Greyhound

5.

The next day, it seemed as if the group of 9 had already started to disperse into small groups. Zandra, Harriet's son Otto, Alfie Whitemore and Ryan Mitchell sat in the corner of the room, laughing at something Ryan, must have said. Sat in the two corners of the room was Isaac, his helper at his side, occasionally talking to him. In the other, was Jason, who sat with his head low and tried to push aside any loud laughs. At the other side of the room stood Kira and Gray, who didn't speak a word between them. Kira was the girl who Gray sat next to yesterday in the briefing, and since then, they had some sort of acquaintanceship form between them.
"I can't stand them," Kira muttered as she glanced over at Zandra at the others, a thick Russian accent falling on her lips. "I can't stand most people. I like very few."
Kira was the first friend Gray remembered having, so it felt strange talking to someone who wasn't Dylan. As strange as it was, it was nice to have Kira to talk to. They didn't speak much, they only briefly spoke before sitting in silence, but that was fine for them. Kira wasn't the talking type anyway.
"I can't understand why she wants us to bond with them. It's only a mission to protect the world."
"I used to do that once." Gray spoke, the words falling from her lips unknowingly. The room fell silent. Kira looked at her, not in a way that suggested she was weird, but in a way that made people think that the witch, who had barely said a word to anyone since she got here, actually understood the mad girl after all. "When I was 14 I was recruited I into the French Army. All the kids were doing it. Every child over the age of 13 had to sign up for it. You got paid, too. It was awful. France was in such poverty back then, and my family was one of the worst off, I had to take the opportunity. They were training us, you see. Training us to become soldiers. My brothers were too young to go, so I had to. My mother was devastated. The people signing us up informed us all that it would be a one way journey. I wasn't going to see my family again.
"Whilst there, you'd see kids with guns, some were almost bigger than them. It was tragic. We didn't even know what we were fighting for. Freedom? France had been its own country for years, so what were we doing there? In training, I was treat like everyone else. Get a gun and shoot it. But they soon saw me as something different, so when I was 15 they took me into the French Secret Service, working in a part of the Paris Catacombs. That was when I became Greyhound. An assassin."
The room fell silent as they watched Gray speak. They were mesmerised; the girl who refused to speak, the girl they all thought was broken, had finally spoke.
Zandra soon broke the silence. "My mom died when I was born. Grown up with four older brothers and my dad. He used to be a soldier, till he lost his leg. When my brothers were 16, he trained them in combat and all that stuff, and coz' I was the only girl, I thought it was cool. I was 8. When k was 16 I'd learned everything there was to know, so I tried to join the army, only to hear that my brothers had all been killed. Dad couldn't stick it. Soon became an alcoholic and lost his mind. I ran away, joined the forces once more, and then somehow I find myself in this dump." Zandra said, never taking her eyes from Gray. "I didn't know you'd lost your family."
Before Gray could say anything, a tearing sound filled the room, and as the others looked around the room, confused, blonde haired Alfie Whitemore tried to contain the wings exploding from his shirt.
"Alf, you okay?" Ryan Mitchell, who's hair stuck up in a smooth and elegant quiff, nodded at the boy noticing his distress. Alfie only grunted, wrapping his arms around his back as if he was trying to wrestle himself. Before anyone could actually do anything, Alfie's shirt had ripped apart, exposing not only his chest, but two large white wings.
"That's more comfortable." He muttered, his wings stretching and flexing as he spoke.