Yeah, I'm a fan of the Gallagher Girls series. Not so much the first one, but as they got more serious in the third and fourth ones, they got pretty good.
Anyway. This is fanfiction, obviously I don't own, yada yada yada. This thing is dark, and it will probably wind up ending very half-assedly, but I don't care. What I've written is fun.
Summary: Cameron Morgan left the Gallagher Academy, her family, and Zach for a reason. A good reason, too, if you wanted her opinion. But can a tragic failure on a mission, a psychological breakdown, and a hallucinogenic trip down memory lane force her to confront the past she swore never to revisit?
Rating: T for Teen, due to language, violence, hallucinogenic episodes, and heavy emotional trauma. Rating may go up to M later.
Rainbow Balloons
Cameron Morgan had been a sniper for a long time.
She wasn't afraid of blood, or cameras, or family members sitting next to her target. No, she'd been too well trained for that.
She made impossible shots. Across blocks of busy streets, into crowds of people, always hitting the mark without any unnecessary fatalities. She'd been too well trained to make that kind of mistake.
Cameron Morgan had been a sniper for a long time.
She had assassinated environmental terrorists, corrupt politicians, mob leaders, kidnappers, pirates. Her partners estimated she'd changed the course of history on more than one occasion-she smiled secretively and denied any and all allegations on the subject.
She had saved hostages, rescued diplomats, undermined military regimes, liberated innocents from extortion, righted wrongs of massive proportions. There was no mission too risky, no victim too unimportant to help. Luka always said she was going to get killed one day, or worse.
And then, one day, the worst happened. And eight years of everything came flooding down from behind the dam she'd built.
-x-x-x-
The wind bit into his shoulders. He leaned into the gusts blowing into the passenger compartment of the helicopter and readjusted his grip on the bar running around the space.
"Extraction, ready and watching," he muttered into the microphone clipped to the collar of his t-shirt.
"Fallback, good to go," a French accent cooed delicately over the connection.
"Bomb squad, good for launch."
"Control Tower's up and running. Let's do this, people."
He raised a pair of night vision binoculars and squinted at the ground, the blades of the helicopter beating over his head.
Seven hundred feet below him, Cammie slipped one toe into the rusting chain links of the fence surrounding the facility, testing the stability. The foothold stayed stable-she slipped three gloved fingers into the links over her head and pulled.
"Cammie, where are you," a voice sang in her earpiece. "The party's about to start."
"Luka, shut up," she grunted, pulling herself to the top of the fence.
"Well, no need to grouch," he muttered, feigning hurt. "Just didn't want you to miss the fun, is all."
"You're sick, mon cher," Plan B accused sweetly.
"Love you too, moya kukla," Luka gushed.
"Shut it, you two," Control Tower admonished. "Bickering can resume once everyone's back at HQ."
"Oui, maman," Plan B muttered.
"Excuse me."
Luka snickered.
"You too, Red."
Cammie rolled her eyes and picked her way through the razor wire topping the perimeter of the grounds. "You two are so immature."
"But our success rate kicks ass, so no one cares," Luka retorted.
"Good point." Cammie dropped to the ground on the other side of the fence. "I'm in."
"Yo, CT, count it down."
"We're ready? Okay."
Cammie crouched, her toes digging into the soft volcanic dirt.
"In five...four...three...two...go!"
Launching away from the fence, she flipped across the tripwires and sprinted to the shadows of the massive stone guard tower. "Luka," she whispered into her headset.
"Got it. Next move."
Cammie crept along the side of the wall to a steel door. Pressing her ear to the crack between the wall and the door, she heard muffled voices in the distance. Pushing her hair out of her face, she reached into the pocket on the inside of her boot and pinched a thin silver wire.
"Ca-am," Luka sang in her ear. "You're missing all the fun, love."
"I'm trying," she hissed. "I'm probably going to have a party all my own, here in a minute."
"Oh, fun, want me to join you?"
"No, hang out with your people." Cammie slipped the wire into the lock and twisted it. "Hello," she whispered as the door swung inward.
A guard stood with his back to her, talking into a radio in what sounded to her ears like Czech. She sighed-I hate singles combat, she groused to herself, creeping up behind him. "Řekněme, že na dobrou noc," she muttered in his ear, one hand slipping up to the back of his head, the other around to the space just above his collarbone.
The quiet snap seemed to echo down the hallway like a muffled gunshot.
"I lied, Luka-just me and a friend down here, not much of a party," she said, letting the guard's body drop to the floor and her voice return to some semblance of a normal volume.
"Really? It's a heroin-fueled rave up here. Bodies hitting the floor left and right. You want some of this?"
Cammie sauntered down the hallway, tracking cameras out of the corner of her eye. "No, just keep everybody occupied. I'll get the minister's kids and let you know when I'm out."
"I'll meet-"
"No. Absolutely not."
Luka-and everyone else tuned into the comm link-was silent.
"I'll explain when we get back to HQ."
"You better," he sighed, "because I sure as hell am not getting it now."
"Cammie, do not make us pull you out," Control Tower warned. "I swear to you, if you pull another stunt like Moscow, you will be permanently assigned to lab duty. So help me, God."
Cammie smiled at her partners' worry and turned off her comm unit.
Well. That was relatively boring, but I'm just getting started.
Please review.