The Tests Of Special Agent Dash:
The Case of the Fallen Angel
Prologue
I hear the harsh scratching and agonized screams from outside my cell. It was animalistic, inhuman yells of mercy and release. Whoever it was, she made it clear that she was suffering immeasurable pain. I didn’t bother investigating it, since I had been hearing them the moment I stepped into this rat hole. They would usually die off rather quickly, with the sound of metal hitting bone and silencing their captive, or the yells slowing into groans as chemicals beyond my knowledge worked their ‘magic’ on her. I should know, since I was once a part of those voices.
The memory of my supposed ‘treatment’ sent chills down my spine, causing an unwanted reaction of spasms from the appendages that now graced my form. I forced myself to hold on to those memories, the feeling of my body shifting away from its blueprint, the yells of pain and agony that was muted only by the thundering creaks and groans that came from machines around me. The memory tortured me, to the point where once I could think of nothing but it. It was the instrument that threatened to drive me insane, but I soon embraced it as the instrument that kept me sane. They wiped my previous memories, I knew that. They made sure that all I could remember was that pain, that agony. It became my warden and guardian, making sure that I will never attempt to escape. But I was never one to accommodate to one’s expectations.
As I had expected, the screams soon waned into silenced groans. I frowned as I heard the familiar sounds of automatic doors opening and closing with the machines in that cursed treatment room shutting down. I heard wheels skidding across the floor, a stretcher that carried the subjects back to their cells. I remembered it; a sickly sweet scent of cough syrup mixed with the pungent odour of anchor rust was pungent within its fibres. Combined with the bright orange colours, it wasn’t a nice way to travel around here.
I opened up my eyes, staring into the spotless white tiles that graced the ceiling. The sheets was sterilized and had the smell of drain cleaner, which was how I had spent every single night in this abomination of a place. As I sat up on the bed, I could feel the cold air of the air conditioner wash over my body, ruffling the feather-like growths that graced my skin. I curiously felt the beige-tinged feathers, which sparked a nerve that told me its sensitivity. I pulled on one, which was easily plucked out and sent waves of pain coursing through my body. It was most certainly a feather, down to its stem. From where I had plucked it, I saw blood staining the skin. I ignored it and let the feather drop to the ground, my mind focused on something else. Time after time, they would kick open the door, forcibly strap me to one of those stretchers and pump gallons of chemicals and serums into me and from what I could hear; they were doing the same to the other ‘patients’. What could my captors, whoever they are, be planning?
I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and got up from the bed, allowing the alien limbs on my back to be released. To describe what I was talking about bluntly, I had wings. Literally. Ten foot, feathered and brown coloured wings that could extend and retract at my will. It took forever for them to grow and even more to learn motor function of them. I had to cut two holes in my white prisoner jumpsuit to give them leeway, which left so many stab marks in my back until they had send two guys to stand at my door and make sure I wasn’t trying to kill myself.
When I saw the first signs of them forming, masked men clad in white would bring me every day like clockwork to this huge room and force me to fly with electrified flooring. I used to come back to my cell with charred feet and forced to soak them in water buckets every day for what it seemed forever, until one day my incessant flapping managed to get some lift off and send me three inches off the floor. Three seconds later I flopped back on the ground and burnt off half of the feathers on my right arm and leg.
As I stretched my arms and legs, I heard the familiar rumbling of the dumbwaiter on the opposite side of the wall. I staggered over to the opening, where I found a plate of white mush. It gave off a terrible smell which I had no idea was made of. But by this time I didn’t really care anything about it after so many doses of it, but I deduced that it was a mixture of protein, carbohydrates and any weird serums that attributed to my growths. I assumed that they stopped inputting those serums after the wings grew, since I hadn’t felt low for a while.
I stared at it with contempt as I picked it up with the metal spoon and returned to the bedside. I placed the heavy ceramic plate on my lap and played with the goop. I took my time stirring and scooping it into my mouth, allowing the thick, mucus-like mixture to drool down my throat. My gag reflex attempted to activate, but I forced it down which sent a disgusted shiver down my spine. I felt it pool around my stomach, expecting a feeling of depression but instead just felt a rare feeling of fullness. Hmph. No drugs today.
I quickly cleaned the plate, wanting to have no further interaction with the pathetic excuse of food. I was just about to put it back in the dumbwaiter and send it back down, before my spoon hit something hard. The impact sent a peculiar sensation up my bones, like metal hitting rock. I looked down at the plate and saw two particularly peculiar items. They were taped to the plate, tight and like clear cellophane tape.
A red-coloured pill and a piece of paper.
I cut it open using my fingernails, which had grown far longer and sharper than just a few inches during the time I had stayed here. I cut the weak plastic carefully, the small pill being hard to catch should it roll off the plate. Playing with the pill in my fingers, I stared at the paper which had messy, thin-lined handwriting scrawled all over it. It was hard to see, but easy to make out nonetheless.
Cogito ergo sum
“I think, therefore I am,” my hoarse voice translated out loud.
I couldn’t remember how I knew this strange sentence, nor do I know why, yet the intent of it was clear. Whoever gave me this, was trying to help me. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I knew the sentence was some type of code. A code that told me of escape. Of release. Of sanity. I had been in the facility for so long, to the point where I couldn’t even tell the time anymore. They keep me in this clean marble cell and experiment with my body for days on end. I was kept in the dark from everything, my vision cloudy and my mind scattered. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t focus and I couldn’t do anything, in my own and personal mental cell with a lock whose key was tossed.
But now I have it.
Quickly, before ‘they’ could realise what was going on, I put the pill to my mouth and swallowed. I felt it rub against my oesophagus, its hard shell dissolving from the stomach acids and releasing the chemicals within. The effects were instantaneous. In one single strike, like a gushing river, memories started to form back inside my head. The throbbing soon intensified into pounding, memories of my childhood and present started to reveal themselves, the information driving me nuts.
Against my will, I slumped onto the floor and held my head in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Faces ran by my vision, friends and family that I had forgotten. Places began to reform, my experiences becoming an intensifying crescendo that battered my head back and forth. I knew I was screaming, but the noises in my head were far louder. Life began to flash before my eyes, of days past. My training at the flight academy, my initiation into the FBI and the cases I had solved in my past started to surface, a symphony of voices of life and death, friends and enemies slapped my brain in its sockets. The memories soon started dying down, back to the point of where I was now. The pain then went away as quickly as it came.
When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself heaving with recycled air and looking at the ceiling. I sat up and stared at the ceiling. Dreamily, my thoughts started to clear and the fog surrounding my brain lifted and thrust me back into reality, giving me a feeling of refreshment from my head to my toes. I looked to my right, where the empty plate and the piece of paper lay. Staring at the message once again, I quietly whispered it back to myself as my breathing calmed.
“I think, therefore I am.”
I finally remembered what I needed to do.
I got to my feet, crumpling the paper and putting the plate onto the bed. I stuffed the paper into my pocket as I heard footsteps running outside my door. I had no doubt that they were watching me, which means that they will be here soon. I broke into a smile, something that I hadn’t done for a while. This time, I won’t be somebody which they can put down and carry away. This time, I’ll fight. I took the plate and threw it at the wall beside me. With a crash, the plate shattered and sprinkled the floor with its remains. I grabbed the largest and sharpest shard I could find from it and faced the door, my wings outstretched and my body energized. The door was then kicked open, the shock sending a surge of adrenaline through me and sending me flying towards the armed men, the sharp edge of the broken plate aiming straight at them.
Right at their cold-blooded hearts.
I flew around the facility, avoiding the bigger guns and taking down the weaker ones that stood in my way. Amidst the shrieks of pain and anger, I could hear a soft cheering, No doubt by the other cellmates. I didn’t pay much attention to them, my focus centred on escaping this vile place. To my luck, I managed to find an exit, through huge bay doors. By now, I had lost the plate shard and was now attacking them with my elongated fingernails, but it wasn’t as effective as and more than once did I find myself getting a lead bullet through my wings. But it was too late.
I was free.
I flew out of the facility, not once did I look back. I kept on flying and flying, the wings on my back flapping profusely with blood streaming down and staining the feathers with its colour. It was what I perceived to be in the early hours of the morning, the warm orange sunlight peaking over the horizon. The fresh spring breeze blew past my face, the scent of fresh grass and the warmth of a brand new day.
Once I realized that I was actually away from the place, I slowed down my pace and landed in a clearing of the surrounding forest. There, I stumbled on the landing as I was still not too used to the feeling of flying. I sat myself down on the grass, my body finally registering the feeling of pain from my wings. It was a strange feeling, like somebody stabbing an arm. I forced myself to extend one of my hurt wings, allowing me to see the damage caused to my wings. But what I saw was completely different from what I felt. What I felt I thought was a simple stab, there were gushing holes of blood that remarkably, didn’t hinder me flying at all. I sighed as I stroked my hurt wings.
“Let’s get that out of you first, hm?”
I gnashed my teeth together as I used my fingers to dig the high calibre bullets out of the wings, my elongated fingernails unintentionally scratching up the insides and leaving cakes of blood and red meat left on them. The more I dug, the worse the pain got, my heart pumping the blood out of the wings like any other normal wound.
“Damn.”
I counted at least six dented bullets, which I stuffed into my jumpsuit pockets together with the crumpled paper. Once they were out, I used my hand and some fallen leaves to apply pressure to them and tied them with some tough tree vines that I had found in the area. Once they had been attended to, I retracted the wings and relaxed into the field grass, pondering out loud over my new-found freedom.
“The vine should hold until it heals…… Well, I’m free, at least. I don’t give a damn that I look like a damn eagle, or that I just killed like tens of people. I’ll head for the road when more light shows. Maybe something good can come out of this after-”
A shot suddenly rung through the air, exploding the soil right next to my head and forcing me up from the floor. My instincts forced me to head to a tree, hiding my head in its shadow as another shot hit the tree behind me, sending shocks along my body. It was a sniper rifle, I recognised the sound. Maybe one of the men back at the facility managed to track where I landed and tried to finish me off. But that theory evaporated as fast as it came when I heard the singing.
“Three Blind Mice… Three Blind Mice…!”
It was coming from where I was before, but I didn’t dare to look.
“See How They Run…See How They Run!”
More shots at the back of the tree, this time faster and quicker, which meant that the girl was getting closer with a faster gun.
“They All Ran After The Farmer’s Wife…”
I heard a chop. She was close. I knew that she was now right behind me, behind the tree and I knew full well what she was using. She had an axe. A FUCKING AXE.
“Who CUT Their Tails Off With A Knife!”
I heard one more chop, but I felt that she had stuck it into the tree. She was going around the tree. I know it.
“Hee-Hee. Did You Ever See A Sight In Your Life…?”
It was now or never. I pivoted myself around the tree, my finger into claws and attempted to strike. But all I hit was air.
“Hee-Hee. As…”
The voice came from right behind me. She was pressing a gun to my back. I closed my eyes as my mysterious killer sung the last lyrics in her annoyingly sing-songy voice.
“Three Blind Mi-CE!”
Three shots. I felt them enter my back. A huge hole formed on the back of my wings, piercing through them and piercing my lungs. I slumped onto the ground, rolling onto my side as I choked on my own blood. Through my eyes, I saw her prancing around my body and humming the tune. She stopped in front of my eyes.
“Looks like we’ve got a little Rat in my Trap! Let’s see how she looks!”
Without any warning, she brutally kicked my face to flip me onto my back. She let out an excited giggle and started prancing around me.
“Oh, looks like we have a little Griffin on our hands! Weird how, Griffins are supposed to be half-lion and half-eagle, but they’re allllllways so grumpy! Are you grumpy, my little Grif-Grif?”
She bent down and forced my paralyzed mouth to move with her hand, mocking me with her child-like eyes.
“No Pinkie Pie, I think you’re swell. Well thank you Grif-Grif! But you see, my boss doesn’t like runaways, and it’s MY job to make sure they won’t escape! It’s so exciting!”
My eyes started to close as air started to run out of my body.
“Aw… is little Grif-Grif sleepy? Well it’s not sleeping time yet! I need to make sure that you don’t escape, right?”
She forced my eyelids open with her fingers, forcing me to start drowning in my own blood again. I saw her take out a huge knife, long enough to be considered a sword. With a smile on her face, she forced my right wing open and onto the ground. Humming a tune, she thrust the knife into my wing and pinned it into the ground. My vocal chords could only let out something akin to an agonized groan, but the bitch instead put a finger to my mouth.
“Shh… it’s time to sleep, Grif-Grif. It has been fun, but I have to tell my boss that I caught you. Goodnight, Grif-Grif. Or at least in this case, Good Morning! Hee-hee!”
The last thing I saw and heard before I blacked out was the muddy skipping of her boots dancing across the soil, singing that dreadful song.
“Three Blind Mice…Three Blind Mice…”
Chapter 1: My Friend
When I opened my eyes that morning, I had half-expected to find myself staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun and a guy in orange monologuing about how I ruined his life, but it failed to fulfil my expectation. Instead, I got a metal box at the side of my head beeping an annoying pattern and a pressure-marked hand from lying on my side. I tiredly raised my right hand and slapped onto the clock, using my fingers to search for the buttons and pressing every single one. But the more I pressed, the louder the beeping got. Eventually I gave up bashing the top of the clock and pulled the plug all together. I buried my face back into my pillow, trying to gain back the drowsiness I had lost but it was ultimately futile.
"...... I really need to get a clock with a snooze button next time... and maybe with a fucking radio setting."
Groaning, I forced myself off my comfy queen-sized bed and headed out of the room. Scratching my head, I strode towards the bathroom to fix myself up. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
"God, I look terrible."
And how. My flamboyantly coloured hip-length hair was sticking up with static and most definitely riddled with knots. The bags under my eyes was unmistakeable, blending together perfectly with my unpicked eyebrows, chapped lips and a drool mark on my left cheek. My eyes had the tinge of the borderline between crazed and murderous, complete with drooping eyelids. I was wearing an oversized blue t-shirt that hung on my right shoulder and black slacks, which was dirtied after being worn numerous times in the week.
"Hmph. I should really start doing my laundry every weekend instead of the end of every month. Bleh. I'll do it tomorrow. Not as if anyone would notice. Let's do this quickly and get done with it." I told myself.
I made short work of my look, combing my hair, brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking a quick shower without soap and changing into a bathrobe. I stepped out of the bathroom refreshed and blow-drying my rainbow hair. I threw the dirty clothes to the pile beside my bed and heading for the living room, where the kitchen was one and part of it. Turning off the battery-powered hairdryer and throwing it onto the bed in the other room, I ducked down underneath the counter and pulled out one of the sacks of ground coffee from the cupboard and plopped it onto the table.
"Now, was it 2 cups of powder for every six cups of water? Or the other way? Uh... Bleh. Hell with it, I like it strong."
Without any haste, I flipped open the coffee maker's flap and poured what I guessed was half the sack of powder into the filter, together with a few cups of tap water. I snapped the flap closed and started it up, staring at it through my still sleepy eyes and watched as it whirred to life. I soon got my pot, which I quickly poured into an awaiting mug and headed for the living room. I plopped myself onto the couch and held the hot mug with both of my hands, close to my face and letting me smell the fumes of the brown liquid. The caffeine in the coffee gave off such a strong scent that it was nearly enough to wake me up. I sipped it slowly, letting the warmth wash over me and invigorate my insides with its bitter taste. A classic morning for me.
"Mmm... nothing is better than a cup of coffee in the morning." I commented to myself. "And setting my alarm clock fifteen minutes before work was pure genius. More time to wake up and enjoy myself. And to add to that, no one to annoy me or boss me around. Pure bliss..."
~RING RING RING~
"...For about ten seconds."
The phone's ringing was almost as annoying as the alarm's beeping, just promising worse things than the latter. The guys at work rarely ever call me in the morning, unless its really important. Actually, one time I walked into work early one morning and found two of the agents arguing who would be the one to call me. I don't remember what the case that day was, but they really must be desperate if they were calling me up this early. Sighing, I put down the cup of coffee and shuffled over to the phone.
"Special Agent Dash," I spoke into the speaker. The background was filled with noise, but I managed to make out some speech.
"Special Agent Dash? You're actually awake?"
I was caught off guard by the dull, feminine voice that spoke those words. It was Probationary Agent Harriet "Derpy" Davis, one of the few female friends I had in the workplace. She worked in the evidence locker, which means that I almost never see her, but I did hear a lot from and about her. It appeared as if that every three days, she would wipe the 'Days Before Accidents" board clean with her pulling down one of the shelves onto a fellow Probie or accidentally setting off her gun and hitting them in the foot. She was so clumsy, she had her gun confiscated more times than any of us could possibly count. Yet she had one of the best figures I had ever seen. Maybe her advanced case of 'derp eyes', or strabismus as the eggheads in the office liked to say, had something to do with it.
I ruffled my hair as I answered. "Yes, Derpy. I'm awake. I set my clock forward to brew coffee."
I heard her sigh in relief. "Great, 'cause Senior Special Agent Sparkles wants you here right now... something about a case or something- CRASH! Oops! Um, Simmons? Could you help me get this box? Yeah, that one! Waaaaaayy up there! Yeah? Thanks! Um, so Dash, could you come in early today?"
I chuckled at the thought of the source of the crash, nodding to an imaginary Derpy and replying, "Sure, Derpy. I'll be there in ten. Have any idea case 'Tia wants me to solve?"
"Nope, but it sounds really serious. She came to me directly to call you and I don't know whyy she would call a probational..? CRASH!-Oops! You alright, Simmons? Don't worry, I'll get that shelf off you in a minute! ANY-way, the boss wants you in now, so could you get over here ASAP? Dang it Simmons, I SAID that I'll be with you in a minute! Thanks Dash!"
The line dial toned before I could respond. I pulled the phone away from my ear and put it back onto the dock. Whatever the Head Agent wanted, it must be serious.
Nobody gets within earshot of "Derpy Disaster Davis" without good reason.
I headed for the closet in my bedroom, quickly changed into my last work suit for that week, grabbed my gun, keys, coffee mug and dashed out of the house.
Unlike how television shows portrayed it, the FBI office wasn't as small made of just one small room filled with probies with doors that led more room that housed the main characters. Instead, it was a huge, bullpenned, two floored office with walls that were the colour of dull blue and the carpet floor colour of grey. Surprisingly, it was absolute chaos in the office that morning, which was weird since it was still five minutes before the cases started rolling in but it appeared as if even the evidence locker and mailroom probies were in the bullpen. It was so crowded that I found my mug spilling coffee everywhere and being stabbed by pencils before I even stepped out of the elevator door.
Amongst the crowd and bustle, I saw Derpy waving at me from the middle of the office. With much effort, I elbowed my way to her. I managed to get to the clearing, where Derpy was standing in the middle of with an ecstatic expression on her face . She obviously had run into trouble that morning; her skin was grey from the dust in the Evidence Locker, her bright blonde hair dulled and messy with her fringe covering her left eye and her long work dress dotted with spots of mould and dust. As expected of an Evidence Locker probie.
"Good morning, Special Agent Dash!" She greeted with a smile. Her eyes shifted away from the middle of her face, giving off a aura of innocence. "Bad traffic today, isn't it? On my way here earlier today, the radio was talking about a maniac driving in the wrong lane! Imagine that!"
"Oh yeah, I can imagine." I thought. Even with her advanced case of 'derp eyes', some bone-headed instructor actually gave her a driving license. For ten years, she managed to lose and gain back her license almost as many times as she had shot the other Probies in the foot. I suddenly felt a feeling of pity for the instructors that tested her.
"Yeah, traffic wasn't too good. But what's with all the people in the office today? I just saw Simmons and Samson actually working. What's going on?" I asked her as I sipped the remnants of what used to be my coffee.
"A case, Dash."
Right behind Derpy, whose eyes were suddenly rotating opposite ways, was the de facto leader of the agency. Although the heads of the FBI were the real bosses, it was her that relayed anything to them. Here, standing in all of her eggheaded glory, was the rising sun of the entire agency that people respected. Supervisory/Senior Special Agent Cynthia L. Sparkles. Like my Rainbow Hair, what stood out her out from the most was not only her last name, but her genetically dyed waist-length purple hair with an artificially dyed pink streak on her fringe. She wasn't only famous because of her spotless track record, but also because of her history that spoke of her special training in redacted documents of her wide range of skills as a markswoman, assassin and even a bit of bomb disposal training thrown inside of it. She was the ever-goody-two-shoes, by-the-book Field Agent that nobody dared to anger.
"Agent Davis, why don't you go down to Autopsy and help pack the van? I've heard that they need it." She said, her purple-lensed eyes still trained on me.
"Yes Ma'am!" Derpy did a mock salute and rushed off, leaving me and Sparkles in the middle of the bullpen clearing.
A few minutes passed in awkward silence. We just stood there, me taking little sips while she stood there stoically with an expressionless face. Soon, I found my mug empty of coffee and decided to break the ice. I put the mug on one of the tables in the bullpen and opened my mouth.
"...You still haven't found a team to take this bullpen yet, Sparkles?"
She looked taken aback at the casual question, before shook her head lightly.
"...No, not yet. There's a lot of trouble to forming one, you know?"
"Well, the trick for forming a team is finding perfect balance." I sat onto the tables, beside my mug. "You know what you need for it?"
She shrugged. "Tell me then, since you obviously know."
I nodded and smirked. "An exotic one, who can speak a lot of languages for those annoying international interrogations."
She leaned onto one of the cubicle's walls. "A courageous Field Agent, who isn't scared to pull the trigger."
"An egghead, whose knows everything so that nobody else needs to." I tilted my head to the side. "But... there's one more that's the most important."
She nodded in agreement. "Yes..."
"The Leader."
I nodded. "Correct. One that can keep her cool through ANYTHING, even when everyone's in panic and crying like babies. Someone that can take a gun and shoot a man's tongue off just to keep him quiet. A real Leader." I finished, kicking my legs away from the table.
We broke into a mutual smile and hung our heads down low. That was when I heard it. Absolute silence. My eyes shifted to the left and right, seeing the agents' eyes all focused on us. They were looking at us with observing eyes, as if we were a chemical reaction just waiting to explode. Oh no, not one of this things again.
"Alright, egghead." I said, jerking my head up. I felt the flinching of the agents around me. "Cut the crap. What was so important until I had nearly spilled coffee all over my last suit until it couldn't wait until this afternoon? And what case are the others so busy about?" I shot a look behind me, which caused the ones in my sight to flinch and restart their path with their chatter, as if nothing happened.
Sparkles sighed quietly. "Look at the screen."
I turned to my right, at the big plasma screen that was formerly laden with random emails and documents, now replaced with a picture. It was a grotesque creature, from what I could see. It was wearing a white jumpsuit, like a white version of prison clothing. The face of the creature was sharpened to show the becoming of what seems to be a beak, bright white feathers replacing where the hair would have been. Its eyes, oh the haunting eyes, were open and staring into the distance. All over its body, beige feathers with dark brown tips were sprouting from every inch of skin. But the worst were the wings. Long, bloody growths that were obviously forcefully spread and shown like a visual for the entire world to see. I estimated that it was around ten feet.
But when my eyes drifted to the right wing, I felt my empty stomach threaten to spurt out a gallon of coffee. I have decided that human blood and muscle stained on feathers weren't a nice combination. There was a knife, a huge abd obviously modified combat knife that was stabbed into the wing, pinning it to the ground like some butterfly on cardboard. The muscle and blood was splattered everywhere and caked the already bloody wings with muscle and arterial blood. Whoever stabbed this creature obviously had sick pleasure in doing it.
My stomach churning, I turned to face Sparkles with a baffled face. She took a deep breath.
"This...creature was found in a wilderness park." She pointed to the makeshift bandage of leaves and twigs on the same wing, merely three inches from the knife. "Beaten, shot, stabbed and most definitely dead. At first, they were going to send it to a classified research facility, but then they found a fingerprint on the... hand of it."
I then noticed that the entire office had become quiet once again and the feeling of the gazes of the other agents were back, just on the screen instead of us.
Sparkles suddenly turned to me. "Now listen, Dash. There may be a lot of weird stuff out there, but we have never seen anything like this. There is no record of any secret projects or any tests, which means that we have no idea what this means. We are completely in the dark. So... don't act too crazy when you see it."
I was fully confused now, but I could feel the feeling of dread run up my spine.
Sparkles pressed the clicker, pulling up an identity document. An Air Force document. The name was written there, clear as day. A name that I had not seen or heard from for four years, ever since the incident. The entire agency had their eyes focused on me now, I could feel it. With what I thought was the hardest thing in my life, I forced myself to look at the picture on the page. To my horrified face, a black-haired, unsmiling uniformed woman stared back at me. Underneath the photo, there was a repetition of her name.
Gilda D. Ryphon
My Co-Worker.
My Partner.
My Friend.
