Chapter Text
The Malibu sun was a promise kept. Liquid gold pouring over endless beaches, dream villas, and streets lined with boutiques where fashion wasn't a hobby, but a religion. For Samantha, Clover, and Alexandra, university students by day and international spies in their spare time, that life was an almost perfect paradise. An exhilarating balance between mid-term exams and missions bordering on the absurd.
Their parallel careers, orchestrated by the phlegmatic Jerry of WOOHP, were a catalog of bizarre incidents. They had foiled the plans of a madman who wanted to drain the ocean with a titanic hairdryer and stopped a dairy fanatic determined to turn the moon into a giant block of Gruyère. Childish adventures, on second thought, imbued with an almost affectionate cringe that, however, was starting to feel tight, like a dress from last year.
The latest call came, as always, at the most inopportune moment. A violent suction tore them from their routine, depositing them in the aseptic white of Jerry's office. The mission of the day: an individual calling himself "the Crab Man", clearly suffering from too many episodes of One Punch Man, was terrorizing beachgoers with two enormous mechanical pincers, shouting proclamations of revenge against unknown enemies. Just another day, basically.
"Agents" Jerry began with his impeccable British aplomb, "the situation requires your attention. However, this time you will not be alone." He gestured to the sliding doors behind him.
"We have a new collaborator on temporary transfer. I present Agent Ricky."
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The door opened, and a man entered the room. He was in his thirties, with a lean, athletic physique visible beneath his mission suit. Mid-length brown hair, just messy enough to give him a carefree look, framed a face covered by a hint of a neatly trimmed but rugged-looking beard. But it was his eyes that captivated attention: an intense, almost anomalous clear blue. He wore an operational suit similar to theirs, but a deep blue with red stripes, a color combination vaguely reminiscent of a famous cartoon hero named after a carrot, but with inverted hues.
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A goofy smile was plastered on his face.
"Nice to meet you!" he said, greeting them with an awkward wave of his hand. He took a step forward to shake Clover's hand, but his foot slipped on the polished floor. He lost his balance in a clumsy spin and ended up impacting his forehead directly on the blonde's skull.
"OUCH! Are you stupid or what?!" Clover screamed, rubbing her head with one hand and glaring at him. Alex barely suppressed a giggle, covering her mouth with a hand, while Sam raised an eyebrow, an expression of pure bewilderment painted on her face.
"Sorry, sorry, so sorry!" Ricky stammered, awkwardly getting up and scratching the back of his neck, looking like a scolded puppy.
A few minutes later, on the beach, the Crab Man was putting on a show. His mechanical claws hissed in the air, slicing umbrellas and sending sandcastles flying. Sam, Clover, and Alex moved with their usual coordination, dodging attacks with feline agility while looking for an opening.
Then, Ricky made his move. A move that left the three girls literally stunned. Completely ignoring the fight, he ran towards a fisherman's boat moored nearby, grabbed a box full of shrimp, and, returning to a safe distance, began to throw them one by one at their opponent.
The Crab Man, interrupted in the middle of a swing, froze, visibly annoyed by that rain of crustaceans.
"What the hell...?" he growled, before turning his armored fury towards the new, irritating target. He charged Ricky, who stumbled backward.
As he fell, his hand kicked up a cloud of sand which, with an almost unnatural trajectory, went straight into the Crab Man's eyes. A scream of pain and anger. The man brought his hands to his face, blinded.
It was the only opening the girls needed. With a knowing glance, they sprang, enveloping their opponent in a high-resistance plasma net provided by Jerry and disarming him of his ridiculous but lethal pincers.
The debriefing was tense.
"Jerry, with all due respect, but that guy is completely useless!" Clover blurted out, pointing a finger at Ricky. "He almost got us killed throwing seafood! And I still have a bump because of him!"
Ricky, in a corner, just scratched his head, sporting the same embarrassed smile as before.
Jerry, however, didn't seem disturbed at all.
"Agent Clover, your frustrations are understandable. However, I must point out that if Agent Ricky had not inadvertently blinded your opponent with sand, the capture could have been much more complicated."
His tone allowed for no reply.
"Agent Ricky will occasionally assist us on other missions. Consider him part of the team, for now."
A collective sigh of disappointment filled the room. The girls turned and left the office, passing Ricky without a glance.
He remained motionless, maintaining his harmless and carefree demeanor, until the sound of the sliding doors closing echoed in the silence. He was alone with Jerry again. And in that instant, everything changed.
The goofy smile vanished, dissolving like mist in the sun. His shoulders, previously slightly slumped in a submissive attitude, straightened into an impeccable, vigilant military posture. His face transformed into a mask of cold professionalism. And those eyes, previously just blue, now revealed a glacial depth, tinged with ancient weariness and pain. He was no longer Ricky, the clumsy agent. He was another person. A soldier. A ghost. And he awaited his orders.
