↳ 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹: 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙖 𝙭 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 - 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 .𝟐

⍜

[ female reader ]
[ tw; suicide mentions, death ]

"I've got a visual on the target."

"Blink do you have a clear shot?"

"Negative."

"Multiple hostiles!"

Tufts of smoke filter into the air, lenses dropping over watchful eyes to hone in on the figures flying through the shadows. Impatient fingers hover over triggers. Soundless steps through the smoke clouds before guns are fired and devices buzz with shockwaves.

Clangs are heard as lights are flicked on, fake guns being lowered and helmets removed. In sync they turn to face the intimidating man stepping into the training area. It's useless to try to decipher the enigmatic expression he holds.

"Not bad." He briefly scans the blinking devices attached to vests. "Not great either. Five minutes, reconvene." Large arms fold over his chest, the thin sleeves stretching to compensate for his biceps He feels a presence beside him and rolls his eyes. "Don't say it."

"What? That they're terrible?" Emily taunts sarcastically.

Lips form a straight line. "They sounded better on paper. Give me a break, I'm trying."

"I never said you weren't. We knew this wouldn't be easy but it's only going to get harder. We can't keep secrets from them, Chris. They need to know who their real enemies are."

"Stop it," he turns his back to the trainees to face her directly. "She's dead."

"Her people aren't. Their mindset is just as corrupt as hers and they continue to grow stronger by the day."

"The moment we tell them the risks they'll be taking they will walk. I wouldn't blame them. Even I'm tempted to."

Hands drop to her sides. "What?"

"We are trying to rebuild something that was destroyed in the span of seven days. Six years of my life down the drain and for what?"

"Sounds like you've already given up."

"Haven't you?"

"Part of me is still hanging in there. Because part of you is too."

"Parts of us won't win a war." He murmurs before walking away. She sighs at his cynical attitude, flicking her braid over her shoulder.

—

The party file into the conference room and take their designated seats at the mahogany table, wearing satisfied smiles as files are placed before them. Older men merely offer disdainful glances at the women who do so.

Subtle looks are exchanged on their departure, securing the oak doors behind them. They pass by slumbering cameras on their journey downstairs, exiting the stairwell and leaving through the main entrance with their heads held high.

Gas trickles in through the air ducts. Waves rolling into the room through gaps in vents. A man closest to it begins to cough, a flailing hand knocking over his glass of water as he kicks his chair back, shoulders hunched and throat blocked despite the heaving breaths.