DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

03| Bargaining

Pleasant Point, Somewhere off the coast of Gibraltar

0700Hours.

Rain relentlessly hammered down, almost like the sky itself had torn open and was drowning the island in pockets of cold water. On the horizon, the sun had barely begun to rise, casting a faint, grey glow over the desolate, uninhabited wasteland. Everything was soaked in misery as Gaz stood watch, his honeyed eyes scanning the barren terrain whilst I crouched in a nearby bush, relieving myself.

The breeze was light, enough to remind me that if it came down to a firefight, I'd have to compensate for the bullet drop. Paint-filled bullets were unpredictable at the best of times, only made worse when it was windy.

"Fury, hurry the fuck up," Gaz's impatient voice drifted over from somewhere nearby, strained with discomfort. I couldn't see him, but he was close enough to sense the urgency in his words, "I need to piss," We'd only landed on this godforsaken island ten minutes ago, and neither of us had thought to use the bathroom before we boarded the plane.

I rolled my eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of my chapped lips, "Yeah, yeah, I'm just shaking it off—in the words of Taylor Swift," my attempt of a joke fell on deaf ears, but still earned an audible sigh from Gaz, who was no doubt fed up of me already.

Our situation was far from ideal. We'd managed to find a semi-secluded spot, good enough to conceal us from any lines of sight, but still making us susceptible to attack. We were sitting ducks here. The visibility was shit, but it somehow managed to work in our favour; the only way anyone would find us was in close quarters. And that was something I was pretty good at.

We'd holed up near some abandoned Cold War era naval base, tucked inside a dilapidated missile silo whilst the ocean breeze slammed into the walls. It echoed around the missile silo, but it was still quiet enough to hear any approaching soldiers.

But even with our setup, pissing inside like animals was not on the agenda.

I cursed under my breath before I told him I'd finished. I stood up, joints cracking as I made my way over towards where Gaz had been keeping watch. "Think anyone's out there, watching us piss in the bushes?" I asked, half-serious, half-joking. Gaz didn't bother to answer, just rolled his eyes as he pushed through the foliage. He wasn't much for small talk, from what I could gather, but he wasn't bad company to be stuck with.

Then, I heard it. Footsteps to my right. It wasn't Gaz, he was somewhere in the thick of the brush to my left. Whoever this was, they were close. Too close. Had they heard us talking? My heartbeat picked up, adrenaline spiking as I felt a hand press against the back of my neck, sliding towards my dog tags. Warm breath fanned across the hollow of my neck, a stark contrast from the frigid air outside. They wouldn't get my tags, I'd tucked them deep between my breasts, hidden beneath my sports bra. The bastard couldn't get to them even if he tried.

Suddenly, there was a burst of movement from where I'd last seen Gaz. It was quick. Precise.

"One kill," Gaz called out, his voice calm and collected. It was my cue, my time to take the person's tags.

My elbow shot backwards, a sharp strike to the hand that encased my neck, yet I wasn't done. I twisted, fingers weaving under the assailant's arm like a serpent coiling to strike. I yanked him close. Face to face with a man I'd barely seen before—his name didn't matter. Not to me. Nothing about him mattered here.

I slammed my forehead into his jaw, bone crunching under the impact, and followed up with a strike to his collarbone. His dogtags were in my hand before he even mustered the ability to react. I tucked them into the zippered pocket of my vest, my eyes determined.