Risk and Rebel's Guide Book

LOW > EXCERPT

LASAR HQ

--

Low had been railing on a punching bag for a little over an hour without interruption. A small part of her was surprised Catatonic hadn't come looking for her yet, but the bigger part of her was pissed about her last op had gone. 

In short: not well.

It had been one of her Lone Ranger missions, as Cat had so fondly termed them, and though over all it was safe to count it as a success, the means through which said access was achieved were less than desirable. Her job had been to outthink and outmaneuver an infamous Spanish mob boss, who was notorious for picking apart highly trained military members, as well as accumulating a mass of dangerous knowledge (political and otherwise) in the process. 

Boss didn't like him. He'd rubbed Boss the wrong way on a brief encounter (where Gunner had been present, and had attested to getting a weird vibe from him), and made subtle threats suggesting LASAR should stay away from his empire in total unless Boss wanted a war. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Boss saw fit to send his best strategist to take care of him.

 The only problem was, the briefing that Low had gone through hadn't been detailed enough. It clearly stated that Fausto was an adept strategist, likewise skilled in infiltration, interrogation (via various means), and all around getting his way. Low went into it considering him to be an overly narcissistic mob leader who should go down relatively quietly.

In reality, the process of taking him out had caused a horrific mess and almost made national news. He was more prepared for a move on Boss' part than Low had been led to believe, so she essentially walked into what should've ended up being a fatal trap.

Fortunately for her, he hadn't been prepared for the extent of the training and skill Low had . . . but he had come pretty dang close. Too close for comfort. Too close meaning she'd walked away with a black eye, a fresh, angry purple and blue bruise blossoming across her jaw, and angry bruising across most of her torso. The only reason she hadn't gotten shot was because she had, at least, had her wits about her.

To say she was pissed when she returned to headquarters was an understatement. When she was called in to debrief with Gray, she had glared her way through the meeting, before ultimately growling out her true feelings in a mess of Hindi and English. From there, she had been allowed to leave -- and she headed straight for the training room.

She knew Catatonic was on the premises. Knew because Gray had mentioned maybe she ought to go see him, but she didn't want to.

She'd rather he come find her.

She was so lost in thought, replaying different scenes from her unfortunate mission over and over and over, gradually throwing more force and less precision into her attacks on the hanging bag, until a crisp voice spoke up from her left.

She hadn't even heard the door open.

"You shouldn't let it get to you." It wasn't Catatonic, whom she'd been expecting; it was Quiz. With her strawberry blonde hair and lithe build, few would expect her to deserve any place on LASAR's team -- but all of its members knew better. Quiz was one of the greatest hackers of the day . . . and not just because of natural-born skill. She was likewise one of LASAR's numerous espionage specialists; she was more than adept at handling her own.

She also had just returned from an assignment, though hers had taken place in Miami. Low wasn't clear on the parameters of the assignment, though evidently, Quiz was aware of what Low had just returned from.

"You're a good agent," Quiz continued, undeterred when Low delivered one more solid, vicious punch to the bag, before turning toward her, sweat clinging to her skin, chest heaving from the exertion. "And you're right -- they should've prepared you better."

Low scoffed at that, swiping stray hairs behind her ears, still studying Quiz intently. Though more adept with technology, Low respected the blonde, even felt a certain sense of kinship to her. She knew it was because they both were more silent types -- preferring observation over self-injection. "You accessing security tapes again?" Low asked, voice calm despite her exterior. 

Quiz smiled mischievously, green eyes glowing in the strange lighting of the training room. "No more than usual," she said passively. 

Low scoffed at that, though it was a passive sound, and she made no move to inquire further, or reprimand. "Boss usually prepares better."

"Fausto was an immediate threat," Quiz relayed to her.

Low was surprised to hear her echoing the words Gray had used. "You believe that?"

Quiz nodded slowly, visibly considering Low's question. "I do." A sly grin spread across her features. "I did my own research, after all. Yes, Fausto was a problem . . . and he wasn't going to go quietly. Should they have sent you with backup?"

"Yes," Low agreed for her.

"Absolutely," Quiz nodded. "But they didn't. And you still handled it." She shrugged a shoulder loosely, passively tossing her hair as she headed for the door. "You should be proud of yourself. You did better than I would've, that's for sure," she chuckled, pausing at the door. "Cat's waiting to come see you. I said he should give you a bit longer. Want me to send him in?"

Low didn't have to watch her to feel the intent green eyes boring into her back. She didn't respond verbally, merely nodded.

"Will do, then. Try not to break the punching bad," she said as means of farewell. "Rebel's busted enough of 'em; we're almost out."

And then she was gone.

And strangely enough, Low felt the tiniest bit better.