Spy Camp (m+f+/m+f+) Part 40
Posted: Wed May 18, 2022 8:34 pm
The gray Land Rover’s tires spun on the broken concrete as Giselle’s parents left her happily for the summer. Giselle was sixteen, deeming herself too old to spend her vacation at whatever remote lake with a native-sounding name, but wise enough not to squander her young, carefree years flipping burgers or picking blueberries. When the leaflet arrived (or two weeks later, three hours before registration closed), her mom had signed her up for five weeks.
“Welcome, Giselle,” the young woman behind the counter said, wearing an ill-fitting suit. “Last one to arrive today. Almost half an hour late.”
“Traffic was terrible,” Giselle sighed, letting herself fall on the couch. She omitted to mention they had left an hour later than planned because she had overslept.
The blonde did not argue and smiled. “Camp rules: This is the last time your real name is mentioned. From now on, never mention it to anyone. Don’t respond to it.”
Giselle sighed again. Her parents had tried this two years ago as well. “So I get a number? Geez, just tell me I’m tricked into another reeducation camp. The previous attempts were also unsuccessful.”
The blonde exchanged a smirk with her brown-haired partner. He sat down opposite Giselle. “No, we are absolutely not here to reeducate you. On the contrary, you will enjoy much independence here.”
“We don’t desire to crush your spirit but bend it to its fullest potential,” the blonde added with a sugar-sweet smile.
“I bet,” Giselle sneered as those answers had enhanced her distrust. This place spouted the same bullshit talk as every counselor and coach. Still, the two young adults did not take her bait.
“Due to the nature of YSTC, we will provide you with clothing and everything else you require. Is there anything in your luggage you need? Medicine, contact lenses fluid, menstrual products? Please get them out. Then change.”
Giselle received a canvas bag and entered the tiny changing room in the office building. Expecting an ugly, ill-fitting, brightly colored t-shirt, the sight of black ripped jeans, a salmon crop top, dark green shoes, and a black cap delighted her. They had even included decent sunglasses. “Couldn’t I just wear my own clothes?” Giselle inquired, letting her long black hair fall down her back.
“No, too many ignorant parents write names on the labels,” the guy remarked. “Can’t have that happen. Besides, you gotta be undercover during your first mission. Now hand me your phone, please.”
“Why?”
“Life’s hectic. You’ll either shatter or lose it. You’ll have disremembered it within days.”
Giselle sighed and handed the man her phone. The excuse was horrible.
“Anything you demand from your luggage? Last chance.” The teen took out her entire toilet bag, but he forbade it, only allowing the essentials. That is, what men call essential. He padlocked her suitcase and phone in a big red locker, and Giselle missed her phone already. Working had been the better option as she could hang out with fun people in the evenings instead of these wet blankets.
“Finally, losing entails consequences here. You might be restrained. To confirm, you have no history of panic attacks, claustrophobia, or anything related?”
“Nope, not all,” Giselle yawned back on the couch. “But I don’t consent with any corporal punishments. You said this is no reeducation camp.”
“It’s not. We merely like our games to have non-trivial stakes,” the blonde said deviously. Giselle already envisioned doing the dishes every night without pay. “Enough introductions. You’re already late. And remember, don’t mention your own name.”
The counselors locked the front door and steered her through the old-fashioned office building. What camp had such a bland, unimaginative headquarters? Where were the moldy cabins and outdoor activities?
They entered a small, windowless classroom, where three girls and two boys were seated, each dressed in casual clothing. In front of them stood a middle-aged man in a suit with a red tie belonging to the eighties. His suit embodied his entire personality.
“Welcome, to YSTC,” he greeted. “You’re late. We almost moved on without you. Please, seat yourself.”
Giselle obeyed, seizing a chair in the back and tipping it against the wall. She suppressed the overwhelming urge to introduce herself to provoke the counselors.
“This afternoon, you will embark on your first mission as spies.”
Giselle grinned. Spies? Lame. Had her parents signed her up for a camp intended for 8-year-olds? The man in his fifties seemed too old and sincere to force teenagers to play stupid games. She had not read the camp’s leaflet.
“Your objective is simple: Purchase all items on your list from the mall and reach your extraction point within 6 hours. It sounds straightforward, but you encounter a formidable foe: your fellow campers. They have your photos, and if they stop you, you lose. And losing, like for a genuine spy, bears severe consequences. You better don’t find out.”
The man’s solemn style amused Giselle throughout his lengthy and tedious briefing. The game was played in public, so unnecessary attention had to be avoided. There were some rules about capturing opponents, but she did not pay attention. Her enthusiastic classmates were silly and asked questions in excitement. She only cared about the laziest way that made her avoid the punishment, likely cleaning or detention.
“Now go. Don’t get caught. Be stealthy. Don’t pull attention to yourself. Omit confidence. Show us what you have in store. Do not disappoint me!” the man continued. The young counselors distributed backpacks with supplies: a phone, map, and shopping list. In addition, it contained cash to pay for the groceries. The amount of detail surprised Giselle: all bags were distinct, and the black minivan with its tinted windows was movie-worthy.
The group halted at a parking lot a mile from the mall and had to leave the van. The other new campers snickered like middle schoolers in excitement, annoying Giselle.
“Your six hours start now. Good luck,” the blonde declared before driving away.
Giselle rolled her eyes. Six hours for a simple assignment was too long, but at least these nerds would not babysit her. She vowed to make the most of her freedom. They had six hours, so spending an hour observing from afar would be strategical, wouldn’t it? Her opponents would be bored too.
“Welcome, Giselle,” the young woman behind the counter said, wearing an ill-fitting suit. “Last one to arrive today. Almost half an hour late.”
“Traffic was terrible,” Giselle sighed, letting herself fall on the couch. She omitted to mention they had left an hour later than planned because she had overslept.
The blonde did not argue and smiled. “Camp rules: This is the last time your real name is mentioned. From now on, never mention it to anyone. Don’t respond to it.”
Giselle sighed again. Her parents had tried this two years ago as well. “So I get a number? Geez, just tell me I’m tricked into another reeducation camp. The previous attempts were also unsuccessful.”
The blonde exchanged a smirk with her brown-haired partner. He sat down opposite Giselle. “No, we are absolutely not here to reeducate you. On the contrary, you will enjoy much independence here.”
“We don’t desire to crush your spirit but bend it to its fullest potential,” the blonde added with a sugar-sweet smile.
“I bet,” Giselle sneered as those answers had enhanced her distrust. This place spouted the same bullshit talk as every counselor and coach. Still, the two young adults did not take her bait.
“Due to the nature of YSTC, we will provide you with clothing and everything else you require. Is there anything in your luggage you need? Medicine, contact lenses fluid, menstrual products? Please get them out. Then change.”
Giselle received a canvas bag and entered the tiny changing room in the office building. Expecting an ugly, ill-fitting, brightly colored t-shirt, the sight of black ripped jeans, a salmon crop top, dark green shoes, and a black cap delighted her. They had even included decent sunglasses. “Couldn’t I just wear my own clothes?” Giselle inquired, letting her long black hair fall down her back.
“No, too many ignorant parents write names on the labels,” the guy remarked. “Can’t have that happen. Besides, you gotta be undercover during your first mission. Now hand me your phone, please.”
“Why?”
“Life’s hectic. You’ll either shatter or lose it. You’ll have disremembered it within days.”
Giselle sighed and handed the man her phone. The excuse was horrible.
“Anything you demand from your luggage? Last chance.” The teen took out her entire toilet bag, but he forbade it, only allowing the essentials. That is, what men call essential. He padlocked her suitcase and phone in a big red locker, and Giselle missed her phone already. Working had been the better option as she could hang out with fun people in the evenings instead of these wet blankets.
“Finally, losing entails consequences here. You might be restrained. To confirm, you have no history of panic attacks, claustrophobia, or anything related?”
“Nope, not all,” Giselle yawned back on the couch. “But I don’t consent with any corporal punishments. You said this is no reeducation camp.”
“It’s not. We merely like our games to have non-trivial stakes,” the blonde said deviously. Giselle already envisioned doing the dishes every night without pay. “Enough introductions. You’re already late. And remember, don’t mention your own name.”
The counselors locked the front door and steered her through the old-fashioned office building. What camp had such a bland, unimaginative headquarters? Where were the moldy cabins and outdoor activities?
They entered a small, windowless classroom, where three girls and two boys were seated, each dressed in casual clothing. In front of them stood a middle-aged man in a suit with a red tie belonging to the eighties. His suit embodied his entire personality.
“Welcome, to YSTC,” he greeted. “You’re late. We almost moved on without you. Please, seat yourself.”
Giselle obeyed, seizing a chair in the back and tipping it against the wall. She suppressed the overwhelming urge to introduce herself to provoke the counselors.
“This afternoon, you will embark on your first mission as spies.”
Giselle grinned. Spies? Lame. Had her parents signed her up for a camp intended for 8-year-olds? The man in his fifties seemed too old and sincere to force teenagers to play stupid games. She had not read the camp’s leaflet.
“Your objective is simple: Purchase all items on your list from the mall and reach your extraction point within 6 hours. It sounds straightforward, but you encounter a formidable foe: your fellow campers. They have your photos, and if they stop you, you lose. And losing, like for a genuine spy, bears severe consequences. You better don’t find out.”
The man’s solemn style amused Giselle throughout his lengthy and tedious briefing. The game was played in public, so unnecessary attention had to be avoided. There were some rules about capturing opponents, but she did not pay attention. Her enthusiastic classmates were silly and asked questions in excitement. She only cared about the laziest way that made her avoid the punishment, likely cleaning or detention.
“Now go. Don’t get caught. Be stealthy. Don’t pull attention to yourself. Omit confidence. Show us what you have in store. Do not disappoint me!” the man continued. The young counselors distributed backpacks with supplies: a phone, map, and shopping list. In addition, it contained cash to pay for the groceries. The amount of detail surprised Giselle: all bags were distinct, and the black minivan with its tinted windows was movie-worthy.
The group halted at a parking lot a mile from the mall and had to leave the van. The other new campers snickered like middle schoolers in excitement, annoying Giselle.
“Your six hours start now. Good luck,” the blonde declared before driving away.
Giselle rolled her eyes. Six hours for a simple assignment was too long, but at least these nerds would not babysit her. She vowed to make the most of her freedom. They had six hours, so spending an hour observing from afar would be strategical, wouldn’t it? Her opponents would be bored too.