“I do not like her.”

Said the ever-peculiar lead scientist. His bleeding crimson goggles almost completely obscuring a look of disdain in his sleepless eyes, a look not missed by the contributor Rebecca.

It was a rare visit to the facility, the air was stale and still with a hint of the familiar seas. Dressed in a finer gown in all black much like the others in The Blacksite, Rebecca Fritz found herself at a crossroads.

“Don’t look at me like as if you have any say in this, Stitch. I’m not here to listen.”

“With Misfortune indefinitely out of the picture, there’s the matter of a replacement.”

Stitch shook his head, “I’m telling you to have faith in her. We do not need to resort to this… statue. Misfortune’s tenacity to pursue is unmatched as a closer.”

He complained, with lack of a better term. The mistress’ lips parted as if to speak, until Stitch continued abruptly with a question.

“Do you believe in superstitions?”

The researcher asked with a hushed tone. He looked directly at Rebecca for a moment, before looking ahead again upon catching an almost offended leer back.

“I believe in… the future. What can be, and what will be.”

Rebecca answered, stepping away from the desk. A glance away as her footsteps clacked behind the researcher, who wouldn’t dare move.

“Say… I do.”

She played along, leaning herself forwards over an agent file, now at Stitch’s right side. He felt surrounded, the room felt a few shades darker.

“I mean it in a way such as—“

He stopped himself, adjusting his goggles in a fidget, “Sorry. We are well aware of how one’s magical aura can disturb another if they have the right eye for it.”

“Mhmm.”

“How one can read intentions from them. Superstitious folk, especially in Mainland try and read how one’s power bleeds from them at rest. They say you can tell if a person is lying, or if they’re hiding something from you. Or intend to strike.”

Stitch stopped himself from going on. He knew how little Rebecca cared for the details.

“This… eager young prospect. There is nothing hidden.. No intention, not a word or peep. Not even when Dowager bullied her a bit. Not an acknowledgment when Widower stood up for her.”

Stitch rambled.

“Get to the point.”

Rebecca’s eye twitched.

“I feel an unnatural… tension in my gut when I look at that unnatural expression.”

“She wears the eyes of ‘I’ve seen truly awful things, and will never blink so that I may not miss seeing them again.’”

Stitch uttered, not even daring to look down at the photo.

“She speaks not by mouth but through her energy, how adorable.”

Rebecca did not seem all concerned.

“Dowager is a maniac Trainee Squad reject that NEEDS another agent to keep her in check and Misfortune finds an art in violence. This is not new.”

Rebecca said with a dismissive tone, clearly unbothered—or ignorant—of Stitch’s unnerved attitude.

“I don’t care for their background. Their powers and how they use or abuse them…”

Rebecca took the photo into her hand, dangling it right in front of the research head’s eyes.

“I only care that they’ll fit into any act, and do whatever they can—and more—to do their job.”

“Especially if they do it with a smile.”

Rebecca craned her arm away from between Stitch’s eyes, with her head tilted up, a gleeful grin on her face almost as despicable as the one on the photo.

“The air around her speaks of sin.”

Stitch hauntingly, quietly whispered.

Rebecca didn’t have the patience to entertain his irrational fears any longer.

“She is the 14th.”

“I will name her Gargoyle.”

She spoke the name louder, as if to tease Stitch about his fears of unknowns beyond what he can give rational reason to.

“I’m afraid costs have been quite high thanks to the development of… let’s say my arsenal.”

“I believe the first task of our lovely recruit is to sell a few of our unique weaponry to The Thorne Empire.”

Rebecca said with a satisfied smile, which dimmed as Stitch turned his head to her again.

“Our supply is already quite limited. We might be operating right under the government’s noses, but we are still past their doorstep.”

Stitch warned.

“Wouldn’t it be safer to sort a deal with them to procure smuggled arms from Mainland? Even if we do it through a third party... perhaps if we get those Highland Mercenaries off that rock of theirs again, we could pull it off.”

“For one, the last thing I'd want is to waste coin on a third party. Two, they wouldn't want to work with us again after their losses in that... storm.”

“Finally... the foreigners surely have plans in The Seven Seas. Papa told me how the empire's dealings with the at-the-time dynasty weren't as... clean.”

“I know, I can feel it. They want more- of course they do. However, I can tell that The Arcane Government may get in the way of their ambitions quite severely.”

“We must build rapport with them. Let them know that they have… ‘friends’ on the inside. Perhaps if they know that we're oh-so willing to go as far as send out one of our own directly... maybe they will make subtle moves of their own rather than wait for this Cursebeard War to go somewhere.”

Rebecca said with a cunning grin.

“That still doesn’t solve the matter of our supplies. It is a delicate dance to have the resources while making this abandoned mine still look so derelict. It is magnificent, really.”

Stitch reiterated in a softer tone, he seemed more inclined.

“Simple, we sell them our used ones. Rush to make more, worry not on the quality, Stitch.”

“After all, they still lack the expertise to tell the difference between new, and… refurbished arms. What does it matter if ancient peoples knew not how easily they could harm themselves with magic, when its own discovery alone massively outweighed the flaws?”

Rebecca waved the concern into the wind.

“We will just have our new agent spend some time polishing and cleaning them before sale…”

“…isn’t that right, dear?”

Rebecca looked over her shoulder.

Stitch began to sweat in the cold.

Their newest agent having been completely frozen still a few feet away.

Frayed hair the color of polished rust, an unblinking gaze at Stitch’s back, as her eyes not darting, but rather sluggishly droned over to make eye contact with Rebecca herself. Rebecca's orders were as clear as crystal.

“Go to the Thorne Empire with weapons. Let them know that they might find a fine partner in discovering what The Seven Seas has to offer. When you know they will listen. Find me- return to me- with whatever you've learned or earned. Or don't return at all.”

Not a single hint of acknowledgement to her order, their newest agent, Agent 14, Gargoyle, turned herself around with a pivot most uncanny. Not a single rise or fall in her stride as she left the room. Rebecca ever-satisfied, and Stitch nothing but disturbed.