Authors note: This is the first time I've published a long story, so I hope you all enjoy it. If you have any tips or pointers, please provide them to me.

This story was inspired by "A Captive Viper" by Nikolaides, which I highly recommend you read it. But this story is about Torque, and her character in this is a reflection of how she was portrayed in Chimera Squad.

Chapter 1

"Breaching!" Godmother yelled. It's my second favorite part of a raid. The suspense. The unknown behind the door. Not knowing how many guns are pointing at you. Only having fractions of a second to decide, line up, and shoot your shot. God, it is such a thrill.

I found myself behind a shelf full of snacks, with one corpse directly opposite of me, on the other side. Poor bastard didn't even know what happened. Yelling from unfamiliar voices began, only to end with a gurgled cry as Godmother fired a shot and returned to hiding behind a salad bar. Potato chips began to rain down on me and Cherub as bags exploded above our heads. Cherub quickly put his shield in front of him, facing the shelf, raising to his feet as he fired his pistol over the top.

"Torque! Grab that bitch with the flamethrower!" Terminal shouted between gunfire. There was a small respite, and I waited to hear the familiar clacking of magazines onto the ground. I peeked around the side of the shelf and found my target, before moving fully out of cover. I began the motion of flinging my tongue out, rocking my head back to whip it forward. It's honestly uncomfortable, feeling my throat contract. It's almost like vomiting. But the pleasure that follows after is usually worth it.

I dragged my target out behind the upturned table he used for cover. My tongue muscles felt strained by the weight. His friends had just put fresh magazines back in their rifles to see him get dragged across the floor. He screamed in surprise, sending his weapon clattering across the linoleum. I felt his hands grab at my tongue flesh, attempting to free himself. One side effect of using my tongue as a weapon: the ability to taste people. It wasn't all bad, usually they're covered head to toe in protective gear. This one was particularly tasteless, mostly covered by some plastic polymer. It didn't do much to protect him as I released my tongue from his neck, beginning to move my body around him. More gunfire erupted around me, but it didn't matter. I had my prey. He began to grunt, making a move toward his holster. It was too late. I've completely bound him, staring with intent from above. My scales hardened as I tensed my muscles further and further. Humans were so squishy when you had a good wrap on them. I could feel his flesh begin to make way, his bones moving. Popping out of places they should stay. I could feel the reverberations throughout my body. My heart began to pound. His breathing grew short and raspy. I could now sense the primal panic in him, his body throwing every last effort to release him from me. The attempted cries for help came from clenched teeth. I tightened my grip. He made his last effort. The absolute firing of each muscle. I could feel my heart rise further, beating faster, my mind fixated on feeling the high. And he went limp. My heart fluttered and fell back to its normal state, recovering from the absolute adrenaline rush it just received.

"One more to go, behind the wall towards the back," Godmother shouted confidently to Terminal, who was neatly nestled behind a newspaper dispensing machine. My squad mates had more pressing issues to deal with than to comment on my killing. Godmother had her thumb in her shotgun, reloading a round by the time Terminal had risen up from her cover and sprayed the back wall. One terrorist fell forward with a satisfying smack onto the ground, riddled with holes. Cherub peeked his head around the corner after sliding out his pistol's mag and putting a new one in, confirming Terminal's handiwork. He glanced back at me, noticing I had already risen to my normal height, with a body on the ground next to me. I scanned the rest of the room to make sure it was clear, force of habit.

"Guy looks pretty dead to me," Cherub noted in my direction as he nudged the head of my victim with his boot. "Have you ever considered, you know, leaving them alive?" He questioned sincerely, while being slightly taken aback by my methods. "Then that takes all of the fun out of it." I reflected back, with a little bit of honesty, but ambiguous enough to leave my squad mates guessing what my true feelings were. It was better that way.

"Well, the intel we need is bound to be somewhere in here," Godmother noted while looking over the convenience store carnage. "Sounds like a job for 31PD," Terminal resounded in her usual upbeat tone. The convenience store was left an absolute wreck, like most places we visit. The floor was absolutely covered with drywall dust, wood debris and packages of food, both opened and unopened. Upturned shelves spilled their contents onto the ground. Blood dribbled out of the lifeless bodies, pooling around them. This destruction was a little more satisfying than usual. It was nice to see a setting that I'm used to visiting be completely changed in our own little Chimera Squad way.

"Wait! C'mon guys. We fought hard for that intel. Might as well grab it ourselves. You know Whisper appreciates it when we bring it to him directly."

"You have a point, Cherub. You and Terminal should stay here, see if you find anything on the bodies. Torque, you're coming with me to check the back room."

"Afraid there might be someone hiding inside Godmother?" I responded.

"No, but I might need you to interrogate whoever's left. With your method."

My interest was immediately piqued. I followed closely behind as she pushed open a wooden door marked "Employees only." The room was dimly lit, with most of the light coming from the entrance and a couple bullet holes peppered in the wall. A computer desk sat in one corner. Next to the monitor laid a suitcase.

"This looks promising." She said with intrigue. I was a bit curious too. She began to open up the case, and I rose up higher behind her to get a better look.

"Could you not do that, Torque."

"Sorry." I was too vexed by the suitcase contents to fire back a quip. I moved to a more neutral height beside her.

Inside there were folders holding loose paper. What first drew my eye was the XCOM logo firmly printed onto each piece of paper. It was alongside red lines of "TOP SECRET - CONFIDENTIAL" on the top and bottom of each paper.

Godmothers' look became more concentrated as she flipped through the sheets. The titles contained the words experiment, genetics, test, result... viper.

"Hey Godmother, if you found what you're looking for take it. 31PD is coming in and you know they like to take whatever they get their hands on." Terminal warned through the door.

Godmother quickly closed the suitcase, locking it together with the clasps near the handle.

"Here, you take it Terminal. Looks more inconspicuous with you. Tell them it's a doctor's bag."

Terminal gave Godmother a perplexed face, but accepted the suitcase anyways. She turned around, making her way to the front door with Godmother. I slithered with them.

"Alright, lets go. Looks like our job is done here," Godmother insisted, hoisting her shotgun over her shoulder, making a scene for the incoming cops. "Ladies first," Terminal spoke in Cherub's direction when they got near the exit. "Haha, very funny. To be fair I had no idea what gender I was until a month after I left my tube," Cherub said in complete sincerity. I saw Terminals face contort from one of smugness to quick confusion.

"Wait, really?"

"Yup! I only found out when-"

"Ookay, that's enough! I don't need to know."

I was the last to leave. Cherub and Terminal beamed at each other like they usually do, discussing the intricacies of the encounter we just had. Godmother continued to walk with dignity and an air of professionalism. She only popped in the conversation to correct someone or even leave a small sarcastic remark from time to time. Or to leave clues as to what was in the suitcase. But then there's me, moving along. A footnote. The way I liked it. I'd be lying though if I wasn't a little engrossed as to what the full contents of the suitcase were.

Regardless, leaving the scene and ambling my way into the back of the APC was never enjoyable to me. My day was over, there was nothing interesting left to do. The ride back to base continued the way it usually does too. The other three conversed, me sitting a little further away. But I'd always interject with a snide comment or two, just to sate my boredom.

"Torque, how come you always look so distant after a mission?" Terminal inquired me.

"What?" I was slightly taken aback by how direct she was. Usually she was more subtle.

"You'll sit there and stare at a wall. I can't even see any emotion- despite the fact you're a viper."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Suit yourself," she abdicated. She turned back to Cherub and Godmother, both looking at me with varying degrees of concern on their faces before looking back to each other. I leaned against the metallic wall of the APC, feeling every bump and jolt that we drove over.

I felt my body lurch toward the front of the vehicle, then back again, then feeling the force of the vehicle turning push me into the wall. All familiar feelings of entering our HQ garage. I still don't have a clue as to how our driver does it flawlessly each time, must be some robot. The back of the APC opened, allowing me to slither out into the waiting stares of Whisper, Verge and Patchwork. Whisper had his damned after action report papers in his hand, waiting for us.

"No getting out of it this time Torque." He condescended toward me. I made a line for the stairwell leading to the armory, with Whisper unfortunately in my path. I felt my annoyance turn into a small amount of hatred as I quickly grabbed the sheet of paper he held. He looked scared for half a second. I must have let a small hiss out. Oops. The rest of the squad followed suit, but they were much more cordial to Whisper as they picked up their papers. Patchwork and Godmother started their small talk about what Sacred Coil was doing in a convenience store, while Cherub and Verge launched sarcastic remarks at each other's performance in the field. I glimpsed Terminal remaining in the garage with Whisper to discuss the contents of the case. But of course there was me, making my way to the armory ahead of everyone else, silently.

One thing I was grateful for was the proximity of my locker to the stairwell. It let me have my back turned quicker, avoiding eye contact that humans for some reason took as an open invitation to talk. I first placed the hated piece of paper Whisper gave me onto the concrete ledge. I then opened my locker, putting away my armor to grab something more comfortable. I unhooked the metal segments bound to my neck, one by one. By the time I was putting my shirt on, the rest had just started opening their lockers, entranced in their idle conversation.

I still had the damn after action paper to fill out. I sat down on the concrete ledge and placed it on my lap. I grabbed a pen cast aside in my locker. Enemies killed by me, two. Magazines discharged by me, one. Grenades thrown by me, zer-

"You know, you have some pretty handwriting Torque," Terminal complimented while standing above me. I had to look up to face her. She must have taken longer to get down here.

"Yeah, and?"

"I don't know, it's a compliment. Do what you want with it."

My mind started to autopilot the conversation.

"You're feeling particularly nice today. Maybe you've stopped bleeding."

"Ha, you know I didn't get shot right?"

"Yes, I know you didn't get shot" I stared at her knowingly. There was a slight pause until she realized.

"Wow. Okay. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." She reported back with pure annoyance.

"Perhaps you still are." I glanced back down at my paper, finished with her. I heard her stomp over to her locker, pointing at me by making a thumbs up and throwing it back over her shoulder. Off to report to the others I see.

I could feel a couple glances hit me, but I knew what kind they were. They were curious at my most, but nothing more. They stopped getting second hand anger a long time ago.

Eventually, I finished the report. The handwriting was barely legible because I finished the report on my lap. Tough shit, Whisper. Before climbing up the stairwell, I put on the last of my civvie clothes: A black sweater. I got to Whisper's office and knocked on the door. "Hey, I got the form done. But you're not outside for me to give it to you, so I'm just gonna slide it under the door." I listened in a little closer, hearing an intense conversation between him and Kelly over the phone. I slid my papers underneath and clocked out, setting myself up to head home for the night.

The March air was nippy, but not cold enough to bite. It was cold enough to chill the scales, so I was glad I had my sweater. I felt a little deflated as I left the HQ though, despite the comforting warmth of my attire. I slithered along, looking at the brick buildings that hugged the sidewalk. The apartment that Kelly managed to get for me was nearby and was also made out of brick. I wondered where my coworkers lived. Maybe they had nicer apartments? Or hell, even a house? Probably a house. Something more accommodating to guests.

Before I knew it I had reached the door to my apartment. I unlocked the door with the key I had stashed in my sweater's pouch, and made a tight squeeze through the door. The height was acceptable but the width was not. When I moved my tail through it always brushed up against the frame. It was a little annoyance that made me assess how I felt at that moment in time. And I felt incredibly tired. Or just a lack of motivation. Something. It always happened when I made it back to my room. Like nothing was really important anymore. I glanced toward the refrigerator, one of the obvious things you could see when entering the apartment. After opening it up I found one box of ramen staring back at me. I was glad I had the leftovers, because I didn't have enough energy left in me to make food.

I opened the door to my dark bedroom and clambered my way onto the bed immediately, retaining enough mental fortitude to lay on my back with a pillow supporting my head. I lazily clawed at the remote on the nightstand to my right, lighting up the TV standing on the dresser. I laid there, unheated ramen on my stomach, slowly slurping it up with my tongue as the news anchors blathered on about today's issues.

My phone vibrated, and on inspection I had one text. From Jane.

"Hey, how was your day?"

I sighed and kept the phone in my right hand, tapping with half the efficiency.

"it was fine" I put the phone down.

Another vibrate. "Well, do you want to talk about it?"

I picked up the phone, a little more irritated this time, and hastily belted off a response.

"not really" I returned to my ramen slurping.

Another goddamned vibrate. "You sure?"

"yes, im sure. goodnight Jane"

The phone screen then lit up the ceiling in my room, indicating my plan to ignore future texts was a failure.

"Okay Torque. Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow." I read from the corner of my eye. I flipped the phone over onto its face. I tasted around for more ramen in the box, but no success. I took the box and placed it on the nightstand before letting the TV fill any remaining thoughts I had. I think I lost the motivation to even think for the rest of the night.

"Breaching!" I shouted as I kicked down the door. Poor thing didn't even have a chance, it's hinges were attached to a door frame at least sixty years old.

I looked over the small kitchen to my right. The counters were arranged in a U shape, with the opening of the U facing the space in front of the door. Closest to me were cabinets and counters, with the countertops unoccupied. The sink was full of dishes along with a dishwasher that I believe had a full load done. I could judge by the blue light its LED indicator emitted. The rest of the U separated the kitchen from a small space, where a dining table was located. The table was littered with papers, with barely any organization. The floor of the apartment itself seemed dirty, not being completely disgusting, but hard to clean places were neglected.

The strangest thing was how devoid the walls were of decoration. No posters, no pictures, nothing. Most drug dens had at least some flair. But this one lacked any.

"You get bedroom, I'll check the bathroom," Smith commanded me. I positioned myself to the right of the bedroom door, hand still firmly on my rifle. I let my left hand vacate its grip to reach for the doorknob, turning it quickly. I then threw it open, swinging it away from me into the bedroom.

"31PD, hands in the air!" I entered the room quickly, starting my scan from the left. The purple light of dawn's twilight flooded the room. Not enough to see anything in definition, but enough to see outlines. Nothing behind the dresser. Hm, a closet, I'll have to keep an eye on that. Nothing on the bed- wait nothing on the bed? Disturbed bedsheets. I continued my scan right, to finally be parallel with the wall the door was in. Only to find the barrel of a pistol pointed squarely at my face.

"31PD? What the fuck?" The figure dropped its aiming arm to its side. Then the whole outline somehow reached across the entirety of the bed. I assume it reached for a nightstand. I heard a drawer open and close, but I was sure to keep my rifle trained at the movement the whole time. I don't know why I didn't shoot, or make the arrest. I think I was still recovering from having to face death.

"Turn on the light dipshit," a voice said with absolute agitation. I took my left hand off my rifle again, pawing the wall looking for a light switch, eyes trained onto the figure in front of me. When the lights came on, a purple badge attached to a lanyard was prominently displayed in front of me. Behind it was an ashen gray viper, risen to one of her higher extents. "You woke up a fucking Chimera Squad agent at five in the fucking morning, care to explain why?" Her eyes bared down on me in utter anger.

"Ramirez, nothing in the bathroom-" my partner entered the bedroom. He quickly looked up at the face of the agent after realizing where she was. He then looked at the back of my head, directing his voice toward me.

"Ramirez, what was the apartment number of the place we were supposed to enter?"

"Uh, 208." He walked out the bedroom door and stopped at the beginning of the U shaped kitchen. I followed him closely. He bent over to get a better look at the fallen door. I saw him squint his eyes at the bronze placard the door had on it. "206" he said, straightening himself back up, turning around to see me staring at him in disbelief. I could feel the presence of one very, very angry viper behind me.

"Ramirez, this is the wrong apartment."

"Oh come on, don't blame me!" I attempted to find a usable excuse.

"You know I can't read old world numerals." Which was true, I swear on my life that six looked like an eight.

I looked behind me, seeing a sweater-wearing viper domineering two feet above me. I swiftly turned my head back toward Smith, only to find him outside, in the apartment hallway. I walked toward him, poking my head out of the doorframe into the open space. I saw the numbers "208" displayed proudly on a wide open door.

"I'm giving both of you 10 seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment before I constrict both of you. And I will take my fucking time." The snake snarled behind us.

"Listen, ma'am, we are sorry to disturb you at this hour. It was clearly a mistake and we deeply apologize-" Smith uttered, attempting to retain whatever ounce of dignity he had left.

I started to walk backwards out of the apartment. It was to avoid being lifted up with the door as the viper began to lift it herself.

"You fucking idiots. I swear you will be fired after I call my connections."

I felt my heart drop. A minor panic set in. "No, wait, you don't have to do that! Uh, what can I- I mean we, do to make it up to you? Please listen-"

"I always knew that fucker was a dealer anyways!" The door "closed," propped up on the doorframe. I could hear the snake slither away to her bedroom, where she slammed the second to last functioning door. My shame fully set in, knowing we seriously pissed off a fucking Chimera Squad agent and managed to let the perp get away at the same time. I let my arms fall down and tilted my head back, wishing that somehow God would just remove me from existence.

"Let's head back to the station, there's no recovering from this," Smith said gravely to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. He looked at me sternly, his face chastising me for my mistake. I somberly walked out of the ancient building and to the car. I refrained from any conversation until the music Smith was playing calmed my nerves.

"How fucked do you think we are?" I asked while staring out the window. We were in the Switchyards. Brick buildings that could easily be a hundred years old flew by.

"We are probably on parking duty for two weeks if we are lucky. If we're not lucky, we get crowd control" He responded, half annoyed and half accepting.

"God, I'm such a fucking idiot. All I had to do was double check if that six was an eight." Guilt hit me in another wave. Was this really going to define my career? The guy who drug raided a CS agent? Because I can't read?

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. Shit happens. Besides, we should have had more people helping us. We'd be lucky if we caught our perp, but the force is spread too thin as is." He turned up the radio, trying to drown out any negative feelings. I've always appreciated Smith's way of making bad situations better, especially now. But I knew the worst was to come, we haven't even reached the station yet.

"What confuses me was your surprise at someone being in there." Smith noted.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you didn't hear the thrashing around?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I heard some movement inside before we entered. And maybe even some words."

"You think there were two people in there?"

"No, it all sounded like her voice. But if she was awake why didn't she have any lights on. Or the TV. Or getting herself ready for work."

"I'm pretty sure she was going to ambush us."

"But this was before she knew we were there." He paused to recollect his thoughts.

"I figured our dealer was tweaking out in the bathroom. The voice I heard wasn't very coherent. Didn't sound like a conversation." Smith continued.

"Maybe she was dreaming and we woke her up?"

"Hearing someone talk in their sleep through two closed doors? Fat chance."

"Hey, she's a viper. Maybe they have wacked up dreams."

"Haha, maybe. But next time use your ears. I saw the pistol lying on the bed. You would have been shot if that was our dealer."

"Aren't you like forty? I'm surprised your ears still work."

"I'm not old, I'm experienced."

Our conversation ended there. If Smith was still hearing correctly, then it was definitely strange he heard noises at five in the morning. Maybe he was just getting old, or hearing someone in a nearby apartment.

"Alright, we're here. Let's get this over with." Smith unbuckled his seatbelt, putting his hand on the door handle.

My analysis of the morning raid was halted. I was back in the real world, with my doom approaching.

"Wait, Smith. Is there some way to just- pretend this didn't happen?"

Smith was already out of the car. He craned over to respond to me.

"Didn't you hear the lady? She says she has connections. If you have half a brain you should know coming clean is better than getting caught in a lie."

I took a deep breath. Acceptance finally set in. I got out of the car and stode toward the entrance, ready for whatever would come next.