DESOLATE // H.S

1.

The stain on the brown carpet irritates her, and when she's irritated, she has this urge to shoot something. But she can't. Because right now, she's weak and helpless and—as of right now—is sporting a bullet wound in her abdomen. But she has to run. Now, or never. Run, or die.

She chooses to run. Despite the heart wrenching pain in her abdomen, she packed the black duffel bag, and left the motel.

The radio in the car makes nothing but static noises, irritating her even more until she change into another station.

"...last week's shooting near the Eiffel Tower is still on the police report. Recent news that we received is that the shooting was done by a British mafia..."

Sick of the news about the shooting, she change into another station. Finding soft music as she made her way to the airport. She have to get back, as fast as she can.

The plane ticket was bought, and Rosalie sat in the waiting room with her shades on, so no one can spot her immediately. The gun safely tucked in the waistband of her black jeans, hidden by her leather jacket. A reassurement for her that she's safe. Well, not safe, but at least a little bit more protected.

"For all the passengers of flight 167, destination London Heathrow airport..."

Rosalie stood up and board her plane. Wishing nothing went wrong on her flight.

****

Nothing went wrong on her flight. In fact, she made it safely to the base. Where her father welcomes her, and asked about her well being.

"No, papa. The message is still safe. Their currier was killed, though. So no exchange happened." Said Rosalie when her father asked her about the exchange.

"Good.. good.. have I told you who ambushed our transaction, my dear?" her father asked with a sinister smile plastered on his lips as he pace around his office.

Rosalie shook her head, "Not yet."

"Well, the Omega attacked us. They're lead by that old woman... what's her name again?"

"I believe it's Hilda," Rosalie tells him, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"Ah, yes. Hilda. The fucking eternal woman who never dies. I wish her death more than I run this base." Grumbled Charles as he sit on his huge office chair. "Oh yes, did you got shot, dearie?" ask him after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, but nothing I can't handle. It's all in the training." Charles frowned at this, his old features accentuating as he does so.

"Yes, yes. But go to Alec for him to check you up, okay?"

"Okay," Rosalie stood up and then walk over to Charles. Kiss his cheek and walk out of his office.

[;]

"How come, she escaped Paris you fucking moron?!" He exclaimed with an exasperated tone. His gun in his right hand, loaded and ready to shoot.

"I'm sorr—"

"Do not fucking say sorry to me, you know how much I hate it, Malik." He said as he shoots the door beside the Malik guy.

"We almost had her. At the shooting, in Paris. Hell even in the airport, and now you're telling me she escaped Paris?!" He yelled once more. The veins in his neck potruding, his face red, and his hair messed up for running his hands through it one too many times.

"We failed to board the same airplane as her. The next flight was five hours later," said the man, face stoic but heart hammering in his chest, scared for his life.