Spy in Training (A One Direction/5sos Fanfic)

4. The Finger Painting Killer

4. The Finger Painting Killer (Somewhat edited)

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"Alright, baby chicks," I announce. "Direct me to the," I look to my iPad of a file, "Gus Bus? You named a bus Gus?"

They all giggle like little princesses, but stop when I begin to leave the room.

"The Gus Bus is our bus!" Michael persists. Oops?

"There are two buses. You'll be in both, but the bands will be divided, seeing as some of us have other musical interests," Harry chimes in.

Niall looks heartbreakingly annoyed and mumbles, "Well, I don't like bubblegum pop, I like punk pop, or punk rock, or whatever these guys define their music to be today." The rest of his band produce dramatically fake gasps and all synchronize their faints. "I could be the fifth second."

"You gotta learn how to surf before you step on our turf," Calum taunts.

"I can surf," Niall pouts in desperation.

"The internet," Luke finishes.

Now the whole room begins to crack up. For the nine days I've known the boys, not once has Niall shown any interest in kicking the football around, going running with Michael and Louis, or actually swimming instead of floating like the lazy noodle he is.

"Mackenzie, I'll take you to the your bus," Niall grabs my wrist and leads me to a red and black double-decker. "This is the jerkface bus. I will be in the young and beautiful bus," He says whilst pointing to the yellow and red bus a few rows back.

"Last time I checked, Zayn was the vain one."

"This quiff doesn't do itself. If I'm going to get along without posing for nude photoshoots, then my complexion needs to be per-fect."

"Complexion?" I mock as I hit the button for the doors to open.

I thank him and drag my luggage up to the top where the bunks are located. Each one has a name tag, but mine is on a bottom bunk. A soon-to-be-top-class spy deserves better (in other words: I don't do bottom). Zayn will have to deal with the bottom. I switch the tags and move on the closets; however, being the lazy ass I am, I shimmy the fat box into the cubby.

Next up is the bathroom. I might as well check it out before the rest of the boys board the bus. I fiddle around until I find the little button. The agency isn't making this easy for me. With a push, silent shifts in the corners of the bathroom transform the eggshell yellow hue into a blue glow. James Bond much?

My thoughts become a distracted mess when the weaponry shifts into its slot.

One wall is has a giant section of knives. There are:

· two BR320102BL boot daggers with G-10 handles,

· three SGST06 SOG-TAC autonomic knives with black tactical drop point blades,

· a 51030 5.11 tactical alpha scout pocket knife and a MTF-4TI chaos 3, folder, Tanto, titanium Mantis tactical knife,

· and finally a DOH107 stratofighter covert folder, clip point, and two RC5SOD ESEE Model-5 survival knives.

Another is filled with beautiful riffles and pistols:

· a B.E.A.R. 2012040 Adcor defense riffle with a 16" barrel, 223 Remington/5.56 NATO Calibre with 6-position collapsibility,

· two AR-3)A1 30A1B300 Armalite riffle with a 24" barrel, and 300 Winchester Magnum calibre

· three 1911 22101911B American Tactical Imports, German made, with 5" barrels, 22 long riffle calibres, and black synthetic grips