Noir
Partners
Mireille, so gracefully and perfectly, pulled the trigger and fired a single shot into the soldier's head. Directly between the eyes. A kill shot. A clean shot. Never intended to cause pain – only intended to cause death. Perfect.
She is perfect.
Kirika watches, standing off to the side, as the soldier's widened eyes lose all colour and light. He falls backwards onto the floor with a lifeless thump. He stares at the ceiling, but he cannot see anymore. He has passed. His life was taken by a single bullet. He never thought it would end so quickly and easily.
Mireille holsters her gun and whips her hair out of her face. Her eyes stare down at the man, clouded by thoughts. Her chest rises and falls calmly. She shows no sign of emotion. Kirika's eyes flick to her partner and she can't help but wonder what she is thinking when she looks at her victims that way.
What does she herself think? It depends. Sometimes she wonders what life they lived before she took it away from them. Sometimes she wonders how much pain she caused them and hopes that it was either very little or way too much.
Most of the time she thinks about Mireille and lets relief flood through her as she realises that she has kept her safe.
"One more down," Mireille says, her voice hard and strong, weightless with no emotion. She turns to Kirika, neither smiling nor frowning. She gives nothing away. "Let's keep moving, Kirika."
When she says her name, Kirika feels a blush of pride. She knows that when Mireille says her name that it means she respects her, that the sees her as a partner, that they are, and always well be friends, despite whatever may happen.
There are no more secrets between them. The truths had been realised. Mireille had found her lost memories and Kirika had been spared from her wrath. The true enemy was realised, and despite the frayed bonds that had been between them since the unspoken words were finally shared, they were now closer than ever.
Because they were partners and they were friends.
They killed together, they wore their battle-scars together, they bled together, cried together, and fought together.
Kirika approached Mireille and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her slightly. Without a word, she reached up and wiped away a smeared drop of blood from her partner's face. She was gentle, careful, caring.
Mireille watched Kirika as she wiped the blood from the tip of her finger onto her shirt and couldn't help but smile. "Isn't it usually me who cleans up after you?" she asked.
Kirika smiled and tilted her head to look back into Mireille's eyes. "I guess today things are a little different. Let me take point. You can watch my back."
Mireille didn't move right away. She was a little surprised. Usually Kirika was happy to let her do the leading. Perhaps today was different after all. "Alright," she agreed. "But don't go getting yourself shot. You'll slow me down." She joked, of course. If Kirika were shot, she would do whatever it took to get her out alive – even if it cost her life.
They switched places, the two partners, and for the first time in so many days of their friendship, Kirika took the lead.
I'll protect her today, she told herself as she let her hands curl around the familiar cold metal of her gun. Today I will be the one who keeps her safe. After all, in friendships, everything should be shared.
They travelled deeper into the shadows, the two perfect killers, and whatever blood was spilled would stain them both.