from the space heater in my office. I had learned from experience; those prongs both hurt like hell and tore apart my clothes. Do I seem like the person able to afford new clothes on a whim?

The precinct had been my home away from home for as long as I could remember. This job, this relief from my torturous nights, was my escape. At night I was an IX Operative tasked with taking down the worst scum of society, but as the sun lit up the sky, I could play cop with some humans while the rest of the world remained oblivious.

Besides my handler, no government official knew of my secret day job and of my true identity, something I was desperate to keep hidden since I broke out of the tower all those years ago.

It was fun, attempting to change the world, catching all sorts of morally gray humans ranging from petty thieves to assassins. To be fair, I had never been assigned an assassin case, but there probably was some out there.

The worst I could say I personally investigated was a scorned ex-boyfriend who set fire to his cheating lover's home, giving her third-degree burns. What this human did for love astounded me beyond belief. How could someone with such a gift of life actively try to hurt another?

After slipping past the space heater, I grabbed my spare clothes from inside my desk and quickly slipped them on, closing the window and locking it as I changed. The precinct had seen an uptick of break-ins over the past few years, and for someone to find the records in here so easily would be devastating, especially if that robber was able to identify their true worth.

While it wasn't my smartest idea to keep such records in my office, where else was I supposed to put them? It wasn't like I had a massive, extremely secure mansion waiting for me once I got home for work.

I slid on my black flats and unlocked my office door, careful to not make too much noise as to arouse suspicion. I really didn't have the time nor the patience to deal with one of my coworkers noticing my odd departure. After pulling out the door key, I slowly slid it open, listening as its rubber siding scratched against the carpeted floor.

I hid behind the door and listened for the telltale sound of footsteps, hoping that no one had seen my entrance. But I needed someone to confirm my alibi, at least partly.

Leather dress shoes shuffled over the carpeted floor, their sound growing louder and louder. I stepped out of my office, careful to keep my composure as I faced the witness to my great con. Detective Inspector Anthony Yazinski, a slim and weasel-faced man, strutted over to the coffee machine, only turning around to shoot me an obnoxious wink, thinking himself to be some kind of ladies' man.

This human in particular annoyed me much greater than the average human, yet it would not benefit me to expose the detective's fallacies. He was my witness and I his saving grace.

The detective may not be a patient man, no, nor was he a loyal husband and coworker, but he was known for his memory. Of all the coworkers to run into on this dreary gray morning, I could have had much worse luck.

"Good morning, Anthony," I smiled at him, compartmentalizing my anxiety to be dealt with later.

He turned around and tried to make out my identity. At just ten meters away, the detective was as blind as a bluejay caught in a snowstorm. He was nearsighted yet refused to get a prescription, stating that contacts and glasses would mess up "the natural feng shui" of his face. It truly hindered his ability to do his job correctly, as he had missed crucial details because of his inability to see into the distance.

The detective walked towards me, attempting to use his failing vision as a mere excuse to get physically closer to me.

I would have pitied him, if not for his actions. Detective Yazinski had been on and off probation for the past 10 years because of his constant demeaning of his female coworkers, myself included. And while his actions didn't particularly affect me, he had driven many of my close friends to transfer to a different precinct, if they didn't just flat out quit this stressful job.

"Good morning, Elia," he smirked. "You're looking nice today."

"You as well," I attempted to respond politely.

I had to watch what I said. This man could get me fired in a millisecond.

"How are you holding up? It hasn't been so long since you got injured on the Montgomery case."

"I'm doing fine, sir. I promise. If anything," I paused, choosing my words carefully. "If anything, sir, I am feeling better."

Detective Anthony inched closer to me, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin.

"That is wonderful to hear, Elia," he smiled, exposing his yellowing teeth and shrouding the nearby area in an invisible cloud of rancid beer-breath. "Now do let me know if you ever need something."

"Thank you, sir, but I am fine."

"Are you sure, darling?" Detective Anthony's eyebrows shot up in mock concern. "You know, if you're ever feeling lonely, feel free to call me."

"Thank you for the offer, sir. I won't forget that next time."

There better be no next time.

"I remember when I was your age, always unable to find no happiness, no pleasure, in people the same age. I always yearned for someone older."

I shot him a disgusted look.

"It's okay to admit it to me," he continued, his voice getting softer. " I empathize with you."

Now, I've got to be honest, I don't usually tolerate this level of discomfort. However, like I stated earlier, I just had to compartmentalize it to be handled later. He was my alibi, and the operation was resting on his shoulders.

That was, until he leaned over to pet me like I was some kind of animal.

I took a deep breath and let out a sigh, dodging his petting attempt by feigning a need to rummage through my backpack for a nonexistent but extremely necessary item.

He squatted down to eye level like I was some kid on his little league team, his moist breath making my skin crawl.

"Just let me take you out to dinner," he started. "I promise you won't regret it."

"I am deeply sorry, sir, but I must decline. I simply am not interested in starting a relationship right now, especially since it was not long ago that I ended a relationship of eight years, sir. I hope you understand."

That was a lie, but a necessary one to disguise my true nature.

"Well," he sighed. "You can't catch them all."

This man needed to stop talking.

A flash suddenly lit up his face, as if he had just remembered something he was supposed to do long ago.

"I got a new case for you, Elia. An escapee from Xylia," He unzipped his messenger bag and pulled out a file, handing it to me. " You know, that hippie planet with all trees on it? The foreign diplomatic agency wants her brought in as soon as possible, on direct order from their emperor."

I glanced down at the case file. A red IX stamp was pressed into the top right corner. They approved.

Name: Juniper of X-Theta

Height: 160 cm

Age/Gender: 22 Rotations/F

Eye/Hair Color: Green/Reddish Blond

Charges: Arson, Flight, Aiding and Abetting Mass Destruction

A picture was paper-clipped to the pamphlet, weathered and stained with coffee. But if I looked past the wear, there was a girl smiling ear to ear, her feet barefoot in the saturated grass and her long hair free, trailing after her like contrails in a star-filled sky. She seemed to glow, even through the picture.

This Juniper didn't look like most of my usual targets. She looked like someone I longed to be, happy and carefree, living a humble life in a cottage somewhere, surrounded by flowers.

"How long do I have for this case?" I asked.

"I'll give you two months. We have no idea where she is," he paused, then lowered his voice. "If you ask me, I'm unsure she even exists. This could be just another ploy that those damn Xylish diplomats have drawn up to make us all look like fools."

Two months was incredibly generous, even with the suspect being a foreigner. How dangerous was she really?

"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked. There was always a catch.

"No, that's all I know. I suppose the Xylish just really want this girl back. They listed her as a level one target."

That was bad. Level one targets were the most dangerous criminals out there. These people needed a squad to take them down, not one skinny, lonely detective.

"Look, she doesn't look so bad, does she?" He insisted. "The target's wearing hair ribbons, for goodness sake. She doesn't even look capable enough to light a match."

I was not convinced, but hunting down this girl would give me an excuse to stay away from my true bosses, the Executives. Plus, I'd not see this disgusting man for two entire months. He was the kind of man to harass a person one minute and then insult them in the next.

"I'll take the case," I replied. "Just give me a minute to pack my bags."

"Of course," he answered. "I'd expect nothing less."

"I'll see you in two months, detective."

I walked past him and slipped out the door, turning back to tell him one final goodbye.

"And do tell your wife I said happy birthday."