DEEP

3. ΠΛΗΡΗΣ ΑΠΟΣΠΑΣΗ

You turn at the sound of your alias, carefully blank face meeting the other's. You force your expression to remain a mask when you sees the face of the guy who has been trailing you for weeks now. He is young, well younger than yourself, and you feel a little sad at how young and hopelessly trapped he must be. The feeling is gone however when the gun goes off.

You are already crouched feet away, chest rising and falling to reveal your surprise. You look up at your attacker through several strands of hair as the man takes several steps forward, arms raised and gaze never halting. You let a beat pass, let him draw nearer. Just when you sees the muscle in the man's jaw clench, the twitch of his eye as he starts to press down on the trigger, you reach down and flings dust and gravel into the man's eyes. The man splutters, his sweet voice threaded gruff with pain. You lunge forward, pushing the gun down and kicking it to the side. You knee the man in the soft spot of his abdomen, surprised to feel it taut and not soft at all, before punching him over his fairly large nose. Spit flies out thick and warm, and the man falls. For the second time that day you feel sorry for the boy, and for the second time that day the feeling disappears.

You make a dash for it between two train cars, vile griped in the palm of your left hand. The gunshot was loud, and surrounded by all these metal oil tankers amplified. All of NCT can be on you in seconds.

You become aware of the smell of crude oil and the cold staleness of the air as you run, senses hyper aware as they tend to get in these situations. You reach a hand back for your gun and click back the safety without hesitation. You slip in between another shadowed area between two tanks and waits, breaths harsh but silent through your nose.

The man rounds the corner suddenly and you can't help but feel annoyed at the calm and cool of his composure even as he presses a handkerchief to his bloody nose. The man looks both ways before starting off to the left. You breathe out carefully.

You look down at your left hand. The vile sits in your palm. It isn't cool anymore, but warm from your firm grip. The glass is smooth, the clear substance underneath betraying its deadliness. How sad that such a small thing could bring about so much pain. You let your fingers curl around the vile.

There is no way of stopping this shipment. The chemical is packaged identical to the other drugs, hidden in random crates in hundreds of cars on who knows how many trains. There are shouts in the distance, and the sounds of metal sliding against metal. You hear the sound of an engine revving to life, and then another, and another. There is nothing she can do now.

You slip out of the shadows, and makes for the opposite direction, away from the live trains. It'll be a miracle if she can make it out of this place alive.

---

9.5 and 10.

"Ya! You!"

She turns to the call, fear budding in her chest. These are the only flowers she knows that grow this fast.

"I have a name. My name is (Y/N)."