Aegis Institution

Manshita lost her pinky last week, but it didn’t weigh on her. No, she didn’t care about her fragmented hand; her bandaged hand; her now three-fingered hand. Nor did she mind her slowly approaching exam slot. What loomed over her was a persistent tension — not from her injury or exam, but the slow erosion of her friendships.

Over the past two months she felt her friends drifting away. One might assume it was a natural process; after all, graduation neared. They were entering the secular workforce, and she was claiming a spot as a fellow in her cohort, mentoring undergraduates and taking on her own fieldwork assignments. If that were the case — a sudden break — she would’ve accepted it; but it wasn’t.

They kept her out of the loop. One day they might leave a party early, claiming to go home, but instead go for a walk. Another day they might make plans to go shopping, not inviting her because ‘she wasn’t much of a browser.’ But Manshita let it brush off… until, after weeks of procrastinating graduation photos because of the ‘weather,’ they took them without her while she was away.

In the spare moments of silence in her overactive mind, she often wondered if this was her fault. When she uncovered these plans, she received enthusiastic invites, but she never accepted them. When she became avoidant — a deprioritization of them — they would reach out and ask if she was okay. Perhaps she should have expressed her hurt. But when she had in the past, she was met with excuses.

The only consistent friend left was her classmate, Thomas. They were situationally forced to be close… Which is why she slightly despised their relationship… Marie, Paige, and Susan, those were friends she made on her own. They were secular students. Detached from the Vanguard program. They were normal, her anchor to normalcy, away from the studies that led to loss of fingers…

It didn’t help that Tommy’s personality was quite abrasive. He was cocky, unfiltered, and tried too hard to be funny. Susan claimed he was flirting with her, but that's how he interacted with everyone. Even if it was his intention, it wasn’t working. Especially his jokes about her concentration, he regularly teased that she was ‘wasting her potential’ and ‘would make a great Jack.’ However, she brushed it off; it was her dedication to her concentration that gained her admission to Elizabeth Lee’s Cohort. Lee saw potential in her. Regardless of what others thought, she understood that being a master of one was better than being a master of none. And today would prove it.

***

She sat straight and emotionless on a bench outside her professor’s office. The corridor was cramped and ancient. Little natural light was able to penetrate this far from the sparse windows on either end of the hall.

There wasn’t a single wrinkle on her burnt umber tweed attire — her plaid jacket, vest, and shirt were all neatly pressed this morning and even her matching pencil skirt refused to give at the knees. However, deviating from the attire were a pair of worn, yet clean, boots. These weren’t the voguish type, but prioritized function over form, the type issued to soldiers – granted a little more fashionable. Built-in sheaths protruded from the outer sides of each boot.

Normally, Manshitta would have worn a nicer pair of boots, but today she needed functionality as her exam came in three parts. One third of her grade was an oral exam, another third was a thirty-page thesis (The Evolution of Espionage in the Age of Technological Advancement and Ubiquitous Surveillance), and the remaining third was a practical demonstration, which under normal circumstances would be curated for the student by their cohort’s primary professor. And it was this final part that necessitated function over form.

All around her, numerous plaques decorated the walls. On each was the name of former Vanguard graduates. A majority were unrecognizable, but there were a few standouts: names recorded in history books such as Jonathan Hendrix the Highlands Horseman, or in the news like Rudolf Crowne. However, the more contemporary ones, like Crowne, were often dual-concentrated with the Sentinel program, hinting they desired only to be international celebrities than true Vanguards.

Any minute now, Professor Lee would arrive, heralding the beginning of her demonstration… Manshita was begging for it, as an eerie cry rang through the hallway from the dying lights. It was getting to her. Making the tension she was trying to repress boil over. Luckily, she was saved.

“Manshita,” the tall professor said as her heels clicked down the hall.

“Professor Lee,” Manshita responded, standing up from the bench, just shy of reaching her professor’s shoulders.

“You seem tense. Has the exam gotten on your nerves?”

“No, ma’am. Just waiting.”

“Of course.”

Manshita scanned her professor. She seemed different than usual — more put together. Usually Professor Lee wore jeans and a t-shirt with a comfortable pair of sneakers. But today she wore a stiff green dress with a flowing skirt, dense stockings, and a trench coat. Hidden deep in the coat a delicate hilt protruded just the slightest bit.

“You’re wearing the same outfit I wore last week,” Manshita said with a steady tone.

“You noticed.” Lee smirked. “The board is assessing me for tenure. I want to give a good show, so I styled myself after the best dressed person I know.”

Manshita giggled.

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Lee said as she began unlocking her office door. “Come in.”

The two walked into Lee’s office; it was much more regal than her natural comportment, as if she inherited the space. All the furniture was dark and wooden; predominantly, a bookshelf stole a whole wall. Most of the tomes were unlabeled and leatherbound between the hues of black, red, and brown. The majority of these books, when opened, proved to be religious, historical, and ‘mythological’ texts. A section of worn pulp sci-fi novels broke the regality. Noticeably, in the very center of the bookshelf was a massive wolf-like skull with a grand fracture through the side, as if a blade had torn through it. The possible weapon hung on the opposite wall: a blackened broadsword.

“Take a seat,” Lee said as she rounded her grand desk, which held only an ashtray.

The chairs on either side of the desk were identical, black embroidered leather. They were a bit worn – like most of the pieces in the office.

As the two settled in, the professor spoke.

“The Yank passed,” she said with a disgruntled tone.

There was a pause in the air.

“That's good, right?” Manshita replied.

“No, not good.”

Elizabeth sighed, placing her elbows on the desk; her head rested in her hand.

“Professor Grant decided to screw us over like the bloody prick he is.”

“You aren’t making sense, ma’am.”

Elizabeth stood from her chair and approached the lone window in the room. It faced a wilting courtyard with nearly a foot of snow covering it. The yard was surrounded by stone buildings older than the majority of nations and in the middle of the yard were only two figures.

One was a dark, lanky man; his form was sickly and an oversized wool coat draped over his slender frame. Surrounding the man, in a misshapen circle, the falling snow refused to stick, melting upon contact with the ground.

Beside him, laying in the snow, was a younger man in shorts and a floral shirt. He was of a rather sturdy build and his pasty skin was covered in fresh bruises and wounds. Planted in the snow next to him were a couple of beers. The two men were laughing.

Almost as if he felt the stare hitting the back of his neck, the man turned towards Lee, revealing his sunken face. He smiled and gave a small wink towards Lee, who retreated back into her office.

“Grant convinced the board to switch the routes.” Elizabeth said, her voice boiling. “He claimed that in real life you don’t always get a fight catered to your expertise…” She laughed. “Bastard even played the dying card… They ate it up…”

“I’m sorry… I’m a bit lost,” Manshita said, turning her body in the chair to look at her teacher. “Are you saying they gave my route to Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“But, we aren’t even in the same program.”

“Wrong. You’re both Vanguards, which means you're expected to perform with the same level of competency, regardless of specialization. The board doesn’t want specialists — not yet. They want exceptional graduates, students who walk out of university already outperforming seasoned Vanguards.”

Elizabeth reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a box of unfiltered cigarettes and a lighter. She rested one between her lips, lit it, and took a deep inhale.

“Aegis Institutions are spreading globally,” she said, exhaling the smoke. “The Yanks practically monopolized the model after the Gulf disaster, and now they’re partnering with Japan on what’s basically a glorified Sentinel program… In chasing prestige, the board forgot our motto: Vitam, Non Nomen, Protegentes.”

Manshita sprung from her chair.

But, I was supposed to do the infiltration route; I prepared all month for it! They can’t just give me the culling route… It’s barbaric! It’s not fair! ” she yelled.

“Of course it's not fair!” Lee yelled back. “Life isn’t fair. People are going to screw you over for no reason. Now control yourself. This is exactly what they want from you. Grant has always been skeptical of your potential. He thinks your ‘focus’ and ‘principles’ are signs of incompetency, so he wants to force you to either shine or burn out. I’m sure that dying Horseman thinks he’s actually supporting you in some twisted way…”

“But… What if Professor Grant is right…” Manshita said; her hand twitching. “There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding those routes…”

Lee laughed.

“You’re plenty capable… Just stay calm, it's not like they gave you an Exorcist route. You don’t have to slay a dragon…”

Lee walked over to the broadsword and pulled it from its mount. She approached her student, cradling the sword in her arms.

“You just need to kill your first man.”

Manishta stared at the blade for a moment, meeting the reflection of her own gaze in the one shiny patch present. And with a small breath, she grabbed the blade.