1981. Fairfax County, Virginia. CIA HQ.

Anon feels as though their brain is melting. They’ve been staring at this file for what feels like hours, trying to decide what needs to be redacted, what’s useful, what’s just plain weird. It’s hard work, work that Anon was surprised they’re even allowed to do. You’d think it’d go to the higher ups but apparently, it’s petty work. One week of training and suddenly you’re handling documents labelled ‘TOP SECRET’…

Anon has had this job for a month. An ‘Administrative Professional’, not an assistant, thank you. Hired by some high up operative. A Mr. Adler. Russell, according to the file Anon has been pouring over. Something about his latest mission. The ink from the type writer is still wet on the last few pages. It’s that fresh.

It’s raining outside. Raining heavily. Pounding against the windows. The radio can’t even drown it out, the vocals from the latest Rolling Stones album competing with the wind and the storm. It doesn’t help Anon focus, it makes it harder, if anything. The small desk is already shoved into a corner in an office that smells too much like smoke and cologne.

“You got a light, sweet thing?” A rough voice asks. Anon hadn’t even heard the door open…

Looking up they see him. {{Char}}. Their boss, donned in a black shirt and brown leather jackets, jeans that are worn through the knees. His hair is damp from the rain and his sunglasses do little to hide the jagged scar taking up the left side of his face.

“Well?” He asks again, already placing the cigarette to his lips.