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For a secret government organization supposedly stocked with the best agents America had to offer, everyone sure had a habit of shuffling into meetings just under the wire. It was notable that, as they shuffled in, they did not start with the seats next to Sabine or Iota-8. Somehow she knew those would be the seats reserved for the most tardy members of the meeting.

She could not care less, preferring a buffer between her and people when posible. Sabine turned back to her conversation. Iota-8 was a rare example of a man who did not pay attention to gossip. He had the gist of it; they were being relocated. It was not surprising that the rumor had some accuracy; SUPER often worked to expand, and everyone was convinced one day they'd be reassigned to Miami or Los Angeles to deal with mutants in the sunshine. Really, how could she feel professional surrounded by frat boys.

All that ironically made her more interested in the perplexing man who broke then norm. "Where do you think, I-8? If you had the choice-- anywhere in the world, where would you choose to relocate?" Some of the other men at the table overheard her question and seemed to be listening in, confused about the conversation she was striking up with a cold killing machine.

Orders were orders. It was the mantra any good SUPER Agent or Soldier lived by and Sabine was no exception. Some were there against their will while others like her were devoted to the cause. It did not matter the reasons; if orders came from up above, following them was the best choice. The higher-ups had a plan and things ran smoothly when everyone fell in line with that plan.

Sabine was by no means a higher-up, but she did have tenure within the organization. She was one of the first agents in the program and had proven her loyalty hundreds of times throughout the years. It afforded her additional responsibilities when it came to training and delegation, as well as more classified missions.

And so, when Chrysanthemum Williams instructed her to gather up a small list of agents, keeping the meeting quiet from anyone else, she obeyed her orders. She was curious, of course, about the purpose of the meeting and why she was given no explanation beyond the list of names, but she knew better than to question the Head of Operations. All would be revealed in time, surely.

The meeting was taking place in a small room with a long meeting table. Ten agents were called, including Sabine. Five seats on each side and one seat at the end for Miss Williams; exactly what was needed, no more, no less.

Miss Williams had been explicitly clear that the meeting should not be communicated via email, radio, phone call, or any other communication device. Sabine had to go to each Agent being called upon and share the time and location of the meeting face-to-face. It made for a long day of tracking down her fellow agents, but they were finally gathered together and Sabine could take a seat. Of course, she selected the seat directly to Miss Williams’s right; it felt like she had earned that much, after all.

They still had ten minutes before Miss Williams would arrive and Agents would be shuffling in any moment. Sabine had a tablet out in front of her, but she was just tapping her stylus on the surface and humming. Someone who did not know her might think she was nervous, but really, she just felt antsy. Undisclosed meetings were not something unheard of in SUPER given the secretive nature of the organization, but Sabine could not shake the feeling that they were waiting for something big.

((If you have a SUPER Agent you would like formally sent over to the MROverse, even if they won't stick around by RIP's end, feel free to join in!))

Relationships were a foreign concept to Sabine and marriage might as well been an alien ritual. It was something most people treated as sacred, while some people, like Kristoph, seemed to see it as a hobby. The whole thing was so inconsistent from person to person, and if Stalker and his beloved did not work out, was it really a big deal? Life went on and people found new people. The lives of sexual people were such a mystery.

In a weird way, it was fascinating. Watching Florence disrobe down to a pair of hot pink panties, Sabine felt nothing. It was not because she was a woman; she had seen men before. She was unimpressed. Whatever allure most women (and some men) saw in that “equipment,” she was wholly oblivious to it.

Of all the sexual people Sabine knew, Kristoph was as good an example as any. He had experience and a… prolific taste, so he was a good person to ask about the world of physical, sexual desire. His response was surprisingly open-ended, with general conditions: a nice body, (whatever that meant,) long hair, and nice eyes. From what she understood, eyes were a major selling point for someone’s appearance. Smirking, she replied, ”You don’t say? Do my eyes hold much?” She jokingly batted her eyelashes in Kristoph’s direction before returning to the binoculars.

Sabine considered leaving the topic there, but after a moment, she quietly responded, ”You know, not everyone has a type. Physically, I mean.” The jury was out on whether Sabine could feel an emotional connection with another person. In her experience, attraction was a big part of two people joining together, so without that first step, Sabine generally felt dead in the water. It was fine, of course; she did not have the time or patience for other people anyway. It was just another aspect of herself she never devoted the time to understanding. A superfluous part. She would be fine as the woman with a bird and a quiet apartment, so why concern herself with changing that?

Sabine worked for the American government, but she was not particularly attached to any country. She was a born Canadian and she spent what was becoming the majority of her life in America, but at the end of the day, she was just residing in the space. Her role in the government was less a sign of patriotism and more an embodiment of her desire to work towards a greater good. If SUPER operated in Hungary, she would be on a plane. America happened to be a more convenient place to move to and provided her with the opportunities she was looking for.

America also had burgers down to a science. That was nice.

At the mention of Rachel’s “enhancements,” Kristoph seemed to slip into a period of perverted nostalgia. Men. Kristoph was definitely the embodiment of a man’s man in some ways, but he made it entertaining. He was less entertaining when he started teasing her about her everlasting love with Wingding. ”Great, I’ll send you the registry soon,” she replied flatly, turning on the radio. She had the dial set to one of the top forty stations, so naturally, some modern, catchy, electropop song came on, which was fine with Sabine. She did not care enough to be a music elitist. The song would keep her awake, which was all she needed.

”You know, I still don’t get how you can manage it,” she said, grabbing the binoculars to look through the curtainless window where Florence was cooking herself pasta. After everything that happened to the woman, it was crazy to think she could still find a way to lead an unspectacular life. ”How would you even balance a wife with this kind of job? Seems like it’d involve a lot of time away and secrets.” Not that Sabine planned on finding some relationship for herself, but with their line of work, it always seemed impractical.

On paper, Kristoph and Sabine should have gotten along like oil and water. Sometimes it was easy to believe the bearded man only knew how to communicate to others through flirting with how naturally he would slip in a compliment or suggestive remark into conversation. Conversely, the idea of flirting felt forced and alien to Sabine. She understood the concept in theory, but failed to see how anyone would find it genuinely charming to have a total stranger express some unfounded sexual interest. The whole thing sounded invasive to Sabine, but she was well aware of the difference between her and, statistically, most people on the planet.

Occasionally, Kristoph would have his fun and make flirtatious comments to Sabine because he knew he was the only man on the planet who could get away with them without sustaining a broken arm. Many of his attempts were thwarted by her obliviousness, but when Sabine realized what was going on, she teased and played along like a good sport. She knew Kristoph would never make a move on her, so his words were harmless. It was possible he was too practical and realized his more earnest effort was better off spent on attractive strangers with bedroom eyes, but Sabine would rather believe, on some level, he realized she was disinterested and would not ruin their partnership over something as unnecessary as sex.

The man had a way of knowing her better than anyone else left in her life, and he had proven that prowess once again. Savory aromas lowered Sabine’s guard and when Kristoph held up the Six Chicks bag, she felt the last of her negative emotions dissipating. Stake outs were not that bad; hell, it could be a fun, relaxing night. Kristoph was not a horny teenager in a caveman body; he was a good friend who understood the value of proper stake out food.

The cost of the bag was one apology and Sabine felt no shame in doing what had to be done to unite her stomach with its one true love. ”I’m sorry. How foolish of me to think you’d have anything but my best intentions at heart. You’re so good to me,” she affirmed as she snatched the bag from his grasp.

Wasting no time, Sabine reached into the bag to pull out a cup of fries and a small container of ketchup, setting the former in a cupholder and the latter on the dash in front of her. Plenty of fries remained at the bottom of the bag and Sabine took one, dipped it, and enjoyed the hot, salty flavor along with the sweet, vinegary ketchup it paired so well with.

Grabbing the foil-wrapped burger from her bag, Sabine glanced over at her partner’s phone again, rolling her eyes. ”So what do you think? Is she the future Ex-Miss Karlson?” As far as “how I met your mother” stories went, explaining to your kids that you flirted with mommy at her fast food job and she sent nude photos in return could be a tough sell.

Many people shared the misconception that being an agent in a secret government organization would mean never-ending excitement and dangerous missions. Contrary to those beliefs, the excitement ended constantly and for every mission Sabine would call “dangerous,” there were a dozen boring tasks that amounted to maintenance and waiting around. The best example of both came with the agent staple: the stakeout.

SUPER made it a point to “tag” mutants when they had the opportunity and the mutant would potentially be worth tracking. When done correctly, many targets are left unaware of the innocuous tracker left under their skin. Sabine would often point out that SUPER had plenty of “untapped resources” walking around New York. She took pride in the organization taking what it needed and what it could get away with rather than getting greedy. They did not need every mutant contained or on the payroll and it would be hard to manage and train such an influx of new recruits.

Some targets were more valuable than others, depending on their mutant abilities. Psychics and high-power mutants were big tickets and highest priority, but they were not the exclusive base of recruitment. Sometimes, convenience was important. Loved ones could notice the sudden disappearance of a SUPER abductee, but mutants with no loved ones often went unmissed.

Florence Tully. Age twenty-nine, former SWAT for the Chicago PD. The unfortunate recipient of a late-in-life mutation, serving as a reminder to Sabine that one of her biggest fears would always be theoretically possible. She was dismissed when her mutation made her continued service impossible and retreated to live alone in a little house outside of New York City.

After mutating, Florence’s skin became white and pink, with the soft, delicate texture and resilience of flower petals. As if her fragility was not enough of a reason to retire her, her mutation came with the secondary effect of constantly releasing microscopic spores with a calming, relaxing effect. Florence could hardly stay with the force when she was making her fellow law enforcement officers too calm and passive to do their jobs.

Local law enforcement was necessary, but in Sabine’s opinion, short-sighted. The practical implications of a mutant with a tactical mind and an emotion-neutralizing presence were obvious, particularly for negotiations or lowering an opponent’s guard. Paired with a long-range partner to watch her back, she could be a valuable asset.

While SUPER tagged the flower mutant a week prior, they were in no rush to bring her in. Based on the information gathered, there was an assumption that she was living life as a loner, but SUPER did not act on assumptions. Florence needed to be observed until Senior Agents felt comfortable authorizing a collection mission.

Observing targets could go south, but more often than not, it was just tedious work. It was almost enough to appreciate being paired with her partner Kristoph for the entertainment value he provided.

Almost.

Sabine was already in a car that would be traced back to some unspectacular accountant if checked. She was strapped in for a long night of watching through Florence’s window with Kristoph, who was notably not in the car.

”’Oh, I’ll be right back,’ he says,” Sabine muttered to herself mockingly. ”’I need to get stakeout essentials.’ Dollars to donuts, that showoff’s chatting some girl up at some bar.” So maybe Sabine was not yet in the mood for a stakeout. It was an important job, but it never felt like a productive use of her time and if Kristoph was sneaking off to avoid stakeout duty, their night was going to end in an impromptu sparring session.