𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 | charlize theron

andy; conflict

People drop around me, earth and blood becoming a soldier's perfume. Bullets fly past my body, and by some insane luck, miss. As a woman, I shouldn't even be here, fighting in a world war on American soil. Unsurprisingly, there are very few of us women here and British ones at that. I battle my way back over the barbed wire and into the trench, with its disease. Trench foot, anyone?

"Private L/N! We need you on the front." Lance Corporal Smith shouts. I just got back, and I'm already being sent back out? My life is ending right now.

"Yes, sir." I salute.

"Good luck, private." He shakes his head gravely.

"We need a hell of a lot of that. Fucking twat, you know no one here is coming back." I mutter, taking my place amongst the men. The acidic mix of blood, sweat, and testosterone fills my lungs.

Suddenly, we're all rushing across the battlefield with brutal force and determination. But that won't ever be enough. The Germans meet us in no man's land, and it quickly becomes a bloodbath.

Beside me, I see a group of four that fight far too well to be untrained. I take cover behind their fighting figures and take out a grenade. I throw it and wince as three Germans fly away from its impact. The group looks at me wide-eyed. "What?" I question, grabbing my gun and heading to the next cluster. They follow not too far behind.

"I thought there were no girls allowed on the battlefield." One of them says. I take a look at him. Her. Female.

"You don't look too male yourself." I comment sarcastically. Her hair is cut short, her blue eyes search mine, and she has defined cheekbones. She's pretty.

"I like her." A guy with dark curly hair and moustache says. In my moment of distraction, our opposition sneaks up on us and sprays us with a magazine of bullets. I watch as the others drop first after attempting to cover me, but pain fills my senses as I'm hit also.

I pull out my hand gun and shoot him through the head. Blood starts to fill my lungs. I don't want to die yet. My eyes slowly start to flutter closed. Fucking war. Fuck you world.

My mind feels like it's racing at a million miles an hour as their faces rush through my mind. The two men who seem to be a couple, the other guy - tired but young and the woman. Authoritative, but pained and almost lonely. Then the final girl, she smashes her hands on the iron cage as bubbles spew from her mouth. Her body becomes lifeless before it starts to struggle again. The cycle is never ending.

Very quickly my senses are going off like sirens. I shoot up from my position on the ground, bullets dropping from my skin, mud streaked on my face. The woman and three men are watching me. They were dead. I try not to throw up, unsuccessfully. Hands pull my hair from my face. The sickness stops. Once my brain catches up I have thousands of questions.

"How the fuck did you survive that? Wait. How the fuck did I survive that?" The words blurt from my mouth before I can stop them. Feebly the woman offers her hand.

"We don't have long so come with us and we'll explain."

"I don't have a choice do I?"

"No." She smiles, though not unkindly.

"Getting up, growing up and hopefully not throwing up." I sigh, trying to lighten the mood. They smile at my attempts to take this lightly. I lift myself from the ground and they take me back to the trench. I follow them through the ditches I've familiarised myself with for the past few years.

After a very long explanation I've concluded: A - I'm a freak of nature. B - Andy is extremely attractive, and C - I'm immortal. Whatever. Totally not freaking out.

"So we never die?" I muse.

"Not exactly.." Andy attempts to explain, but I beat her to it.

"It just stops one day then?" I question. It seems the only logical answer.

"She's smart too, told you I liked her for a reason." Joe smirks. Nicky takes his hand and shakes his head at his husband's antics. They're cute. I want that at some point, but I probably can't now.

"We better act a little more traumatized if you want them to think we're normal." I sigh, glancing at the Lance corporal who is overseeing our 'recovery'. "Wouldn't want them to think we couldn't die or anything." I remark. They laugh at this.

"I like you Y/N L/N. You'll fit in perfectly." Andy whispers in my ear as she passes by and I swear her hand brushes my thigh. Maybe it's just wishful thinking.

Conflict does that to people.

...

A/N : might make a part two. Would anyone want that???