NO GRAVES || TONY STARK || SERIES DISCONTINUED

O N E

OUTSKIRTS OF BOGOTA, COLUMBIA

There was a women, and in her hands she held a human life.

Her heavy boots brushed loudly against the metal under her toes as she dragged his barely conscious body. His weight was like that of a feather, barely bothered by the chaos that went around her as she checked the time on her watch.

"Ma'am—"

The soldier that stepped next to her was interrupted as she dropped his body, forcing him to kneel in front of her. She didn't look his way, treating him like the disposable garbage he deserved to be. "I want a count of those injured, if they're critical I want them to be stabilized and on the first flight home. Tell O'Connell he needs to send me the best trainees to my office in 15 minutes so I can start to set them up for training. For every person we are sending back I want a trainee in my office, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am," the soldier quickly wrote it all down. The scrap of his pen against the board he wrote on was last heard as he dashed away.

"Marks," her next call out was barely above her normal speaking voice but even so the soldier under her command stepped close to her. Eyes now on the person struggling to gain his breathing as he surely had a few broken ribs, his bloody hand gently touched the bruising area. "I want you to personally be there while he's processed and extradited. If he makes one wrong move you shoot him twice, once in the balls and the other in the head; make sure to wait five minutes between each shot. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am," he nodded and walked behind the kneeling captive.

"Perfect," she replied, giving her capture one last disgusted look before turning away. "I've got to start prepping for the next one."

The sense of relief that overtook her was not demonstrated but it was short lived within her own system as her feet stopped short of release.

"How long did it take?" The kneeling man, also known as Wilmer Francis, wanted murderer and arms smuggler, finally looked her way. "How long did it take for him to die Santa Muerte?"

The group surrounding them froze, shifting uncomfortably after a moment. She was never caught off guard like today, and her being nervous made them wary.

Her shoulders shifted, body turning back around as her face had gone from impassive to amusement. Their orders were not to kill him, but at this point she was willing to jeopardize her life to slice his throat.

The brunette squatted, about a foot away from the bastard as she ripped away the Velcro that held the black gloves to her hands. Her blood was boiling underneath, fingers itching to grab for the gun at her waist and empty the barrel into his face. Still, despite all her rage she merely kept silent and waited for him to continue on because this had been coming for over a year now.

"I tried to make it last long, hit him enough times to ensure he'd die but not before you got there. It took Cal a full ten minutes until he'd stopped, I hope your little boy lasted longer then mine... then again you shot a bullet through him so who knows."

There was no emotion when he spoke, no vulnerability just a simple exchange of vengeance. He was a cold man, hence the reason it took this long and cost so many lives to catch him but she could tell that even so it hurt him to lose a son, in this she took pleasure.