↳ 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹: 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙖 𝘿𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙪 - 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢'𝘢𝘮

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[ female reader ]

Footsteps. Lace up boots tread across sandy concrete, approaching the shipping container heavily guarded by patient men. A single nod and the door is tugged open.

Sunlight eagerly pours inside. Echoing footfall briefly drowns the persistent humming of the lightbulb. While they step in, the lone figure stood at the opposite end, back facing them, habitually counts the bodies entering. Five in total. The door is closed but not locked.

"You know why you're here."

You smoothly turn, pacing around the chair to lower into it, one leg crossing over the other. It doesn't go unnoticed the way you meticulously scrutinise each of them.

"Where are the missiles?"

"On the move." You finally answer after seconds of silence.

"Where to?"

"You're the contractor, you tell me."

"You're prepared to let thousands die?"

"People die everyday. They can't help themselves. Conflict, betrayal, wars. They wouldn't be at risk if you hadn't lost your missiles." A faux pout to spike their irritation.

"Your people stole them."

"Now you want my help, yes?" You rest an elbow on the back of the chair.

Boots scrape over stones outside. Then the door opens, a glimpse of blonde hair as the slim figure stubbornly pushes to the front. You wear a malicious smirk, poison woven into your gaze.

"How the hell are you still alive." Bela spits.

"Did you really think you could kill me?"

She takes another step but firm hands on her biceps hold her still. Teeth gritted as she wrenches herself free, staying put while Holland moves closer.

"Enough. You're going to tell us where the missiles are."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because your own task force just tied a loose end." Papers are slid by your feet. You humour them by picking them up and scanning the words. Bastards. They cut you out and put you under new management without so much as a warning.

"I want my phone."

The device is held out. You snatch it, chucking the papers across the floor whilst rising to your feet. Bela gives in to her curiosity, casting her gaze over them as you bring the phone to your ear. Redacted lines and bold red stamped over your personal file.

"[Y/n]."

"Wanna explain what the hell is going on?"

"Sorry, soldier. You became a safety risk the moment they got their hands on you. You're in too deep now."

"You're dropping me?"

"Nothing personal." The line is killed.

Your eye twitches. Slowly you lower the phone in a crushing grip that pales your knuckles. You launch it into the wall where it smashes to pieces.