New Rank, New Secrets

JP with Trustno1 and Cindy

Takes place before Episode 4

The Cypher Lounge and Illuminati Headquarters

A soft, mechanical hum interrupted her thoughts. Alyssa turned to see a drone gliding into the room, its whirring blades casting flickering shadows on the walls. It carried a small, neatly wrapped box. The inscription on its surface was unmistakable: Rank 13 – Alyssa Wilson.

Sartre leaned back on the couch, his sharp eyes catching the shift in her expression. “Looks like you’ve climbed the ranks faster than most,” he said with a faint smirk. “You’ll need a new uniform. They’ve made sure it’s just for you.”

She hesitated before opening the box, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of the uniform within. Its insignia gleamed, a stark contrast to the subtle hues of her usual attire. “Rank 13,” Sartre murmured, his voice low, reverent. “It took me a year to reach this level. You? Barely months.”

The inscription on its surface—Rank 13 – Alyssa Wilson—seemed to pulse with a quiet authority, as though the very title she had earned was etched into the air itself.

Sartre’s eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp gaze taking in the moment with an air of quiet appraisal. “Looks like you’ve climbed the ranks faster than most,” he said, his smirk barely touching his lips. “You’ll need a new uniform. They’ve made sure it’s just for you.”

Alyssa hesitated, fingers tracing the smooth surface of the box before lifting the lid. The fabric inside was unlike anything she’d worn before. The uniform was tailored with precision, the material rich and fluid—a deep obsidian black that shimmered with subtle undertones of silver and midnight blue, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive.

The insignia gleamed at the chest—a stylized, intricate design of an eagle’s wings, its feathers composed of overlapping geometric patterns. In the center was a sharp, angular symbol, a mark of power and authority she hadn’t quite imagined would ever belong to her. It was bold, striking, and perfectly suited to her.

The sleeves of the uniform were sleek and form-fitting, extending to her wrists with a soft, almost liquid grace. The neckline was high but elegant, tailored to accentuate her posture, with small, hidden clasps that added to the air of refinement. A set of dark, polished boots with metallic accents completed the ensemble, practical yet striking.

Alyssa tinged with a mixture of awe and amusement as she ran her fingers along the fabric,

Rank 13,” Sartre murmured again, his voice taking on a reverent quality. “It took me a year to reach this level. You? Barely months.”

The weight of the uniform settled on her shoulders, a tangible reminder of how far she had come, and the kind of power now quietly flowing through her veins. With every detail, it felt like an extension of herself, something that might have been designed specifically for this moment.

The room hummed with an eerie quiet as both Alyssa and Sartre began to don their new uniforms, the air charged with a palpable shift in their shared purpose. The pristine black fabric clung to their forms, its sleek lines a sharp contrast to the usual combat-ready attire they had worn before. The Rank 13 insignia on their shoulders gleamed with undeniable authority, marking them now as something more than what they had been—agents of a higher level, bearers of secrets that only a select few could comprehend.

Alyssa adjusted the fit of her jacket, fingers running over the smooth patch on her shoulder. The weight of the insignia was no longer a mere symbol; it was a badge of power, of responsibility, of whatever came next. Sartre, ever the enigma, finished his own adjustments with a few swift tugs, then straightened to look at her. His gaze was sharp, his usually guarded expression softened with a rare hint of something more—anticipation, perhaps, or a quiet urgency.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to know for 13 years,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made Alyssa’s focus sharpen instantly. “Something I’ve been waiting on. I was promised it by the Pyramidion.”

Alyssa glanced at him, her curiosity piqued, but Sartre didn’t allow her a moment to speak. He continued, his words clipped but filled with a quiet intensity that betrayed the depth of his thoughts.

“You and I are going to The Labyrinth to see Kiersten Geary,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You’re the only one who can match witts with her. Prue probably could, too, but this? This is something for you to handle, Alyssa.”

Her pulse quickened, the name of the Labyrinth conjuring a thousand uneasy memories. It was a place of shifting corridors and mind-bending secrets, where reality itself seemed to twist. Kiersten Geary was no stranger to the Labyrinth’s intricacies, and her involvement in whatever secret had been buried there was no coincidence.

“We’re going to find out what Vault Data Access Authorization is,” Sartre finished, his eyes dark with the promise of revelations.

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Alyssa considered the enormity of the task ahead. She felt the pull of it, the weight of the responsibility, but also the undeniable draw of the unknown. Vault Data Access Authorization was a mystery she hadn’t even known she needed to solve until now, but she couldn’t ignore the urgency in Sartre’s voice. There were pieces to be found—pieces that could change everything.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet.

The walls of the Labyrinth seemed to close in as they descended further into its maze-like corridors. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened, charged with the hum of secrets and hidden knowledge. Finally, they arrived at an office—unassuming on the surface, yet everything about it screamed of power and control. It was Kiersten Geary’s domain, the place where the pieces of the Puzzle box were manipulated, twisted, and ultimately understood.

Kiersten was seated behind her desk when they entered, her gaze already fixed on them with that all-knowing smirk. The way she looked at them—like a chess player sizing up her next move—was both unsettling and maddening. The tension between Sartre and her was palpable, a silent battle of wills that had been simmering for years.

Sartre stepped forward, his tone cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Enough games, Geary. You’ve had 13 years. I’ve earned this—earned Vault Data Access Authorization. It’s time for you to finally tell me what the hell it is.”

Kiersten leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t seem fazed by the directness of Sartre’s demand. Instead, she almost appeared amused, as if his frustration was just another form of entertainment for her.

“Oh, darling,” she drawled, her voice smooth and dripping with sarcasm, “you’ve been so patient, haven’t you? Waiting all these years like a good little soldier. I almost hate to break it to you, but just because you earned it doesn’t mean I’m in any rush to hand over the keys to the vault. This is about timing, not some petty sense of entitlement.”

Her eyes flicked toward Alyssa, a glint of something unreadable behind them. “But of course, you wouldn’t understand that, would you, Alyssa? After all, timing isn’t exactly your strong suit. Or maybe you just don’t have the patience for it.”

Alyssa’s jaw tightened, but Sartre silenced her with a quick glance, his attention still fully on Geary. Sartre’s patience, however strained, was far from gone.

“Cut the crap, Geary. What is Vault Data Access Authorization? What’s behind the door it opens? I’ve waited long enough. So have we.”

Kiersten’s smile didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with that infuriating knowingness. “Oh, Sartre, you’re so cute when you think you’re in control. But you’re not. You have no idea what you’re really asking for, and I’m sure as hell not handing you the answer without a little more coaxing.”

She stood then, her movements precise and graceful, as if she were a predator circling her prey. “But you will get the answer. Eventually. Just not today. This isn’t something you can rush, and honestly, you wouldn’t want to. What’s behind the Vault? I’m sure you’ll find out, in time, but that’s the fun part, isn’t it? The not knowing. The chase.”

Sartre’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Geary didn’t seem threatened in the least. She waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the effect her words were having.

“Let me know when you’ve got the patience for more,” she added, her voice dripping with the same sweet sarcasm that always made her words so infuriating. “You’ll get your answers. Eventually.”

Sartre said "Alyssa, you take over."

Alyssa looked at Geary. She hadn't ever met the woman before, not in person. "You know I could likely just spend a lot of time figuring what's there myself. You might as well tell us. Or we could just keep annoying you about it - over and over and over and... you get the picture." Alyssa actually sat down and said. "We don't have anywhere to be. And I can be very patient. How about you?"

Strong arming but with a completely different tactic.

The scene unfolded in Kiersten Geary’s office, a sanctum buried deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the Illuminati headquarters beneath New York City. The air was heavy with an electric hum, the faint resonance of unseen machinery. Dim blue light seeped through glass panels etched with cryptic, angular symbols that seemed to writhe and shift when viewed too long. The room smelled faintly of ozone and ancient paper, a paradox of the old and the cutting-edge. Kiersten herself lounged behind her desk, her form silhouetted against a wall of glowing monitors that pulsed like watchful eyes. Her lips curled in a smirk, a predator’s grin of amusement and calculation. Across from her stood Alyssa Wilson and Peter Sartre, their bodies taut with determination. They had spent years—an eternity—climbing the perilous ladder of the Illuminati, enduring soul-wrenching missions and existential horrors. Now they stood at what they hoped was the threshold of the answers they had been promised.

“Vault data access authorization,” Alyssa began, her voice cutting through the ambient hum like a knife. It was steady, but underpinned with a raw edge of frustration. “We’re not leaving until you tell us something, Kiersten.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kiersten drawled, her tone syrupy with condescension and veiled mockery. She leaned back, the smooth leather of her chair creaking faintly. “You think just because you’ve hit the shiny number thirteen, I’m going to spill the beans? This isn’t the DMV, and illuminated agents don’t get participation trophies.”

The smirk on her face deepened, her eyes gleaming like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. Peter, ever the profiler, stepped forward, his presence a calculated force. His gaze bore into Kiersten’s, dissecting every micro-expression.

“You’re deflecting,” he said, his tone measured, each word deliberate. “Which means there’s something to deflect from. We’ve done everything the Illuminati has asked. Every insane, world-ending, mind-shattering task. We’ve earned this.”

For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossed Kiersten’s face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual mask of bemused disdain.

“Earned it?” she repeated, leaning forward now, her elbows resting on the sleek, polished desk. “Sure. But have you considered that maybe, just maybe, it’s above your clearance level?” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper before she abruptly sat back with a theatrical flourish. “Oh wait, no, that’s not it. You’re right at the door. But here’s the kicker—are you ready for what’s inside? What if it’s not what you expect? What if it’s better? Or worse?”

Alyssa’s frustration boiled over. She took a step forward, her green eyes blazing with a fire that seemed to illuminate the dim office. “Enough games, Geary,” she snapped. “Peter waited thirteen years. Whatever’s in that vault, it’s not just for us. It’s for everyone who’s kept the Illuminati’s secrets and fought their battles. They deserve to know.” "And Miss Geary, I'm sure you figured this out by now but wherever I go, Alyssa goes with me."

For a long moment, Kiersten said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as if the very air in the room was holding its breath. Then, with a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant respect, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her tailored suit.

“Fine,” she said, her voice softer but no less sharp. “You want the big reveal? The grand prize? Follow me.”

The tension in the room cracked like a whip as Kiersten strode toward a hidden panel in the wall. Her heels clicked against the polished floor with a sharp, rhythmic precision, the sound echoing ominously. With a wave of her hand, the panel slid open to reveal an elevator bathed in pulsating blue light. Alyssa and Peter exchanged a glance—a moment of unspoken understanding—before stepping in behind her. The doors closed with a hiss, sealing them inside the glowing chamber.

The descent was slow, the silence oppressive save for the low hum of the elevator. Alyssa’s mind raced with possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. Peter stood beside her, his expression unreadable, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed his own anticipation. Kiersten’s voice broke the quiet, smooth and cutting as ever.

“The Labyrinth isn’t on any map,” she began, her tone almost reverent. “Not even in our archives. It’s where the true Illuminati secrets are kept—the ones too dangerous to share, too valuable to destroy. Your vault data access authorization? It’s not just a key. It’s an initiation.”

The elevator shuddered to a halt with a low chime. The doors slid open, and the three of them stepped out into a cavernous chamber that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. The air was thick with an almost tangible energy, a hum that resonated in their very bones. Towering servers lined the walls, their surfaces shimmering like liquid mercury. Crystalline structures jutted from the floor and ceiling, pulsating with a strange, golden light that seemed alive. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, sleek and obsidian, its surface unnervingly smooth and featureless save for a faint, pulsating glow at its center.

Kiersten gestured toward the pedestal with a flourish. “Behold, the Vault of Knowing,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the hum of the room. “Your authorization grants you access to everything. Every secret, every conspiracy, every truth we’ve hoarded since the Illuminati’s inception. Think of it as the ultimate forbidden library. But there’s a catch.”

Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “What kind of catch?” he asked, his voice steady but low.

Kiersten’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual edge. “Once you access it, there’s no going back. You’ll know things, but you’ll also be responsible for them. The knowledge will change you. It has to. That’s why most agents never make it here.”

Alyssa stepped forward, the faint glow of the pedestal reflecting in her wide, determined eyes. Her fingers brushed the surface, and the glow intensified, spreading outward in intricate, fractal patterns. The room seemed to shift, the crystalline walls refracting light into a dazzling kaleidoscope as data streams surged around them like living currents. The pedestal’s glow enveloped her, and suddenly, one of the shimmering screens nearby pulsed, casting the room in a golden light.

“Congratulations,” Kiersten murmured, stepping back to let the agents observe. “Here’s your first morsel of forbidden fruit."

On the screen, a detailed case file unfolded, its title stark and chilling: The Disappearance of Amelia Earhart. Accompanying it were grainy photographs, maps with cryptic markings, and documents sealed with crests from long-dissolved government entities. The file detailed her final flight—but then diverged, hinting at shadowy figures, secret experiments, and unexplored locations deep in the Pacific. Coordinates blinked on the screen, leading to a remote island shrouded in perpetual storms.

Kiersten’s voice was low, her tone almost gleeful. “We don’t solve these mysteries for you, darlings. That’s your job. But I will say this—what you’ll find out there will be dangerous, world-shaking, and absolutely worth every second of your time. Oh, and if you survive, there’s a higher rank waiting for you. Maybe.”

Alyssa and Peter exchanged a glance, the weight of the challenge settling over them. This wasn’t just a mission; it was a crucible, a test of everything they had become. As the coordinates burned into their minds, the thrill of the unknown began to overshadow the fear. They were ready to dive into history’s shadows, to uncover truths that had eluded even the brightest minds.

“We’ll take it,” Alyssa said firmly, her voice steady.