I.V.O.R.Y

'When will I get my freedom?'

That should be my first book, I think to myself as I lock the front door of my house and walk upstairs, then undress and enter my bathroom.

My life has been a snafu right from birth. According to the owners of the illegal orphanage where I stayed when I was younger, I had been extremely sick as a child, and I'd fought death. As I grew older, I was always placed in some form of contest to determine how strong I was. If I failed to win, I would be killed.

Luckily for me, I always won.

Right from the orphanage, I remember being the only girl to defeat five adolescent boys in a single round of fighting, despite being four years old.

The owners, two burly men with scars on their right eyes, would merely grunt when I returned, bruised all over but with a proud smirk on my face, after which they would push me into the hands of my assigned nanny- a scary-looking woman called Nancy.

That cycle continued till I was five, when Old Man Deville took me in. He'd heard about the orphanage from a couple of his colleagues who frequented there to take child soldiers and fighters.

Impressed by my wits and strength, he and his son, Ryan Deville trained me to be the best agent in his company, at the same time treating me like I was their daughter. They were my only family despite being my teachers, and I developed a bit of filial affection for them and their family.

But now, Ryan's children; Scarlett, Ford, Roman and Georgia have destroyed everything their grandfather and father worked for, or at least twisted the rules.

I'm the only one left among Ian's descendants with a little common sense, and now that I have my money, a nice mansion and want to quit working for those jokes, they are trying to stop me.

Fools.

I towel myself, slip into a nightdress, switch off my bedroom lights, and go to bed after making sure my gun is a foot away on my bedside table as usual.

Hours later, I wake to the sound of shuffling, then frown as I cock my gun.

Someone's in my house.

I immediately look at my security footage, drop my gun, sigh deeply and walk downstairs into my kitchen, before letting out a groan that causes people in the kitchen to stop in their tracks.

"Georgia, what are you doing here?"

My adopted sibling scowls at me before turning to her aides. "Wait for me outside."

"I don't think it's pleasant to disturb the only peaceful time I happen to enjoy," I say when they're gone, and she scoffs.

"The fact that I came into your house doesn't give you the right to speak to me without respect, Ivory."

"Broke," I correct. "You broke into my house."

"Tomato tomahto," she replies, stretching. "Anywho, I came to knock some sense into you."

I stare at her figure as she walks towards my mini-bar and picks out a bottle of whiskey. Good choice.

Then I frown when I recall her mode of entry.

"How did you get in?"

For a moment she pauses, then turns to deliver a smirk. "That's classified, sweetie."

Dammit. She isn't going to talk.

I work my jaw for a second, then make mental arrangements to re-programme the security codes.

With that thought, I pick the cookie container from the kitchen counter.

"Want some cookies?"

"Definitely," is her response as she takes from the glass of whiskey in her hand. I pour the cookies into a paper plate and hand them to her before sitting beside her.

"You said you came to knock some sense into me," I start, watching her movements. "I'm listening."

She gives me a side look before sighing.

"Look, Ivory…I know your mind is made up, but I'll try to appeal to you one more time. Don't do this."

She moves her long fringes away from her face and turns to me full on, causing me to feel uncomfortable.

"And why should I listen to you?" I ask trying to ignore her stare as I bite into my cookie.

"Ford's not the type of person to let you go just like that. He'll give you a very hard task to complete." She frowns. "Most especially, it may cost your life. It will be very dangerous, that I can tell you."

I smile. "I can deal with it."

She looks at me like I've gone made. "You know my brother very well, don't you?"

"To a certain extent," is my response. "I mean, I was the one who cleaned his knees when he grazed them, remember? The four of you would force me to do that when your dad wasn't around, then bribed me with money and chocolates before he came back."

At the mention of her childhood, Georgia's face softens.

"I still don't know why you never reported us to him," she says, nibbling around the edges of the cookie like a little rat.

I swallow, thinking back to the number of times I saved them from possible defacement by their super strict father. "It was because I had pity for you. Ryan Deville was not the type to play with."

She stops nibbling for a moment, apparently thinking back to those days. "Well, you're not wrong about that."

We both sigh, childhood memories filling our minds.

Back then, I was still bullied by the Deville children, but it was mostly because I was the youngest among them. They truly loved me like a younger sister.

At least they did till we got older-

"If you know Ford as well as you say you do; you should know that what I'm saying is true," Georgie suddenly says, destroying the peaceful atmosphere.

"I'm not disputing that Georgie." I drop my plate into the bin.

"All I'm saying is that I've decided. You coming here isn't going to change that."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry," she says with a dry tone. In other words, 'Yeah yeah yeah. At least now I will not be responsible for your downfall.'

Oh. The joy of having an adopted sister.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" I ask, changing the topic.

"You want to chase me out of your house?" she answers, looking amused.

"Well, I can decide to do that, or," I frown slightly. "I can decide to let you go when you want to. I'd rather do the former before I get smothered in bed, don't you think?"

After hearing my sarcastic statement, she grunts and disposes of her plate.

"Ivory, really. Don't do this. No one is going to kill you for wanting less jobs and all. But leaving the company...no, Ivory. No."

"I will do whatever I want to do." My tone is emotionless.

She sighs. "Okay, if that's what you want...don't come crying to me when he gives you an impossible job."

"I won't come crying to you, even if I'm given an impossible job." So saying, I walk off, then stop at the foot of my stairs.

"When you're ready to go, you know the exit."

Her expression holds anger. "I'm going now."

"Good."

Three minutes later the door slams.

She doesn't even say thanks for the cookies. Ungrateful human.

* * *

The next day I make a beeline for Ford's office as soon as I arrive at the building.

The door closes automatically behind me as I enter, and I walk up to Ford and two of his assistants, who are both ladies with quite revealing outfits, poring over a book.

I narrow my eyes at his assistants' fit for a moment, then mentally shake my head. It's not my business; if he likes to take strippers as office assistants, then he's welcome to do so.

Almost immediately after I think that, I let out a cough. For some not-so-odd reason the assistants eye me, but Ford looks up at me and his eyes show recognition.

"You're here." He closes the book in his hands.

"Do you have the task ready?"

"Yes." He taps a button and the huge screen shows three different pictures.

"I'm all ears then," I say and sit on one of the chairs.

"Leave us," he says to his assistants, who nod, then stare daggers at me as they walk away.

Desperados.

They disgust me.

I roll my eyes at their behaviour when they're out of the room and turn to him. "First of all, why are the others not here?"

"Who?" he asks, looking up at me from his action of fondling with a remote in his hand.

"Your siblings."

"Oh." He turns back to the screen. "They couldn't make it."

Of course they couldn't. "Okay. Well, what's the mission? Go straight to the point."

He turns to me with an amused expression on his face. "You sound pissed, and I haven't even begun."

"Get on with it, Fraud." I chuckle when I see his eyes narrowing as I call my nickname for him. But he immediately swivels back to the screen.

"A group of people are creating a bomb."

Okay, I've heard this before. "I see. So it's a nuclear bomb, right? Are they terrorists or crazy people or -"

"Worse."

The tone he uses makes my body tingle with fear, excitement, then bewilderment.

"Worse?" my expression shines with confusion. "What could be worse than a nuclear bomb?"

He sighs before massaging the bridge of his nose.

"These people aren't terrorists, Ivory. But the chaos they aim to bring to the world is much worse than that of terrorism."

My mind is trying to get the picture of a bomb that is more dangerous than a nuclear bomb.

It doesn't get anything. "What kind of bomb are they creating?"

"The kind that can wipe out at least three planets in one explosion."

Silence engulfs the room, and it's only when Ford's statement properly sinks into my mind that I blink.

"You're kidding."

Ford chuckles drily. "I'm doing anything but kidding, Ivory."

"Three planets?"

That's beyond terrorism. That's…that's…that's total destruction!

"There can't actually be a group of people planning this madness, can there? You're just making this up to punish me, aren't you?"

"I'm not, Ivory. If I wanted to do something to punish you, I would have picked something that sounded a little more realistic. Something truly mad and despicable, yes, but realistic.

However, despite the fact that this sounds impossible, intel has led us to know it's legit. I can't deny that I was as shocked as you are when I found out."

"It…it doesn't sound right."

"Same thing I said to myself," he says, then moves the cursor to one picture on the screen and double-clicks, causing the picture to enlarge.

"This is how small they're going to make it," he says, indicating the picture. "Mind you, it is according to the proper scale."

"You're joking," I say in shock as I stare at the picture. If it's up to scale, then it means that…the bomb is as small as my fist. "That's what can be used to destroy at least three planets?"

"That's the size of one bomblet. According to our source, they plan to release it in bomblets. They'll send these bomblets all over the world; about three in each continent. Then they make them explode- all at once."

"Why? What do they seek to achieve from this?"

Unless these people have the same mindset as Thanos* did, I don't see any reason why anyone in their right frame of mind would want to create bombs that are powerful enough to wipe out one country with just three bomblets.

"We don't know." Ford faces me once again. "And that's one of the parts of your mission."

I furrow my brows when I hear him say that, then sigh. "Do we at least know where they're making them?"

He nods. "Cuba."

Hold up. What?

"Cuba?" My eyes widen. "Surely you don't mean the little beach country Cuba, do you?"

Of all the countries they can think of, they chose Cuba?

Ford answers my question with silence, choosing to stare at me blankly instead of speaking. I twirl my lucky pen for some time, debating how evil these people must be to plan such terrible situation in the cutest place ever.

Wolves in sheep clothing.

"Why Cuba, Ford?"

He frowns. "I don't know, Ivory. To be honest, there's a lot about this case that I don't know. But I know something that'll interest you. They call their plan: Operation Ivory."

For the umpteenth time, silence engulfs the room.

"Is that a joke?"

From the expression Ford is giving me, I'm sure my entire stance has changed to one of ferocity.

"No, it's not. That's actually what they call it. Operation Ivory."

"And what the heck does it mean?"

He taps the remote and the pictures on the screen change. "I for Iodine, V for Variably, O for Orientated, R for Rubidium, Y for Ytterbium." He pauses, turning to my stunned face.

"In full," he continues. "Iodine with Variably Orientated Rubidium and Ytterbium. Orientated there stands for synthesized."

"Those aren't the elements used for creating bombs as disastrous as this," I comment, still staring at the screen.

"It seems they're making use of what they have. It's an underground development, so they have to attract as little attention as possible. According to our source, they mutate the chemical properties of the aforementioned elements, making them more powerful than the usual Uranium and plutonium."

"How?"

Ford gives me a quick glance. "Our scientists are still working on it. But I hear the major issue is the rubidium. Ytterbium and Iodine are just the coats. Rubidium, however, is a radioactive element, and it's that characteristic these people are using to their advantage. The ones found around are not very radioactive, so I guess they must be using natural rubidium for their experiments."

One thing I've known about the Devilles is that their sources are never wrong. However, the information Ford is giving me, despite how little it is, is a bit too classified. And for the first time in a long while, I wonder just how much digging he's done to get it.

I clench my fist. That doesn't matter now.

"I see. So, what am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know when the H-hour is, but from the little information we have, it's not soon. They aren't done creating them yet. Your job is to find out everything, every detail, send the intel to us, then defuse all the bombs before they deliver them."

That seems fair.

"Alright. So, uh, who's my partner?"

My adopted brother turns to me, and this time there's a smirk on his face. "This is where the going gets tough, Ivory."

"What the heck do you mean by that?"

Ford chuckles, and a shiver goes down my spine. "Your punishment for wanting to leave this organization is to handle this mission alone."

"You can't be- what the actual-"

I never believed he could be so heartless.

"You want me to defuse all the bombs alone? What am I, some robot with fifty arms?"

"You chose this for yourself." The smirk doesn't leave his face.

"Oh, and you can't back out, else you'll remain in this company."

This slimey idiot.

As if hearing my thought, he chuckles once more before walking up to me and patting my shoulder. "Think of the bright side, Ivory. You have a free ticket to continue living after you quit."

"You're a snake."

"I'm just going according to our deal, Ivory," he replies, giving me the smirk he knows I hate with all passion.

He's cornered me, and he knows it.

"Hand me the file," I say with gritted teeth.

I stand up and leave the room as soon as I get the documents, then curl my right fist when I hear him laugh just before the door shuts behind me.

He's lucky there's no bullet in my gun.

The two assistants I met before sight me approaching the area they are and glare at me once more, but I shoot them down with eye daggers of my own, then growl as I storm past them.

"That idiot's all yours, fools."