Operation Vanity

t h r e e

Dedicated to @ruboxed

"Your genetics load the gun. Your lifestyle pulls the trigger,"
~Mehmet Oz

Jazmine Holt

A loud bang echoed into the distance, leaving a constant ringing sound in my ears. Despite wearing noise cancelling earmuffs, my newly designed handgun was in need of an extreme silencer. Besides that, the gun flowed perfectly with perfect trigger calibration.

I took cover behind an empty trash can and waited for the next target. Through the corner of my eye I quickly noticed a pale marked figure approaching me. With a racing heart, I pulled the trigger and let the bullet fly freely.

The lights flashed back on as I stood up from my hidden position.

A single line of slow clapping burst from the doorway.

"Training for the upcoming mission?" my best friend Agent Greyson asked.

"No, just testing out this new project," I gestured to the gun in my hand while looking at the now limbless target dummies that lied limp on the floor.

"Nice, but it's a bit loud," he observed, "Especially for an E.B. handgun."

I nodded, "I'll have to design the silencer after the mission."

In a few hours we would be leaving to California for what would be my second undercover mission. In my first undercover operation, I worked as a simple diner girl. The objective was to expose the manager for selling homemade moonshine in bulk to anyone who payed him. That was a year ago- this is my first time going on the field since then. While that mission took around two months, this one is estimated to take around ten months.

This is technically Greyson's first undercover mission. He was nervous yet excited. I wasn't nervous for him, I knew whatever the world would throw at us- we could handle. I don't mean any of this romantically, Greyson is like an older brother to me. That, and he already has a really sweet boyfriend named Vance.

Tomorrow was briefing day at the godforsaken ass crack of dawn. I can handle getting shot, nearly drowning, and getting bitten by a rabies infected guard dog- but waking up early is a completely different story. Unlike most people, I absolutely hate the taste of coffee. This makes me practically dead on my feet as well as my brain. To be honest, I can't function or do anything before 7:30 in the morning. It's quite an inconvenient way of living.

"I should buy one of those surfboard key chains with my name on it," Greyson joked.

I frowned playfully, "No offense, but no gift shop is going to have a keychain with your name on it."

"Oh yeah, first world problems," he rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, you can just get a surfboard keychain with the name Fabio instead," I said reassuringly.

"Mi nombre es Fabio Mantoyo. You killed my father, and I am here to kill you," he half quoted the Princess Bride in a deep and thick Spanish accent.

We burst out laughing and I nearly choked.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out.

"We're leaving in a few minutes. Your bags are in the car," the text from my father said as I repeated it aloud.

"I hope the others are nice or something," Greyson said nervously fiddling with his hands as we walked to the garage.

"It'd suck if it were like high school all over again," I said as he agreed.

I think a major part of the reason why we both graduated high school a couple years earlier was because of the unfriendly environment and social statuses. One should expect that the youth of our age should be more understanding to everyone's ideals and preferences. Everyone's opinion should be respected, even if it isn't theirs. But no, Greyson and I had to keep our circle small. In the classrooms we were safe. The teachers praised us for our high grades and respectful attitudes.

In reality, it was an inverted facade.

Out in the halls, was a completely different story. There was a deathly routine that seemed to embed its way into our schedules. We weren't bullied helplessly or anything- in fact we were more than capable of handling ourselves. But everyday, we found ourselves fighting a group "God loving" baseball boys.

We didn't start the fights. This kid named Max would act like Greyson was some sort of reincarnation of Hitler. It escalated when a kid threw a bible- a leather bound collection of religious beliefs and stories in almost a thousand pages- at Greyson's head.

Then came the parking lot fights and our little group of friends soon became a group of "angsty badasses" with "violent urges." I guess it wasn't that bad, after both of our groups got suspended, the others showed a little bit more respect. We didn't make any new friends after that.

There were fist fights, verbal fights, and little things done to sabotage each other. I guess all that played a part in our training. It was two years of constant offense and defense. The enemy was in the form of someone and something no different than ourselves. After we graduated, Greyson and I stuck together.

And well,

Little did we fucking know...