June 2nd, 1942 — Paris, France

"YOU HAVE TRAINED FOR THIS. For over four years now, you have given your all for our cause." Franciszek Broz walked down the line, eyeing the five in front of him. Magda stared ahead within the bunker underneath the streets of Paris, France. It was her first time visiting France, and when she looked at the boy next to her, no older than herself, she didn't think she wanted to be back. "You have bled for this cause. You have killed for this cause." Maciej Czajka's eyes flitted downwards to the floor. Long scars ran down his stern face.

Franciszek paced down the line. Magda thought he looked like a fallen angel in the dim light of the oil lamps that lit the small room that they were confined to. She dared not look behind her, where she knew she would catch the eye of the unknown British SOE agent, another unknown Dutch resistance leader, her old mentor from Munich's resistance— Berchtwald Abel, and Yuri Kuznetsov, a Soviet Partisan.

"Magdalena Rothschild, step forward." She stood at attention before Broz, saluting him stiffly. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile, the only smile she ever saw during war. "You have earned your spot with us today. I must show thanks to Berchtwald for his close mentorship." He pinned her chevrons to her uniform proudly. "Our only woman to get this far."

Maciej, her only friend out of the other four, smiled softly to her. The boy she met two years ago, was an unlikely alley which Magda would never spend a day without thanking the lucky stars for. Maciej Czajka had come from Łódź, Poland, leaving behind his four siblings and two parents to join the resistance in Poland. Like Magda, he too would be promoted. The other three young men next to Maciej, Magda did not know well enough at all, only briefly by their aliases — a Brit, a Nederlander, and a Soviet. The Russian was perhaps the youngest of them all, for Magda and Maciej were 21 and 22 respectively, and the British man's age remained unknown to them. He had a well-taken care of beard and a pair of round eyeglasses. The Dutch man could not have been older than 23 if she remembered the debriefing correctly. That pinned the Russian as no more than 19 years old, with a pale, clean shaven face, and light brown hair that was gelled back in a similar manner to Maciej's dark locks.

"'Void' is what we shall call you now." Magda accepted the title with grace. Sometimes the names were random, and other times they were not. When Magda thought of hers, she was unsure whether Franciszek had planned this long ago when he got word of her rise through the ranks, or if he simply chose off of a list. She would like to believe it meant something about her, but she would not learn for some time. Franciszek's eyes flitted between the five men and woman before him with a grim smile. "At ease, soldiers. You've earned the right."

When Maciej patted her on the shoulder that night, Magda was not at ease. Not even when he congratulated her, along with the rest of their comrades. They were all given their awards in private, and honored publicly among a small group of allies in a nice Parisian setting that had the perfect cover. It was strange to talk so openly of politics within a country that had been occupied by the Nazis long ago.

"Magdalena. . . " His voice trailed off, the name rolling off of his tongue with grace. She would never get used to how he spoke to her, like she was both strong and fragile at the same time. Maciej spoke her name like it was something to be proud of. "What troubles you?" He crouched before her where she sat on the cushion within the headquarters.

"My brother will die at my hands tonight, Maciej. And there is not a single thing that I can do to stop it," She trailed off, pinning up a strand of blonde hair into her bun. Her friend pulled her into a hug. He rubbed his calloused thumb over the silk of her navy blue gown.

"No more tears, Magda." He wiped a trickle that had fallen down her cheek before it could mingle with her rouge with the pad of his thumb.

Yes, she could have loved him.

December 12th, 1938 — Munich, Germany

  "DO YOU THINK YOU SHOW PROMISE?" The soft, stern voice of Mr. Abel asked her, holding her jaw up so he could look into her eyes. He stared at her, searching for something which he seemed to have found in her steady gaze. Did she show promise? Magdalena did not think that she did. "You have little muscle, but strong enough bones. Perhaps strong enough." He pinched her skin between large fingers, testing the flesh of her forearm. "You bruise very fast."

"I can shoot." And it was true, though Magdalena purposefully left out the true nature of her aim. She had shot down a bird once with her father's gun as a child — A vulture feasting on a corpse hung in the center of town. She shot the bird down when it tried to fly off, angered at its treatment of the body.

"So, you can shoot, then. But what else, Magdalena?" He asked her softly. All she could stare at when he crouched in front of her, all six and a half feet of him, was that he needed to groom his eyebrows much better. Any longer, and Berchtwald Abel's brows would grow to hang over his blue eyes. "What makes you more special than the boys that have come through here? Why should I take you in? Is it because you are pretty?" He hummed, looking at her scornfully.

"Because I want to liberate my country," She managed to grit out between clenched teeth. Abel stood up, inhaling a breath that she could hear. He sighed, and Magdalena could see the puffs of breath in the winter air. "Sir, I want to free them from themselves. I have abilities, sir. I can shoot, I can sew well enough, and if you would have me, I could do anything else you might need." Magda's bright eyes looked forward in ignorance of the scrutinizing stare.

"You have grit, child, I will admit." Berchtwald took out a cigarette from his pack, before grabbing another and handing it to the seventeen year old girl in front of him. He lit it for her, and lit his own. "Rothschild, you have nothing I could possibly want that I could not get from one of my men." Her shoulders dropped. "They are older, more experienced fighters than you. They are men, not a skinny, German girl."

"Sir—"

"But," He held up a hand to silence her. "You have nothing left to lose. You have nothing to gain from all of this," He told her, gesturing around them to the dingy building that would be ignored by all military presence for now. "A child with nothing left to lose is dangerous. And I need that for what will come."

Berchtwald Abel would need a girl like her, because in the coming months Germany would gain power, and life would get tougher for many people. Within a year, a war will have broken out and Poland will be invaded. The Nazi Party would make frequent arrests, urgent house calls, book burnings, and more countries would fall to the great power of Adolf Hitler. Abel was never a religious man, but this girl had more promise than he would dare tell her and he would thank whatever god was out there for her.

"I will take you in and train you myself."

June 3rd, 1942 — Paris, France

              MAGDA SHEATHED A KNIFE underneath the silk fabric of her dress. The dress was simple, with a navy blue color that complimented the blonde of her hair and the light blue of her eyes. If there had been no war, she would have thought herself to be beautiful. She enjoyed the simplicity of the dress, and the breathability of it. In other circumstances, she might have imagined herself getting ready for a date out on the town. She had never been to Paris until now, despite having visited France once before. The city of love gleamed in the moonlight, and Magdalena took a handful of minutes to stare out over the edge of the balcony of the hotel she was set up at. On the bed lay her white gloves, and her case with a Soviet Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle.

Her front door opened to reveal an elegant young British woman named Eleanor Hess. She smiled meekly at her perch outside, ignoring the dark look on Magda's face when she turned to face the intruder. Eleanor had a job that Magdalena Rothschild would never be able to take on — seducing Nazi soldiers, including the S.S. Magdalena was too obvious with her expressions, never the actress of her family. She was blunt, and rude at times, especially nowadays when she had such a short fuse. She knew she was not helpful for such a situation.

"Are you ready?" Eleanor asked her calmly, clasping a pearl necklace to her neck. Magdalena nodded after a moment, striding back inside and shutting the door to the balcony, and closing the windows. "You know your cue, I assume?"

"I do, Hess. I was assured that you are trained to leave when necessary?" Magda asked the woman, itching for a quick mission with no hiccups. Magda had once been polite with her words. She had no time for errors or misconceptions this time.

"Of course." She smiled, showing off pearly white teeth that Magdalena could not imitate if she tried. She knew nothing of Eleanor, or her life in England, but she expected nothing less from a rich girl involved with the higher-ups. "You must know that this is not the first time for me. I suspect this is not your first?" The twinkle in her eye was daring.

"Of this caliber, no. I have seen worse," Magda's German accent could not be hidden any worse, not that she needed to hide it from a girl around her age who most likely had seen pieces of her file already. "Ready when you are."

"Shall we?"

author's note —

🌜act one is basically just gonna lead up to the first episode of the show. i have some cool ideas for creating a backstory cause i had a big brain moment.

🌜freddy carter is who i imagine maciej, but feel free to imagine whoever! casting isn't a big priority to me in this story.