THE HUNTRESS #1 [EB]

6_The_Mission_I.docx

Havoc Headquarters, Glâne, Romont,
Friday 31 October 2121.

The door creaked open, and Zeurst stepped out of the bathroom, the latch echoing through the room. AJ, sprawled on her bed, looked up, her eyes wide in surprise.

"What the heck are you doing?" she demanded, covering her eyes with one hand while clutching a magazine with the other.

Zeurst rolled her eyes at her companion's dramatics.

"Get dressed," she said, grabbing the bra from the bed along with the rest of her clothes. AJ peeked through her fingers, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Relax. You've seen it all before."

"Yeah, well—"

"What are you doing here? Don't you have class?"

The wall clock's steady ticking filled the room, its hands inching towards half past six. The academic grind wound down between seven-thirty and eight-thirty, each day blending into the next with a monotonous regularity.

AJ sat down, adjusting the braid that adorned the top of her head. "We had individual hour-long simulations today. I was one of the first, so they let me out super early."

Zeurst arched an eyebrow, halting her movements as she fastened her trouser. Her eyes raked over AJ from head to toe. She wore a tight-fitting sports outfit that fused practicality with a hint of allure. The fabric of her leggings clung to every curve, emphasizing the sculpted lines of her legs, while a matching sports bra offered both support and an enticing glimpse of her flat, sun-kissed abdomen.

Her sapphire eyes, framed by lashes thick with jet-black mascara, glimmered with blended eyeshadow in shades of soft pink and muted gold. Her lips, painted with a bold stroke of deep crimson, contrasted with the delicate blush that accentuated her high cheekbones, imparting a subtle flush to her complexion. Her blonde hair, a cascade of spun gold, was pulled back into a long, intricate braid that reached the curve of her backside. A few rebellious strands escaped the confines of the braid, the only hint of imperfection in her otherwise meticulous appearance.

"You look very fresh."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Zeurst shrugged as she secured her black cargo trousers, and tightened her belt, the leather creaking under her grip. "Hey, you heading to dinner yet?"

"Something like that."

Turning to the table strewn with an array of gear, she embarked on the ritual of gearing up for the mission. The shobos slid into the holsters of her thigh. Military and survival knives, each selected for its unique purpose, vanished into discreet pockets along her legs. A compact first aid kit, a pragmatic inclusion, was secured to her belt. A collection of small, double-edged daggers found their place in the harness on her right thigh.

"Do you need help with your hair?"

Now, clad in rugged cargo trousers for the mission ahead, Zeurst shook her head. "Why would I need it?"

Her fingers worked to tuck the black jumper into her trousers before she cinched the belt tighter.

"A loose braid would look super good on you," AJ murmured.

Zeurst approached the bedside table, her fingers pulling open the second drawer. She rummaged through its contents until she found a pair of all-black gloves, sleek and fitted for her hands. Yet, the memory of their restrictive feel lingered. Uncomfortable and impractical. With a sigh, she abandoned the idea and let the gloves fall back into the drawer, opting to go barehanded instead.

AJ, ever persistent, suggested, "Two little bows would look super cute on you!" Zeurst, slipping into her socks and boots, shook her head with a dismissive glare. " How about a little ponytail?" Zeurst didn't even bother responding, shaking her head once more as she made her way to the door. "Wait!"