"You're late again."
Mick heard, squeezing through the incredibly small exit frame of the crumbling building. And the man who had condemned them both to sleep there all week stood in front of him, wrinkling his brow in displeasure.
Jacques wasn't the type who was often concerned about the wellbeing or comfort of others; even less so when it involved people he wasn't fond of. An example of this was Mick, who reciprocated the dislike and sometimes the hatred. As colleagues, they had a certain respect for each other, but they hid it under layers of resentment and defiance.
— I'll just remind you that I wasn't the one who insisted on staying in that shitty motel. — Countered Mick, tired of the constant nagging. As he passed Jacques he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, making sure he was falling into step beside him.
The man, on the other hand, snorted in exasperation and forcibly set off at his side. Wanting to defend his own, he couldn't help himself and replied.
— Yes, because you would rather spend the night in the bushes. I had forgotten. — Jacques smiled sarcastically then finished — We had to stay somewhere. I wanted to do well for us, and as usual you don't appreciate it.
— Fuck off.
— I'm just saying...
— And I don't give a damn about your 'virtuousness'.
Mick clenched his fists, feeling his patience for the spy's arrogant behaviour slowly fading. He was aware that he wasn't any better with his badmouthing, but by the same token, he felt it was the right thing to do. As they walked, tension hung in the air, as if they were about to slit each other's throats at any moment.
A few miles out of town, in the middle of nowhere, a neon 'open' sign cast a green light in the darkness outside the shop's entrance. The men stopped. After a brief attempt to agree on who would buy the delicacies, Jacques disappeared behind the door. Mick stayed outside.
He put his hands in his pockets and lifted his head a little to look up at the sky. It was cloudless and as black as a vacuum, adorned only by a few bright spots that made up constellations. Together with the cool evening air it created a harmony, something beautiful; a spectacle led by the luminous moon that sent pleasant shivers through the bodies of the onlookers. Mick's lips parted and his eyes lit up in wonder. He wasn't even fully aware that for a moment he had been detached from reality, lost in what was always above his head when the sun went down. He was so busy that he had stopped noticing anything that didn't involve bloodshed, he had to admit. It was getting to him. He had allowed himself to be consumed by his problems and the stress that came with them. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a taste of a better life. He lived like a freak on coffee and cigarettes, with only the smell of gunpowder remaining in his nostrils, and his eyes were accustomed to seeing only violent sights, which gave him a satisfied smile when he took the life of an enemy. Whenever he put down his rifle, however, he would take the time to feel sorry for himself, or to play a game of poker with his buddies. Later he would go to bed, and so on and so forth.
He jerked out of his thoughts as he felt a firm tap on his shoulder, then turned to see Jacques' hostile gaze.
— How many times do I have to say it? — His voice cracked with irritation. — I'm shouting at you and you're ignoring me! Move!
Mundy didn't know what to say. He was confused. He stared at them with his eyes wide open until his attention was drawn back to him.
"Snap out of it!"
And that was the moment he followed the spy back to the base for the end of the day's work. For the rest of the expedition, they didn't say a word to each other. They just exchanged grimaces. When they got there, they went back to their rooms in a tired state and fell into a well-deserved night's sleep.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
In the morning, it was chaos again. The alarms announced a wake-up call, followed by all the mercenaries pacing the corridors in a state of disgruntlement, trying to regain consciousness. When it was time for breakfast, they gathered in the dining hall. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and bacon wafted through the air, whetting their appetites. They sat down at the table.
— What's wrong with you? — Mikhail asked, wrinkling his nose. He didn't like the way Sniper and Spy looked at each other when things got tense between them, and for no reason. — How bad was the week?
They exchanged hostile glances and Jacques replied with no hesitation.
— Apparently our dear colleague Sniper didn't like it — he shrugged with a mocking smile on his face — and yet he'd ignored me for five minutes like an obsessed man just to stare at the sky. He resented me for asking if everything was all right.
Mick listened with awkwardness, the only one who had any idea that half of what the spy had said was untrue. He looked away in shame. Then he got up from the table and fled from the room, leaving his meal untouched.
— Well, you see how it is with him. He clearly has problems — he added after a moment, satisfied that his words had offended Sniper as far as anyone could tell — but the worst thing is that no one will know what they are!
Meanwhile, Sniper slammed the door to his room. With a mournful sob, he threw himself onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow.
— What a mangy scoundrel... — he thought to himself, still unable to believe that in the space of a week he had managed to turn Spy against himself. He hadn't even done anything to him. He'd just stayed away from him, not wanting to get involved. But the faker had the ability to manipulate others and made Mick's life miserable several times now. Mick could not put into words how much he despised him.
— If I could put a bullet between your fucking eyes, I would! — He roared with hatred, trying to let out the negative emotions he had been repressing. This had been going on for a dozen years. He was tired of pretending to be a well-known, easy-going guy with a stoic exterior. He couldn't continue like this, but he was just beginning to let it show, and it was a pity that the first person to find out was a Frenchman. — I hope that such shit also happens to you!
And then something inside him snapped. He had a feeling that he wasn't himself, but he had a hunch that it was just the process of his 'transformation'. He clutched the pillow tighter and started screaming, then laughing madly.
