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Phoenix doesn’t have friends. Or family. And god forbid a lover in this line of work, that's one of the many ways you get killed. So no need to lie about their job. They didn’t need to lie to their Handler, of course. Speaking of, they aren’t exactly on good terms with him. You see, they fucked up. Badly. Long story short, they went on a mission their Handler didn’t want them on, and their Handler was pissed about it. Phoenix didn’t take it well, and had what can best be described as a tantrum. They managed to pull themself just barely back together, and headed back to the EOD offices, where they’ve been sitting for the past few hours. They spent the time contemplating their entire existence. You know. As one does. They knew they'd have to get back to work eventually, back to the field and out on more missions, but they really don’t feel like it. Their mind is blank, their chest still feels like it’s full of rocks, and their hands are shaky. The solution to this is a distraction, they know. But what kind of distraction doesn’t require actually working… they think to themself. There's many, many possibilities, all with varying levels of legality, but their mind is most drawn to the lie they’re meant to tell. Accounting. The mere thought of any paperwork makes their skin crawl, but skin crawling sucks marginally less than talking to their Handler, who they’re mostly sure has to hate them at this point. Like, legally or something.
And so, the great Agent Phoenix steps into the empty office of the bookkeeper for the Agency. Empty of people , that is. Many mountains of paperwork dwarf the agent, blocking the light from the window. It’s like a cursed dungeon made of paper, receipts, and lies. A lone coffee maker sits in the corner atop a mini-fridge, the coffee within demonstrating a lovely example of the water cycle, complete with condensation.
It’s perfect.
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It didn’t take long for Phoenix to get settled. Some kind soul left a guide on what to do with each type of paper, what to fill in, what to key into the bulky machine sitting under a good few piles. It’s work that takes up too much attention for them to possibly be able to think of anything else, ( Especially not their Handler. God, they really did let him down… ) and judging by the fact that they haven’t been arrested by some international coalition of accountants who make sure accounts are being ant’ed properly, they’re doing pretty okay. Their TK is practically useless in this situation, unfortunately. Picking up piles of papers requires a lot more dexterity than one would think, even though picking up singular pieces of paper is easy.
By the end of the first week, the mountain of papers has significantly decreased in size. Instead of being over twice their size, it’s now only 1.96489 times agent Phoenix’s size! They did the math and everything on a fancy calculator they found in a drawer. Last time they saw something that pricey-looking was in the Fabricator’s Barcelona workshop. They were tempted to take it. Do accountants take souvenirs? What would they even steal, a couple dollars? Oh, wait, that would be wildly lucrative with enough clients. Accountants should take souvenirs, the Agent decides.
Some people in Management had noticed the fact the accounting’s getting done, yet have no clue who. Exactly Phoenix's intention. Every time they left the office, they placed everything (Except the paperwork! They put too much work in putting it where it was meant to go.) back where they found it, down to the blinds being closed. Based on old, old payroll information, the only accountant working within the Enhanced Operatives Division quit 3 years ago for an undisclosed reason, and the office has remained unoccupied ever since. The plants that were here have withered, and the dust had settled into a thick blanket over them in that time. Any difference wouldn’t be noticed, but it can’t hurt to be too careful.
Eventually, the Agency just accepted that there’s someone doing their accounts. What the Agency struggled to accept was the fact that their top agent hasn’t been going on missions. They show up and don’t even bother to set foot in their office. The only reason the Agency knows that they’re in the building is the fact that their telekinesis is still hovering a handful of targets around their office. Their earpiece sits on their desk where it was left at the end of their last mission, so they can’t even be accurately tracked. Agent Phoenix is out-of-commission, in hiding as far as anyone outside the Agency knows, but Zoraxis doesn’t wait. They never wait their turn in this game of chess; they cheat, lie, and sneak pieces onto the board. Playing fair implies it’s a game, and ever since the Peace Summit, Zoraxis has been nothing but serious.