Chapter 1: Hurricane Whisper

"A hurricane can tear a stone from the foundation and hurl it for miles, but one whisper can topple an entire nation."

He didn't quite understand why she was wearing a dress worth two thousand dollars and composed of only a meter's length of material.

It was distasteful; to her, to Providence, to the global benefactors who provided the organization's funding. The resources wasted on her attire alone surpassed the manufaction of a standard-issue weapon.

And the jewelry. Just thinking about it made him cringe.

Six observed her through high-powered binoculars, increasing the magnification to twenty times with a flick of his index finger until he could see from this distance the forced smile that stayed on her lips.

Perhaps he should cast the blame elsewhere; to the hosts of the gala. A privately-funded organization based in Italy, the Haven Society publicly declared it was a "non-profit organization that sought to solve problems in the world caused by the Nanite Event through peaceful means," but Six knew otherwise.

The Haven Society was the same as the other organizations, groups, and gangs, that sprang up like weeds overnight in response to the continually evolving world. The only reason the world gave a damn and allowed it to continue was because of the important celebrities, politicians, and companies who supported and donated to it.

And a majority of them were opponents of Providence.

He'd heard the arguments, countless times. 'Providence cannot be owned or controlled by one country.' Or something related to that train of thought. It was not. An international Committee controlled it, and from there it was liasioned by the UN. The problem came from countries who were not on the Committee.

Italy was one such country.

That was why he was stationed nearly half a block away, watching the Doctor give false smiles and entertain corpulent businessmen. Though they posed a threat of hardly any significance to her, barring an EVO mutation, he remained ever vigilant in his role. As a representative of Providence, she was in a sea of enemies, from the dolled up heiress to the handsome shipping company owner, and he would not allow himself to rest as long as she remained in their company. If someone even smiled the wrong way at her...

His grip tightened on the viewfinder as he saw Philippe Ranjo step out on to the garden vista. Six trained his lenses on the Colombian who had strong ties to right-wing paramilitarists. Ranjo fumbled with something in his tuxedo pocket; it was small and cylindrical.

The Colombian was the wrong person to be deviating from the crowd. Unease wormed in Six's gut. There had been an incident in Rio de Janeiro two years ago that ended with half of the French Embassy destroyed in an explosion. No one was found responsible, but intelligence reports hinted Ranjo funded the op. During their mission prep, a list had been made of all guests attending this gala, assessing their threat level. Ranjo was number five.

"Cowboy-Two and -Three, take Delta position." Six tapped his earpiece. "Check out target on balcony Lima. Target has pulled an unidentifiable object from his jacket. Possible detonation device. Please confirm or deny."

"Roger, Samurai. Moving to location."

He hoped the item was not a detonator. Not here. Not now. He stole a glance back at Holiday, calculating a zone of safety for her in case it was possible. Six vaguely kept her conversation with French activist Marie Tatou on his mind, but he was not the only one who did so. He could see her tense expression through the lens of the binoculars, her concentration focused on the dialogue feeding through her own earpiece. Her eyes searched blindly out the large windows in the direction of the balcony he stood on, waiting for his voice, somehow finding his gaze across the distance.

He didn't tear his eyes away from her own, waiting with bated breath for an answer for her.

"Samurai Actual, this is Cowboy-Three. We are five meters from Target. That is a negative for detonator. Object in hand is a cigar. Montecristo. I can smell the smoke from here."

Holiday visibly relaxed, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. He had to be sure for her. If something were to happen, he could not be there immediately to respond. He had to end things before they even started.

"Cowboy-Two, can you confirm with -Three's identification?"

"Affirmative, Samurai."

"Return to original position."

Like her, he relaxed, slightly, annoyed with the bead of sweat that had trickled unnoticed from his temple. Through his earpiece, he could hear her conversation with Tatou continue again, explaining to the frenchwoman her sudden silence was a lapse in courtesy for a mental calculation of a future experiment. Scientific epiphany, she called it.

Despite himself, his lip twitched in amusement. She was quick, brushing off imminent danger like it was unwanted lint on an immaculate blouse. Though the two women had little in common profession-wise, their goals were essentially the same, and they discussed what the Haven Society planned to unveil at tonight's gala. Their conversation must have been deeply stimulating, because it pulled Michael Brooks away from two other women he was entertaining.

"A solution," he interjected.

Six wondered what the American actor would do, because although he was second to last on their threat list, he would definitely be at the top of most annoying.

"Haven has told me that with the help of my numerous donations to them, they've made a cure for incurables. Something no one else has ever been able to do yet." Brooks looked directly at Holiday.

From the balcony, he could see her arched eyebrow, the beginning of trouble.

"That doesn't mean there aren't people working to find one," she defended evenly.

Brooks ignored her.

"Haven has been so kind to my niece. I'm so glad I've supported them from the beginning. They've only ever showed my family compassion and treated her as a person, not an EVO. No Zoos or cages for her. She has all the freedom she needs on the Santa Valeria Preserve."

"Oh, dat is nice," Six heard Tatou agree. "Y'know, I've 'eard that zey don't do any scientific tests on the island."

Apparently, she had bought Brook's pitch.

"Yes, they don't. All testing is done here in Italy. Haven gets samples through volunteer victims and respects their wishes if they don't. My niece was so generous in providing breakthroughs, but even if she didn't, they wouldn't have decided to rip her apart molecule by molecule."

Brook's smooth voice made him physically cringe. If there was one thing, Six had learned not to bring up in front of Holiday, it was the molecular disassembling chamber.

"My sister is an incurable," she seethed. "I personally saw that that machine was dismantled and destroyed."

Finally, she had captured the actor's attention, not that anyone could ignore her dangerous tone, and he faced her with poorly masked disdain.

"And yet, knowing what they did to people, you still choose to stay with Providence. Haven would be honored to have such a smart and beautiful woman aligned with them."

Regardless of the terribly positioned flattery attached to the comment, this conversation was going south terribly quick. Six thinned his lips. If he was down there, the conversation would be over before it ever reached the border. Michael Brooks was extremely lucky that he wasn't.

Holiday maintained her cool for the moment.

"Providence allows me any resource to do my research. With classified data from the government, I was able to reprogram gamma-cron nanites and prevent forty percent of future mutations in Asian women."

The merit was evident in her voice as it crackled over the comm. She was proud of her work and of the power she held. With good reason, too. He had seen other men break under the strain of her job, abuse the power that came with it. But Holiday...Six thought she was doing a fine job.

"You can't deny that Providence has helped the world," she quipped.

Brooks replied equally as quick. "But still it employs a boy to do its dirty work."

She looked ready to slap him, her knuckles white as she held onto her clutch.

Second thing, Six knew about her: do not insult Rex. The same rule applied to him. Anyone who insulted Holiday or Rex in front of him would never make the same mistake again, but tonight was not the night for corrections, from either of them. She wasn't just attending this gala to uphold her image or Providence's.

For a split second, Six couldn't predict Holiday's next move. His own grip tightened on the balcony railing as he observed her. Perhaps he should have been better prepared for this mission. He was expecting trouble from other guests, but he had the brief paralyzing fear that he forgot about trouble coming from Holiday.

The tense second passed without incident as he heard her gritted reply.

"Not all of it."

Whether or not the insult was understood by Brooks or not, Holiday excused herself from the actor and activist.

Six trailed her as she navigated through the decadent guests.

"Could have handled that better."

No smile graced her face. "I thought I handled it perfectly," she whispered back.

He lost sight of her when she passed a pillar, and he wondered if she did it on purpose. She was still angry with him.

His lip twitched. When was she not?

Tonight's offense was not his fault. She wanted him to be there, at her side, and he was not. Could not be there, because this mission is possibly one of the most important Providence could ever undertake. Nothing could go wrong. For that to happen, he had to oversee everything, especially when they were stretched so thin. Expenses were nearly double the cost of a regular mission; silenced weapons, stealth suits, not to mention tuxedos and Holiday's attire. Because Providence had no jurisdiction in Italy, they had to make as little noise as possible and only four men were at his command and disposal. Six in total, including himself and Callan. Eight with Cesar and Holiday.

A very large part of the operation rode heavily on her shoulders, since she would be the one to have direct contact with the target and locate his lab. Her focus needed to be unfaltering, impossible to do when she was acutely aware of his absence.

"This is Cowboy Actual, five minute check-in, over."

The knot forming in his trapezius loosened as he dropped his shoulders in mild relief because Callan's routine report was a welcomed reminder that things tonight were still going according to plan. So far.

"Acknowledged, Cowboy. Maintain positions. Over," he replied.

"You sent my boys to Delta position. Has the situation changed?"

His reply wasn't immediate, and if the Captain noticed, he remained wisely silent, because he caught sight of Holiday again at the gala. She was not difficult to find, even amongst the dazzlingly adorned attendants she was trying to distance herself from. Maybe it was the mounting years of working together that drew his eyes to her familiar profile, or maybe it was something else, a luring undercurrent gluing his attention to her that he tried not to connect with the playing card burning a hole in the pocket of his trousers.

Six fished it from his pocket and examined it for the ninth time that evening, gritting his teeth at the red diamond and six numeral on the fraying card.

"Negative. Just a precaution. The situation remains cloudy all day. Samurai out."

A/n: Thanks for reading! This is gonna be a long ride, so plant your feet and prepare for ensuing action. Tell me what you think lies in store for Six, Holiday, and the rest of the gang. :)