RUSTY | frank castle

FIFTEEN

"They're gonna be on you in 30 seconds." David said. 

Rusty pumped her legs to run faster through the trees, Lexi two metres in front. The Dutch shepherd could run faster, but she stayed at Rusty's running speed (which, too, was very fast).

Morty's head was slammed against the wall when he was thrown into it by Frank. He slammed the door of the room closed, opening two cans of gas. Walking backwards, he dropped the canisters by his feet, letting the white gas cover his figure. 

Turning to Morty, he spoke with that gruff voice of his. "You make a sound, I open your head up all over this floor."

Morty, the scumbag he is, put the gag that was still around his neck back into his mouth. He feared for his life, and his head not splattering on the floor, so this was the only option for him. . . . Probably.

Rusty jumped the short fence easily after Lexi, their speed continuous. The house was right in sight, and, ducking down slightly, the woman and her dog ran over the cared-for grass that separated the road and the wild trees for the large household. 

The gas started filling the room faster, making everything white and blind. Frank pulled his mask back over his face, his front to the door, awaiting two different types of company. 

With Fender sitting by his side, the Lieberman waited for the phone to connect fully to his laptop. His eyes wouldn't leave the screen, and the Rottweiler looked out of the windows into the darkness of the woods, awaiting his best friend, Rusty and Frank. 

White gas leaked out of the bottom of the door, and the black soldiers pointed their gun lasers at it, maybe fearing something will spring at them from underneath the wood. They stood, crouched by the door, waiting for Billy's command. Castle could hear their heavy footsteps on the expensive wooden floors, and he was ready. 

Billy signalled using his fingers: three . . . two . . . one.

One man kicked the door open, and the rest ran in, single file. It was rather professional, to be honest. They shone their lasers through the room, though it wasn't much help with the white, thick gas. 

White gloves were on their hands, as if they were prepping themselves for surgery, yet their hands grasped their large guns. Each of them were silent, searching the room slowly. Inch by inch.

There was a nearly silent grunt, then the red laser flashing around manically. When the next man up turned their gun, the red disappeared, together with the man. A body thudded, and the man's heart seemed to pound that little bit harder. He froze in place on the waxed wooden floors, turning the red laser off on his gun and then walking back behind the fog. 

"How you doing, Frank?" David spoke, Fender waiting next to him. "More than halfway there. Rusty, what's your status?"

Walking so quietly, only her and Lexi's breaths were heard as she neared the room with the gas. She breathed out a, "About to engage," and took Lexi's collar in her black gloved hand. 

The dog's ears stood up tense as another grunt and thud were heard, although barely. Then, the drag of boots along the carpet and onto the floor. The atmosphere was unsettling, with the gas so white you could barely see half a metre in front of your face. 

A red laser passed by Rusty's chest as she walked very slowly into the room, but it didn't stop on her figure so she continued her agonising walk to find Frank. 

The woman, crouching down to Lexi's level, tapped the dog on the shoulder, wanting her to look her way. Using her hands, as if it were sign language, Rusty signalled to her dog to 'attack enemy' and 'find Frank'. During her time at war, Rusty had came up with a sign for 'Frank' to signal to her dogs. Verbal command sometimes couldn't be used (in situations such as these) so Rusty used non-verbal communication.