Her most lethal weapon is herself . . .
• • •
Agent Eleven was always a loyal Agent for the Division.
Until she wasn't.
Running and going rogue a year ago had definitely put her on their hit list, but what happens when they find her again and forc...
Rule number three; We are beautiful glimpses, blinked by infinity.
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I step foot into the abandoned bank, the comm in my ear buzzing almost silently. Static erupts before a voice,
"Three, two-"
The barrel of a gun is shoved into my face. I take a step back, hands up placatingly, a taunting grin on my features.
The whisper of steps against concrete is the only warning I get before another gun is shoved into my back.
"No need to get hasty, gentlemen." The taunt falls from my lips with a rough chuckle. "I'm only here to talk."
The man in front of me grunts something unintelligible, his gun flicking in his hand.
The slam of a door echoes around the area, slicing through the quiet night.
Their heads snap to the sound, eyes widening.
I act, my hand snapping out and swiping the gun from the first man's hand and shoving him back.
He stumbles and I twist, shoving the stolen weapon under the second man's chin. My other hand clutches his weaponised one tightly. It goes off in my grip, bullet headed for the roof.
He leans back, blue eyes widening as I push the weapon into the soft tissue and twist us around, pulling his gun from his hand and aiming it at his companion who picks himself up from the ground. I push the second guy toward the first, aiming both guns at their heads.
I flick the right gun and the man steps closer to his companion.
"I have some questions," I flick the gun at one of the men, caressing the trigger. "Are you going to give me answers?"
"We know who you work for." Thing one spits.
"Oh shit," I grin back, "I wanted that to be kept secret." I tighten my grip on both guns, the sarcasm in my tone prominent.
The door that slammed only minutes before opens, footsteps echoing across the concrete as a person approaches, humming under their breath.
The noise bounces off the wall closest to me.
A woman appears, pastel pink hair pulled up into a slicked ponytail atop her head. Her dark brown skin smattered with even darker freckles.
Black leather adorns her body, wrapping around her figure like vines.
"You've taken us on quite the chase." Cleo purrs, tracing the gun at her hip. It glimmers under her probing touch, moonlight hitting the metal.
A dark chuckle leaves my lips, and they turn to look at me, dismissing the threat of my teammate.
Cleo lifts a manicured brow, watching them in boredom with a sprinkle of insult.
I nod to the bag hanging from one of the men's shoulders, "Hand it over."
