Morphine (Complete)

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

A drug exchange occurred in broad daylight.

The cloaked figure crept further into the shadows of the building, feet light on the floor to leave no tracks behind. Her fingers were gloved with protective material, coarse and sheen on the fingertips. The fingers of her gloves clenched into a fist as she entered the enclosed ring at the centre of the building. Men stood around, all adorned by their specific gear, some hooded, some allowing their face to be seen by the world.

This was one of Amir's most well-known drug exchange spots. It was a busy square. Some stalls were lined with pies and delicacies, decorated by smiling women wearing aprons. A show. The figure smiled beneath her hood.

Tick, tick.

Her wrist jutted out quickly, sending a small metallic device skidding across the ground, rolling to a stop by a man's feet. A red dot lit up its side, alerting its owner that it was ready.

Tick, tick.

Another was sent rolling into a stand of weed, clinking lightly against a locked wheel. The red light reflected against the metal.

The figure's smile spread.

It was not the first time this drug ring would be compromised, nor would it be the last. All security there knew full well how to cover up a mess or stop one from being created. The figure's job wasn't to destroy the ring, no, that would be a foolish waste of efforts. It was to gain attention, to attract a name for themselves. They needed to be known by their enemies. Their name, their trade. Their threat.

"Watch it, fuckface," a man snarled, bashing his shoulder into Garcia's arm as she passed. The figure remained unperturbed and continued walking, earning a growl behind them.

Tick, tick.

Using her cloak as a distraction, Garcia turned, letting her last metallic gadget roll off her palm and into the crowd, finding itself at God knew where. Next, Garcia shook her arm, letting a slim remote slide down from her elbow and into her hand. Finger hovering over the button, she allowed herself to lift her face so her masked chin was visible beneath the hood.

"And who do you think you are, sir?" Garcia replied monotonously, voice crackling through the voice changer in her mask. The man growled and she shifted her stance defensively, jutting her hip out to the side. He tensed, she prepared.

Fighting was not permitted within the ring.

A sloppy fist was swung.

Men are so easily fooled, she thought to herself, dodging with smooth ease. A shout sounded out in the crowd, alerting any guards nearby. As the man swung his fist back for another hit, Garcia slammed herself forward, knocking her elbows, lined with padding, into the man's stomach, pressing air out from his stomach before he could breathe. A finger slipped.

The button was pressed.

It started with a faint hissing. Surprised calls erupted from the crowd. People started pushing to get out of the way, to leave, to find safety. Smoke slowly filled the ring from three sectors of the circular ring. Stalls were pushed over. It was an attack.

It was not safe during an attack.

"Fucking bitch!" The man cried furiously. He lunged forward, more composed than before, aim better placed. Garcia took it to her arm. Her breath was warm and sticky beneath her mask.

"Watch yourself," Garcia snapped, pain in her shoulder eliciting a surge of adrenaline through her veins. With a well aimed uppercut, the man's jaw was snapped, and his body was sent falling back to the floor. His body became trampled by the crowd.