Viper 1-1, on standby.

44: Gluttony

Eat! - Maysun "The Glutton" Botros

Maysun PoV:

The digital clock read 4:36 as I sat in my bed, struggling to make sense of the past few days. Next to me was one of my most trusted bodyguards, Pedersen. He was wearing a jet-black jacket, coat, and pants. Around his neck was a ruby chain which he fiddled with in one hand while the other was busy with a Rolex. He reminded me of a man who I had worked with in the past. Couldn't remember the name, though.

"So, two of our men just disappeared? And the boss is ordering us to stay?" I questioned, not understanding anything going on.

Pedersen: "Unfortunately." He responded.

"ублюдок!" Pedersen held his face in his hands as I exclaimed in the only other language I knew that wasn't English. "Have you tightened up security?" I probed on.

Pedersen: "Да ." He responded. Pedersen had only been with the organization for a couple of months, but he had a determination I envied. His few months with us had led to us seizing control of an atomic bomb just a day before now. Only me, the Blazkovicjh brothers, and the boss knew of it, including Pedersen, of course. We were still debating on where we would drop it.

Pedersen, one of the smartest blonde people I knew, had a very buff build, born in Saratov, Россия. He had been working closely with Russian gangs since his childhood, and openly disagreed with the Communist ideology, seeing Capitalism as a much more beneficial alternative.

I disagreed with his views but smartly acknowledged that making discord between you and your bodyguard was not an ideal predicament. Plus, I had no other reason to dislike him.

My phone then beeped an 8-bit version of Legend, by The Score. I picked it up as the sound of a familiar voice came through.

Insomnia: "We need you at the war room, Glutton." His tone ticked me off a bit, but there was no way I would speak back to my supervisor.

"I will co-," I replied, leading to him hanging up the phone before I even finished speaking. I wrapped my arm over my large gun and sighed as I rethought my life choices.

Me and Pedersen left the room, locked the door, and made our way to the war room.

"Варшава?" I whispered at a volume so low that even I couldn't make out what I said.

"Нет, у нас в Польше тысячи людей." He muttered.

We made our way to the war room as Pedersen opened the door for me. A small show of respect, but exponential to my gratitude for him. The younger Blazkovicjh spoke as we closed the door.

Insomnia: "Fuck took you two so long?" His brother reached over the table and grabbed him by the shoulder before digging his knuckles into the side of his head.

刽子手: "Shut up." He sternly ordered his younger sibling as Insomnia sat down, rubbing the side of his head. He cussed out his brother and then silenced himself.

Pedersen: "You guys got any idea where we're dropping it?" He said with his strong Russian accent accompanying his words.

刽子手: "This meeting is actually about you and Glutton being sent to the nearby base. We've got a bomber jet which we can use to drop the bomb. Stole it from someone who had been from the Air Force of America." He said, pointing at us as he mentioned. He took off his glasses, blew into the lenses, wiped them with a handkerchief, and then put them back on the bridge of his nose. "We chartered a van to come pick you up. It should be outside in a few." I nodded while Pedersen's hands halted, which had been fiddling with his Rolex. "Best of luck, lads."

El Timeskipo Hath Returned Once More

We were sitting in the van when its movement stopped and the driver looked back at us.

Driver: "Check the windows." He said. Pedersen looked through the window and looked back at me confused.

Pedersen: "Eh- There is nothing, are you okay, comrade? Continue." He stuttered. I never heard him do that before.

Driver: "Alright then..." He muttered as he resumed driving. Just minutes later we reached the base, which was hidden in the woods. A jet was concealed under a camouflaged tarp.

The driver walked out towards the front of the van and made hand movements, signaling him and us as friendly. From the bushes came ghillied agents, who opened the back of the van and watched our six. Once they had gotten us out and the driver had moved the van, they disappeared back into the grass. I noted the unusual precautions and shrugged them off as another effect of the fact we were carrying a nuclear bomb.

My large 6P-41 was held by my sling, which I named 'Шея-ублюдок' due to how it gave me neck pain. It made me look cool though, and also had the benefit of making it easier to carry my gun.

I went directly to the base superintendent and awaited my order. As long as this place was in danger, I would do whatever needed. I had unwavering resolve that Pedersen would do the same.

My order was to protect the bomb itself, and, in the case of failure, sacrifice it.

I had nineteen different high-ranked agents protecting me, as well as Pedersen. I knew that with Pedersen, and the nineteen agents, we would not yield or be unsuccessful in our attempts of defense.

In reality, I believed that Pedersen and I would be the most important assets. The rest would most likely cease to breathe following any conflict.

The first few hours went okay until an explosion came from nine different locations. I had been sitting down, eating a bag of Moskovskiy Kartofel, when I had dropped them at the sound and rumbling. I took place with Pedersen at the half-wall as gunshots rang throughout the base.

"Педерсен, ты готов?" I strained out as I struggled to pick up my gun, still waiting for the combat muscle memory to kick in.

Pedersen: "Полагаю, что так." The door and walls to the makeshift hangar exploded open and bullets flew as I fired at the door and others attempted to fire back at the smoke which had quickly filled up the holes in the walls.  Strangely, I was kicked to the ground from the side where Pedersen was. My gun fell on top of me and I struggled to lift it off of my stomach as I attempted to fire back at my attacker.

"Педерсен! Где ты?" I yelled, continuing to fire until my magazine had emptied. From above me the glint of a barrel shined in my face. In my peripheral, I could witness agents being killed brutally.

"Педерсен?" I said as the glint moved close enough to my head to the point where it no longer affected me. The barrel clicked as I saw Pedersen's face come into view.

Pedersen: "My name is Akshai, my friend." His cold words sent a shock through my spine.

Alekseyev?

Alekseyev: "Akshai." He said as he whipped out a revolver and unloaded the chamber. I felt chills in my bones. I tried to grab out my sidearm but the attempt was useless; Now I was being held down. "Procter." He now was standing over me and loaded a singular bullet. "Alekseyev." He whipped the chamber back into the Revolver. "How did the saying go? Один раз шакал, навсегда шакал?" I nodded and gulped. "Yes, прямо по деньгам, да?"

The last sound I heard was the booming sound of the gunshot.

1282 Words.