A bullet through time (( an anya white novel ))

[Laverna]

The sixteen-year-old ACME detective, Anya White, skated gracefully across the ice. Her long, whitish-blonde hair swirled around her as she practiced complicated spins and athletic leaps.





She was honing her figure skating talent with the help of her private instructor, Nikolai Kozlov. He was a stern man with a sharp eye for imperfections. Anya hated to admit that ever since she had hired him to help her achieve her goal of competing in the Olympics, she had begun to change in ways she didn't fully understand.





The long, silver blades of her ivory-colored skates cut swiftly through the ice as she turned to face her instructor, who was yelling that she’d messed up again.





Still, Anya didn’t falter in her practice as she slowly skated over.





"You were too slow on the spin. Gained too much weight," he scolded sharply. Any other teenager would’ve stormed off, ready to cry.





Anya kept her head down. "Yes, sir," she muttered as he continued berating her.





Suddenly, her smartwatch beeped. Anya took the chance and skated to the far end of the rink to answer the call.





"Hey, Chief, what's the brief?" she chuckled, trying to fight back the tears gathering in her sky-blue eyes.








"Annie, are you okay? Would you tell us that you're okay?" Chief joked, trying to mask his concern, a crease forming on his digital blonde brow.





"Yes, I'm okay. It's just Olympic training for the tryouts," Anya replied. But Chief’s face turned red as Mr. Kozlov’s voice thundered across the rink, sharp and biting.





"Pathetic! Lazy American half-breed!" he shouted, his tone full of disdain. "You think this is enough for the Olympics? You disgrace yourself with every clumsy step!"





Chief’s image flickered out, making Anya cringe. Her brow furrowed as she bit her bottom lip, sensing what was coming.





Suddenly, he reappeared, his voice booming around the rink. "Hey! Pick on someone your size! What gives you the right to bully her? Is that your job—a professional bully?" Chief barked, his digital figure circling Mr. Kozlov.





Anya skated over, fuming—not at Mr. Kozlov, but at Chief. "Chief, you’re not helping me. Why did you call? Do I have a case?" she said, gliding in smooth backward circles around the two.





Chief’s digital eyes softened as Anya balanced on one leg, circling like a hawk.





“Yes, Miss White. Why don’t we skate away from Mr. Grumpy Pants and discuss the case in private?” Chief replied cheerfully, attempting to mimic one of Anya’s spins.





But his floating head spun violently on the hot pink screen and crashed into a wall, cartoon stars spiraling around him.





“You kids make it look easy,” he grumbled, shaking off the daze.





The C5 corridor opened instantly, and Anya struggled to conceal her smile as she snuck away from her harsh instructor, who was hurling even more insults her way. The holographic portal glittered and shimmered around her as she stepped inside, momentarily escaping the harsh reality of the rink.





.


“Anya, before we discuss what case you’ve been assigned—part of the, hmm, reason you exist, making me a paternal unit—I hate to ask, but why are you paying someone to harass you? Your parents would be worried sick if they heard that. Especially your father,” Chief exclaimed, his digital eyes narrowing with concern as he hovered in front of her, his voice laced with a stern, fatherly tone.





Anya gracefully landed on her skates but struggled to maintain her balance on the slick cement floor. With a quick grab of the nearby table for support, she slid herself effortlessly into a chair, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment wash over her.





“Can someone fetch me some boots meant for walking?” Chief joked as his holographic face wore a playful smirk as he floated around her. His head spun slightly as he searched for a suitable pair of footwear, the faint whirring of his digital presence.








Anya bent down to untie the ribbon-like, silvery shoelaces that adorned her skates. Her long, slender fingers fumbled with the triple knots she had secured before her lesson, each pulls feeling more stubborn than the last.





Her fingernails sparkled with shiny holographic pink polish, glimmering in the light as she worked. As she finally loosened the last knot, a small sense of relief washed over her. The skates clattered softly to the ground,





.


She didn’t carefully place her well-used skates on the cold cement floor next to her; instead, she kicked them aside. Anya pointed her feet, snug in mint green and cream-striped wool socks that came up her calves.





As she sat back in her chair, she began to massage her legs and feet, easing the tension from the long day. The soft wool felt comforting against her skin as she waited for Chief to return with some proper footwear.








She fought the urge to whistle as she waited; it was bad luck to do so indoors, and she didn’t need any bad luck with tryouts coming up in the next few months. Anya avoided black cats and was careful around mirrors, never daring to open an umbrella inside. She made sure to keep her lucky penny in the pocket of her purse,





She didn’t know how to explain to Chief her dream of winning her Olympic gold medal. Traditionally, she was more of a prima ballerina or a computer genius—a top detective at the Acme agency. She doubted the floating head would understand that this goal was hers alone.





And yet, she was mastering figure skating effortlessly, each practice bringing her closer. She continued massaging her thigh, fingers working on a stubborn knot as she lost herself in thought.





A pair of rubbery slip-on sandals appeared a few moments later, materializing on the long rectangular table in front of the unphased Anya White.





They were unmistakably prison shower shoes—cheap and rubbery, an unintentional insult handed to the agency’s top detective. But the third-generation teenage detective accepted them gracefully, slipping them onto her tired, yet delicate feet without a hint of complaint.





“Sorry, Miss White, that’s all we had in stock at this headquarters. Please don’t be offended or insulted,” Chief nervously rambled on. “I couldn’t live with my digital existence if this starts a butterfly effect and you pull a Sandiego on us.”





He continued, explaining how there was nothing else he could provide his top detective, who the agency affectionately dubbed the Ice Queen. The digital head floated anxiously, clearly worried about the implications of the shoes and their effect on Anya’s mood.





“These are fine. They’re clean and walkable, and they aren’t worn in by anyone either. Once we discuss this case, we’ll go back to my home in Moscow, and I can grab my favorite sneakers, da?” Anya replied maturely, showing she wasn’t about to cause a fuss over shoes or the instructor’s harsh verbal lashing. It wasn’t in her nature to rebel or create.





“Buddy, you’re ignoring my question about why you’re spending your hard-earned cash on such a lousy instructor,” Chief redirected, his emotional programming marking this as the most pressing issue to solve.





After a few detectives had turned rogue, Acme’s higher-ups were rightly concerned. They’d implemented numerous measures in the 21st century to prevent insanity from claiming their young agents, and the Chief wanted to ensure Anya was on solid ground.





“He’s the best one. Sure, he’s brutal, but he promised me I would get that medal if I followed his every command,” Anya explained, not seeing any issue with it. But Chief’s processor lit up with a million red flags.





“Ah, young girls falling into the hands of predatory instructors. I knew something was off about you these past few weeks; I just couldn’t place it. Has he ever done anything to make you uncomfortable? What’s his name? I’m going to search Crimenet,” Chief scolded, sounding like a concerned father.





Many Russian Olympic trainers had a history of seriously injuring their athletes, and Chief felt a rush of worry. Chief couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being groomed. She hadn’t felt like herself since the one-on-one training began, and that troubled him even more.





“Anya, sweetheart, I noticed he was chewing you out and spitting you out like chewing tobacco. He had your normally inexpressive face threatened with salty tears,” Chief explained as he floated over and nuzzled against Anya’s soft cheek.





“I need to be the best. I want that medal, Chief. I will do anything to get my hands on one,” she snapped, making Chief jump backward.





He recognized that look in her eyes and shuddered. He could warn her about Carmen being like that all day long, but it wouldn’t stop her from chasing her ambitious dreams.





“Anya, please talk to your parents before we have a repeat of Elena Vyacheslavovna Mukhina in history,” he instructed, his digital brow furrowing with concern. “You know how that turned out—a broken neck because her instructor pushed her too hard. You have to take care of yourself.” He switched gears, diving into the details of the case she’d been assigned, hoping to distract her from the potential dangers of her training.








“There seems to be Very strange V I L E activity radio waves have been picked up by our time pilots. One of Carmen's little lackeys managed to steal a time machine. I’m not sure which agent of hers is behind the meddling with history,” Chief explained dramatically, his digital voice exaggerated as the scene around his holographic head transformed into a chaotic Twilight Zone landscape.





Colors twisted into bizarre shades of purple and green, swirling like a malfunctioning kaleidoscope, while warped sounds echoed—distant laughter mixed with glitchy static that buzzed like a fly trapped in a jar. Images of warped clocks floated by, each ticking backward as if time itself was trying to escape. A ghostly figure flickered in the background, waving like it was caught in a windstorm.





Anya couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdity. “When am I going?” she asked, tapping her smartwatch to pull up the Chromoskimmer app.





“May 21, 1934!” Chief exclaimed, his digital eyes wide with faux urgency, as if he were announcing the start of a chaotic game show.





"Let’s get my shoes and detective gear, then we can do the time warp, ya?" she exclaimed, setting the time on her watch before moving through the C5-corridor she'd personally upgraded to land exactly where she needed.





She tumbled through the portal, landing in a plushy pile of stuffed animals. Scattered around were her high-tech gadgets, neatly organized next to her makeup and the small knick-knacks she’d collected over the years. Despite the room being packed with every interest she'd gathered, there wasn’t a single thing out of place.





Anya slipped into her lavender sneakers, secured with elastic straps, and reached for her light gray, over-the-shoulder backpack. It was packed with everything a detective could need—first aid kit, survival essentials, and her trusty gadgets.





“Alright then. Let’s see what kind of trouble I can find in 1934,” Anya replied, rolling her eyes but smiling at Chief’s over-the-top demeanor. With a quick motion, she activated the device, and just like that, she vanished from the swirling chaos of the Twilight Zone, leaving Chief to bob awkwardly in mid-air, still trying to make sense of the disarray.





Her feet landed gracefully in fifth position in ballet. Her traditional Russian ballet training made her jerky journeys through portals like the C5 corridor and the Chromoskimmer's time portals quite enjoyable. She wistfully thought nobody was nearby; she needed to get down from the single-story roof she found herself standing upon.





She decided it was the perfect time to practice a spinning leap into the air. She wasn't normally so reckless as to jump off a roof, but this roof was short in stature.





She leaped and spun, and as she expected, she landed gracefully on the ball of her feet. She curtseyed. As she quickly straightened up, she noticed two little kids—a boy and a girl—staring at her as they sat on a bench, drinking a Coke from the pharmacy.








“June, I think she’s an angel,” the younger boy whispered to his slightly older sister, who protectively put her arm across her brother.





“Angels don’t dress so indecently. Ma told me that angels dress respectfully,” June complained, her blonde curly hair bouncing with her expressive words.





Anya raised an eyebrow at June. “Romans 2:1: You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.”





With that, she put her hands in a prayer position and quickly danced on her toes away from the baffled children, leaving them in stunned silence.





Anya understood the kids' imagination all too well. With her almost white hair and extremely light blue eyes, she looked like she had stepped right out of a fairy tale. The cream-colored skating practice dress she wore hugged her figure gracefully, its soft fabric flowing as she moved. Beneath it, her barely pink tights blended seamlessly into the pale hue of her skin, while her socks provided the only splash of color, a delicate contrast that caught the eye.





As she turned to leave, her hair tumbled down to the swell of her spine in super shiny waves, catching the light and sparkling like a halo around her. Anya couldn’t help but smile at the children’s awe; she remembered what it felt like to be enchanted by the extraordinary. With a lightness in her step, she danced away, the gentle breeze tugging at her dress, leaving the two kids marveling at the vision of grace and elegance they had just witnessed.





“Please, Lord, allow them to stay innocent and full of wonder,” she thought in a silent prayer as she began scanning for anything or anyone suspicious. Anya realized she was in an extremely small town near a highway, the accents distinctly southern, and the sound of cicadas filling the air with a steady buzz.





its dusty roads lined by wooden storefronts, their paint peeling and signs creaking gently in the warm breeze. A few townsfolk in straw hats and sun dresses strolled by, their laughter mingling with the chirping of cicadas. Children played hopscotch on the cracked pavement, their carefree shouts echoing in the humid air.





She could ask Chief where she was, but that wouldn’t make sense and would only make her stand out more. So, logically, she decided to search for a newspaper. Spotting a small general store up ahead, its weathered sign swinging on rusted chains, she adjusted her dress and made her way toward it,





“Hmm,” Anya thought as she read the sign: “Gibsland, Louisiana.” Nothing about the name seemed familiar or significant.





She glanced around the small town, taking in the dusty streets and sun-bleached storefronts. Everything felt like a scene out of an old photograph, charming yet unsettling. As a half-Russian girl who had seen more of the world than most in her brief years, she felt out of place in this simpler time.





Locals strolled by, laughing and chatting with each other, but she hesitated to approach anyone. They would surely notice her odd clothing and unfamiliar accent. How could you understand what was happening here if you couldn’t ask questions?





Anya took a deep breath and pushed through the store’s creaky door. The bell above jingled, breaking the stillness inside. Dust motes floated in the sunlight, illuminating shelves packed with canned goods and jars of colorful candies. Her eyes darted around, searching for a newspaper or anything that could help her make sense of where she was and what was going on. She needed answers without drawing too much attention to herself.











For a moment, Anya felt a swell of gratitude for her American heritage. She understood the harsh realities her Russian family faced during this tumultuous time. The thought made her shake her head in disgust—her mother had been raised under that oppressive red hammer. Anya often took her American freedom for granted, but standing in America in the 1930s, far from the grips of the Soviet Union, filled her with relief.





She picked up a newspaper and began to skim through the birth announcements, death notices, and advertisements. The pages were cluttered with tales of dying stores and the mundane details of small-town life, nothing out of the ordinary for a publication like this.





.


She left the store empty-handed, realizing she didn't have any American money on her. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She did have twenty-five dollars and ninety-nine cents, but in the year she found herself in, that amount was worth a staggering $611.54.





“That’s just asking to be robbed,” she thought, glancing around the quiet street, suddenly acutely aware of how out of place she felt.





Anya tucked herself into a small corner away from most passersby and rifled through her backpack. She had about 30 Russian rubles with her—leftover change from a shopping trip with Katrina and Victoria before her last skating session. But it was just 31 cents back home, practically pocket change. Here, though, it amounted to eight dollars. She rolled her eyes, thinking, *Not that it’d help me; they don’t expect rubles around here. And the last thing I need is someone calling me a communist.*





Finally, she pulled out a sleek silver device, a digital timeline database the tech wizards at ACME’s lab had dreamed up. It glowed softly as she flipped open the screen. The device functioned by listing historical events from up to four days from wherever she found herself in time.





Anya smirked as the first alert scrolled across the screen: Oskaloosa, Iowa, had just become the first municipality in the U.S. to fingerprint all of its citizens. She flipped forward. The next day? Nothing. But on the third day, at 5:50 AM, the text flashed: *Ambush in Gibsland, Louisiana.* She frowned, not recognizing the significance.





“Chief, who’s Bonnie and who’s Clyde?” Anya asked aloud, her curiosity piqued as Chief appeared floating beside her.





He transformed into a caricature of a bank robber, complete with a fedora, his floating rifle aimed at a cartoonish bank teller in a playful retelling of the events.





“Their infamous criminal lovebirds, cop killers, bank robbers, Robin Hoods!” Chief exclaimed enthusiastically, gesturing dramatically.





Anya raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “Sounds like quite the story. So, what’s the deal with them?”





“Ah, they’ve been on the run for years, capturing the public’s imagination,” Chief replied, his tone shifting to a mock-seriousness. “But in two days, they’ll meet their end in a little town called Gibsland. It’s gonna be a spectacle!”





Anya frowned, considering the implications. “We are in Gibsland.”





Chief's eyes widened. “Yikes. I don’t want to see that.”





Anya glanced around, the cheerful atmosphere of the small town now feeling strangely tense. “So, what should I do? Just pretend I didn’t hear anything?”





“Exactly! Just enjoy your time here,” Chief said, his tone lightening again. “You’re not involved in their story, so stay out of it. Focus on your ice skating and detective work. Leave the drama to them!”





“Right,” Anya replied, trying to shake off the unsettling thought. “Just another day in the life of a time-traveling detective.”








Meanwhile, deep in the woods along Highway 154, Laverna and Devlin crouched low, their hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. They had crafted a daring plan to save Bonnie and Clyde, believing that, in return, the legendary outlaws might take them under their wing.





Laverna glanced at Devlin, her eyes bright with determination. “It’s simple,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We run out of the woods screaming, we need to shoot back as if trying to escape something. We need to be really bloody. When they stop, I’ll act like a girl on the run. Clyde won’t be able to resist helping us. He’s been hunted by the cops since he was our age.”





Devlin shifted nervously. “You really think he’ll see us as just kids?”





“Of course,” Laverna replied, confidence pouring from her. “I might not look much older than twelve. When Clyde sees me, he’ll see a vulnerable kid, and he’ll remember his own past. He has this instinct to protect anyone who reminds him of himself. Just like him, we’re caught in a world that doesn’t understand us.”





The sun dipped lower, casting shadows across their makeshift hideout, and Laverna felt a thrill at the thought of what was to come. They were more than just teenagers lost in time; they were about to turn the tide of their own stories by reaching out to legends. If Clyde chose to help them, it would be a ticket into a life of adventure and defiance against the very forces that pursued them.





She kept hanging up her communicator, knowing her godmother was absolutely furious. If Carmen wanted to punish them, she needed to come to ambush day herself. Laverna doubted that would happen; Carmen hated guns and everything that came with them.





“Just a heads up, you’re gonna have to shoot me,” Laverna sighed, making Devlin raise an eyebrow.





“What? No!” he protested.





“Bonnie and Clyde won’t believe police are firing ahead, unless one of us is shot,” she hissed, her green eyes narrowing. She was tougher when it came to pain; she knew being shot wasn’t fun.





“Fine, but where?” he asked reluctantly.





“My arm or leg—just avoid my torso and head. The shoulder's iffy,” she replied, making Devlin wonder if Laverna was a trained assassin. But she was only sixteen, so he doubted it.





“I’m only doing this because I love you,” Devlin sighed as he and Laverna strolled through the town of Gibsland. They needed to grab lunch and find a motel for the night, planning to finish setting up their scheme the following evening. They knew they had to be up before 5 a.m. on the 23rd, ready for the ambush that would change everything.





Anya sighed, “Nothing is picking up on the time abnormality scanner—well, outside of us.” She wondered if this was all a bust when the device lit up, showing two glowing humanoid figures walking into a cozy diner.





“I spoke too soon,” Anya said as she slipped her device into her backpack. She sneaked toward the pair, and Chief turned his screen invisible.





The diner’s bell rang loudly as Anya swung the door open a few minutes after her targets had entered.

 

[Laverna]

Anya was sure she’d catch up to the abnormalities, yet they seemed to vanish into thin air.





All that remained was their dirty plates, being cleared away by the waitress.





She couldn’t exactly ask if anyone had seen anything unusual—she was the unusual one here. When someone offered her a glass of ice water, she accepted it gratefully.





Anya hadn’t a clue why VILE agents would be here; no crime had been committed yet. If they wanted to go on a date, they could’ve done that back in the 21st century, she thought, bemused. She only knew that at least two agents were in town—but with no evidence of who they might be among the thousands of possibilities.





"Hello, Anya. I see you’re already on the trail." A familiar, disembodied voice cut through the silence, startling her. "I’m sorry about hacking Chief, but I needed to inform you—you’d better catch my darlings, Laverna and Devlin. They’re trying to... well, change fate."





Anya froze, recognizing the voice instantly. Carmen Sandiego.





“What do you mean by that? Umm... Miss Sandiego. Why aren’t you stopping them yourself?” Anya asked, gripping Chief a bit tighter.





Carmen’s voice came through with a sigh. “I can’t risk getting myself killed trying to stop those two. Bonnie and Clyde’s ambush is coming soon, and the lawmen won’t hesitate to shoot. Besides, I'm not about to throw myself into a shootout over Laverna and Devlin's rebellious stunt.”





“So, you’re just letting them run wild?” Anya pressed.





“Letting them? Hardly. But I can’t be there in person, not with that kind of danger. That’s where you come in, Anya. I trust you’ll keep them from making any... fatal mistakes.”





“I don’t know anything about the ambush—where, by who? What guns?” Anya tried to press for more details, her frustration mounting.





“Sorry, Anya, but I’m out of time,” Carmen’s voice crackled with urgency. “You’ll have to figure it out. Just be careful.”





With that, the line went dead, leaving Anya staring at the device in disbelief. She sighed, glancing around the diner as uncertainty gnawed at her. She had to find Laverna and Devlin before it was too late, but without any concrete information, she felt like she was flying blind.











Meanwhile, the two were arguing fiercely in the cramped hotel room, their voices rising as frustration spilled over.





“This is insane, Laverna! You’re risking everything!” Devlin exclaimed, his voice tight with anxiety.





“No, Devlin! This is our moment to make a mark!” Laverna shot back, her green eyes burning with resolve.





Suddenly, in a moment of panic, Devlin slapped her hard enough to send her tumbling to the floor. Stunned, Laverna gasped, feeling the sting of betrayal mix with her anger.





“Why would you do that?” she yelled, scrambling back to her feet, disbelief etched on her face.





“I’m sorry! I just can't watch you throw your life away like this!” Devlin’s voice wavered, the weight of their reckless plan crashing down on him.





“You think I’m doing this because I’m scared? This is my choice!” Laverna retorted, her voice shaking with a blend of anger and hurt.








As the evening dragged on, Anya felt exhaustion creeping in. She rubbed her eyes, glancing at Chief’s floating hologram. “Chief, can I just head back to the present for the night? I could really use a nap.”





Chief’s holographic face lit up with exaggerated horror. “And leave me here on ‘Operation Dusty Stakeout’ alone? No way, Agent Anya! If you poof out now, those two young mischief-makers might pull off their scheme without a hitch! History’ll unravel faster than my grandma’s knitting!”





Anya groaned. “So, I’m just supposed to… hang out here all night?”





Chief gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Bingo! Book a cozy room at the inn, pretend you’re on vacation in the glamorous ’30s! Maybe order up some root beer floats, do a little sightseeing—who knows, it might be fun! But no time-hopping just yet, okay?”





Anya smirked, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll be getting real familiar with the town’s hotel lobby.”





“Atta girl!” Chief cheered, floating beside her. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep you company with my expert commentary on the finest 1930s decor! It'll be like a time-traveling reality show, but with history!”





Anya marched confidently into the hotel lobby, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. “I’d like a room for the night,” she announced to the woman at the reception desk.





To her surprise, securing a room was remarkably simple. All she had to do was sign a piece of paper and hand over three dollars—a small price by her standards, but a fortune in these times.





With the copper room key in her hand, Anya followed a staff member down the narrow hallway. She didn’t have any luggage, so there was no need for assistance. The staff member opened the door to reveal a modest, cozy room with a neatly made bed, a simple wooden desk, and a small window overlooking the quiet street below.





Anya wasn’t surprised too, not have a television in the room yeah she imagined some of her friends would be freaking out right now if they were with her as there was no mini fridge, no microwave or television there was a metal heater and a huge ceiling fan





Anya stepped into the room, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings. The walls were painted a soft beige, and a faded floral pattern adorned the curtains at the window. It felt oddly comforting, a small oasis of peace amid the chaos of her mission.





As she set the copper key down on the desk, Chief’s holographic form flickered to life beside her, a goofy grin plastered across his face. “See? Not so bad, huh? A little slice of 1930s heaven!”





Anya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his antics. “Very funny, Chief. Just because I have a roof over my head doesn’t mean this is a vacation.”





“Come on, lighten up! You’re in the past! Embrace the history, Anya!” he chimed, floating in circles around the room.





She sighed, shaking her head. “Right now, I’m just trying to keep Laverna and Devlin from changing fate.”





Chief’s expression shifted to one of mock seriousness. “You can’t rush genius, Anya. But maybe while you’re here, you could sneak in a little fun. Maybe even try some of that—what do they call it? Soda pop?”





“Maybe after I figure out how to stop a couple of teenagers from getting themselves killed,” Anya replied, glancing out the window at the quiet street, her mind racing with thoughts of Laverna and Devlin.





“Or you could pay attention to your own needs for once!” Chief shot back, his tone playful but his holographic face earnest. “You’ve been working nonstop. A little relaxation could do you some good.”





Anya knew he was right, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency pressing on her. She leaned against the window frame, watching the world outside while mentally running through the possibilities of what could go wrong with Laverna and Devlin’s plan.





“I'm probably going to sleep nude or in my underwear,” Anya muttered to herself, glancing down at her skating dress. “I doubt that's practical or comfortable to snooze in.”





Just then, Chief’s holographic form floated into view. “Wait! What about this?” He pointed excitedly to a fluffy house robe hanging in the bathroom.





“Chief, leave!” she commanded, her Russian accent thickening with irritation.





“Right, right! I’ll be outside!” he said cheerfully, vanishing as she closed the door behind him.





After a refreshing bath, Anya emerged wrapped in the soft robe. She walked over to the desk, gently laying her clothes down before taking a moment to appreciate the cozy atmosphere of the small hotel room.





“Chief, could you send an agent over with a change of appropriate clothing for tomorrow?” Anya grumbled, wrapping the robe tighter around herself. “It appears we were in such a rush to save time that I forgot to wear proper clothing.”





Chief nodded, his holographic form flickering with enthusiasm. “I’ll find someone right away!”





After a moment, he returned with a sheepish expression. “Um, I didn’t have much luck. I’ll keep looking!”





Anya sighed, glancing around her room, wondering if she had a spare pair of clothes in her backpack. As she rummaged through her things, she felt a twinge of uncertainty about what she might find.





Anya found her dark blue denim jeans, light blue short-sleeve turtleneck, and long sports bralette, laying them down with a sigh. She slipped off her light pink plaid scrunchie, letting her long hair fall loose as she glanced at the scrunchie thoughtfully.





"Player, infoscan Bonnie and Clyde," she instructed, and Chief promptly appeared, ready to give her a quick rundown on the infamous pair's lives and crimes.





Chief cleared his throat, then launched into his explanation with gusto. "Alright, Anya, here’s the scoop. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow met back in Texas during the Great Depression and quickly became inseparable. Both grew up in poverty, which probably helped bond them to each other—and to a life of crime. They’ve been hitting banks all over the Midwest for years, mostly robbing small-town places that couldn’t defend against them."





"They started out small," he explained, "stealing cars, petty thefts, but eventually, they moved on to armed robberies and have become infamous for it. They’ve killed about a dozen people, including law enforcement officers. They’re heavily armed, and Clyde is known to be a great shot, especially with a Browning automatic rifle, which they snagged from a police armory!"





Chief continued, "The duo gained public attention after Bonnie was injured in a car crash in 1933, and photos of them posing with guns were discovered at a hideout. The public saw them as glamorous rebels, like folk heroes, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Really, they’re just dangerous criminals who’ll shoot anyone who gets in their way."





He leaned in with a gleam in his eye. "They’ve been hiding and running, but law enforcement’s catching up. In two days, right outside Gibsland, lawmen from Louisiana and Texas are going to ambush them. This is all going to end in a hail of bullets."





Anya rolled her eyes, folding her arms as she regarded Chief. “Fine, Chief, can you tell me about this so-called ‘ambush’ everyone’s so wound up over?”





Chief brightened, more than ready to dive into a history lesson. "Alright, kid, here’s the scoop on the infamous ambush! It all goes down on May 23, 1934, near Gibsland, Louisiana—right around here. A group of six officers—four Texans and two from Louisiana—get word on Bonnie and Clyde’s route and set up along Highway 154."





Anya’s eyes narrowed as she listened, her mind racing with the implications.





Chief continued, floating a map display next to her. "They know Bonnie and Clyde’s car will be passing through that road early in the morning, so they set up their spot in the trees. Once they spot the car, no warnings are given; they open fire—over a hundred shots. Bonnie and Clyde don’t stand a chance. They’re killed almost instantly.”





Anya absorbed the details, her expression tense. “And that’s what Laverna and Devlin are trying to interfere with? They’ll be putting themselves in the middle of a firing squad.”





“Exactly,” Chief replied, his tone surprisingly serious. “They’re aiming to rewrite history—but this is no game.”








Anya’s breathing slowed as she rolled her eyes, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Carmen was playing the coward once again, leaving the Acme detective agency to babysit her goonies instead of handling things herself.





“Why couldn’t they have uncovered a pirate ship?” Anya sighed, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers. “That would’ve been way more fun than this.”





“Chief, what do you know about Laverna? I mean, I’ve heard whispers, but I’ve never actually met her,” Anya said, her voice dull as she forced her body to relax.





“She’s unpredictable,” Chief replied, floating in a thoughtful manner. “And she might be disabled, according to the witness reports we’ve piled up.”





“Is this a crime?” Anya asked, her brow furrowing in concern. Chief shook his head.





“I mean, technically, yes—both aiding and abetting, interfering with justice,” Chief explained. “But I doubt the local police would believe any of us. We’d probably end up in the nuthouse with all the nuts and the squirrels. There I will stay tucked away till the prohibition of little girls.”





With a dramatic flair, Chief broke into an exaggerated rendition of “Little Girls” from *Annie*, his holographic form swaying as if on a stage.








“Chief, focus!” Anya interrupted, trying to suppress a laugh. “This isn’t the time for musical numbers!”





“Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood! But seriously, if Laverna’s as unpredictable as you say, we need to act fast before she does something reckless.”





Anya nodded, her determination hardening. “Alright, let’s get our stories straight. If I’m going to find them, I need to know what I’m up against.”

 

[Laverna]

Meanwhile, in a few rooms down, Laverna sat on the bed alone, having sent Devlin to fetch a Coke as punishment for slapping her like it was some old western showdown.





Reluctantly, she called Carmen on the communicator. “Devlin slapped me,” Laverna sighed when Carmen answered.





“I don’t normally condone violence, but you do realize you’re in serious trouble when you get back. I’m already planning how to discipline you two,” Carmen scolded, causing Laverna to groan in annoyance.





In her room, Anya happily munched on a honey and oats muffin she found stashed in her backpack.





With a flick of her wrist, she commanded Chief to play every movie and clip about Bonnie and Clyde. As she watched, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. "Look at them," she scoffed. “Two kids running wild, and the whole country is scared stiff. You’d think they were revolutionaries or something, not just a couple of outlaws. In Russia, we have far worse—corruption, brutality, and real fear every day.”





Anya shook her head, mocking the panic surrounding the infamous duo. “What is it about Bonnie and Clyde that has Americans so rattled? They’re just a pair of misfits. Meanwhile, my peers back home are dodging real danger. Maybe they should change their names and disappear, just like my friends in Moscow wish they could.” She couldn’t shake the thought that every generation faced its own battles, but hers felt so much heavier. After all, while Bonnie and Clyde rained bullets down on American streets, Anya's friends were fighting against a storm of oppression.





“Earth to Anya, stop comparing struggles? Us Americans have always been a bit eccentric, sure, but you can’t just judge us like that. We’ve never been under a dictatorship,” Chief chimed in, .





Anya smirked, leaning back. “Lucky you, then. Let's hope we never see that day.”





Chief visibly shuddered, his holographic form flickering like he was having a mini-meltdown. His head shook, and his eyes rolled, clearly caught off guard by Anya’s blunt Russian perspective. He realized his reaction was probably the result of a little too much western propaganda and had to remind himself to cool down. She meant no offense, after all.





Mentally resetting himself, he thought, *When was the last time Anya actually spent time on American soil?* Probably a while, he figured, especially given how foreign all of this seemed to her.





It stayed tranquil until everyone seemingly dozed off as the night gently settled over Louisiana. Anya quietly snored while the clock continued its relentless ticking through the darkness.





The chief noticed Carmen attempting to make a call, so he picked up the phone. “Hello?” he said softly, not wanting to disturb Anya.





“I forgot to mention this before, but Laverna and Devlin both attempted to quit vile prior to their journey to 1934,” Carmen tiredly confesses as she shakes her head during the video call.


The chief raised an eyebrow, his impatience palpable as he asked, "And?" Just as the question hung in the air, Carmen abruptly ended the call, leaving a thick silence in its wake

he laughed a bit Carmen‘s teenage goddaughter trying to quit the villains international league of evil seemed odd because what was that scruffy little orphan that has no Social Security number and no residency and any country going to do without Carmen’s protection then it hit him she was gonna join the barrow gang. That’s why she was trying to save them. She was smarter than she looked