AN: After some discussion on the sufficient velocity thread I decided to take one readers suggestion and this is the result of that suggestion. To make this work I have made several small changes to the first post. I gave Miss Militia's lines to Battery. Enjoy!
The Girl with Green Guns.
I turned on my heel bringing around the silenced pistol ready to kill the Turkish soldier using myself and the other children as minesweepers. A shot rang out before I could pull the trigger. I flinch expecting to feel a bullet slamming into me. I'm surprised that no pain is forthcoming, and more so when the soldier in front of me collapses, blood bubbling up out of his mouth and a red patch spreading across his left side.
More shots ring out and the other Turkish soldiers drop like flies. Red fountains bursting across their bodies as bullets ripped through them.
For a moment everything was quiet save the groaning of the wounded. Then sounds of men moving through the forest filled the air. Only a few moments' later five men in black and grey soldier clothes emerged from the trees, each carrying an automatic rifle, several grenades, a large knife, and a large pack across their back. With only a thought the gun shifted to match the rifles these new soldiers carried. I aim the new weapon at them but do not shoot. They had killed the Turks, but had not shot any of us children. For now at least I would wait and see what they intended.
The soldiers shout to each other in a language I do not recognize. Two men went to speak with the other children, while two others moved among the wounded, shooting them to make sure they were dead, and then searching the bodies.
The final member of this new group walked towards me so I raised the rifle in warning. I won't trust them just because they shot the Turks. Seeming to get the message the man stopped walking and shouted something to the others he came with causing them all to stop and look me over. Moving slowly the man who had approached me gently bent down to place his gun on the ground. He then proceeded to do the same with a smaller gun strapped to his thigh, his knife and the pair of grenades he had across his chest.
The man then walked closer stopping only two meters away, before sitting down cross legged in front of me. Now that the man was closer I could make out a patch on his chest a skull in a silver circle breathing flames.
"My name is Raven." The man says in broken heavily accented Kurdish. "What is your name? What are you doing here? Who gave you that gun?" The questions come slowly as he seams to struggle to find the correct words.
"My name is Hana, the Turks were using us to check for mines." As I say this the man's eyes light up with rage and his head snaps around to glare daggers into the dead Turks. With a frustrated grunt he turns back to face me.
"Who gave you the gun?" He says repeating his earlier question.
"No one." I let the gun shift back into a black and green blur before it quickly reforms into the smaller lighter pistol from before. I take a moment to appreciate that the lighter gun is easier to hold up. The man does not seem at all concerned about the fact I am pointing a gun at him, though he does seem surprised to see the gun change.
"Parahuman." The word means nothing to me. The man shakes his head. "I'd like to get you and the other children out of here."
"I won't fight for you." I say and raise the gun to point directly into the man's face. The other men raise their guns as if preparing to fire. Raven looks angry.
"I'm a member of the Black Company, Hana. Have you ever heard of us?"
"No." Raven nods his head like he was expecting that answer.
"We are," he stumbles trying to remember a word before shouting to one of his men.
"Mercenaries." The man shouts back.
"We are mercenaries, we fight for those who pay us. But we have our own rules. We do not... hurt women or children, unless they are trying to hurt us. We do not make anyone fight for us, joining the company is choice."
"Can you prove that?" Again the man shouts to his companions repeating what I said, they then shout something back. When he again looks at me there is a measure of respect in his eyes.
"No, but you can always shoot me."
"So can you." I eye the other four. Raven shakes his head.
"We don't shoot kids."
I can tell this will only repeat itself if we continue, so I settle for giving Raven a pointed look and considering my options. There are too many for me to kill before they can kill me. I could try to run but with the forest still being full of traps that would be a death sentence. If he is lying I can try and fight or sneak away, if he's telling the truth…
Mind made up I lower the gun and nod my acceptance of the situation. Smiling Raven reaches his hand forward. For a moment I tense up ready to shoot him, only to relax as Raven rubs his hand on the top of my head. It feels strange after everything that has happened. Though I think I like it.
Stepping back Raven collects his weapons before leading the group back through the jungle going only he knows where. I make sure to follow his footsteps exactly.
{}{}{}{} Raven
"You can't keep her Raven, the girl is what fourteen, twelve? A girl that young doesn't belong in the middle of a war zone, you must realize that."
"Captain, the girl is a parahuman." The command tent falls silent in the wake of my outburst.
"Fuck." Greasy, one of the new sergeants, mutters.
"... Is she on the list?" The Lieutenant asks.
"No, some Turks were using her and the others to sweep for mines. She's only had her powers a few hours." The atmosphere in the tent relaxed immediately. Child soldiers are far too common these days, and no of us like dealing with them, enemy or friendly.
Kids with powers were highly valued almost universally, young enough to mold or manipulate easily, and powerful enough to make a difference all on their own. They are every warring group with no morals greatest resource.
"Just ship her out to America." Mercy replied flippantly. "Let their Protectorate deal with the girl."
"Thought of that." I grunted and flipped a magazine onto the table. "Page twelve."
The Captain leaned forward and began flipping through the pages. The tent was silent as he read the article.
"This must be a joke."
"No joke Captain."
"What's it say?" The Lieutenant asked.
"The Protectorate is in the process of founding a group for kid crime fighters. They want to put kids with powers out on the street against armed thugs and gangsters."
"That's stupid, most capes go down plenty easy if you put a bullet in them, and it's not like it's that much harder to do." Tom-Tom grumbled as his fingers beat a mindless ditty on his little drum.
"My point exactly, and to make matters worse it's America. The fact that they are training child soldiers doesn't mean they are going to come out and admit it. They are going to dress those kids up in shiny costumes, give them a bunch of non lethal weapons and tell them 'try not to get killed when some idiot with a gun starts shooting', same as they do with the Protectorate."
At the mention of the Protectorate the tent was filled with scoffs and sneers. To a group of men that fought and died with and against capes on a regular basis the idea of Parahumans as paragons of virtue, or symbols of hope was nothing but a joke. The Captain merely brought his fingers together and rested his chin upon them.
"So if we hand her over to the local government she becomes a child soldier and almost certainly winds up dead. We send her to America and the government will arrange for her to be adopted by a family who will sign her up for this, Wards team, without even questioning if it's a good idea. At which point she still becomes a child soldier only they dress it up pretty and give her a major handicap against people that will shoot to kill."
I nodded my concurrence with the Captain's analysis while playing with the handle of my combat knife.
"You're dead set on not letting her fight, anywhere that is?" I nod. "Well then, all things considered there is only one thing to say about all this."
"Captain?" The Captain walked around the table in the middle of the tent, coming to a stop in front of me and handing me a cigar.
"Congratulations Raven, it's a girl." After a moment the tent exploded into laughter.
{}{}{}{} Hana
I had spent the better part of the past two weeks following either Raven or Tom-Tom. Both had taken to teaching me to speak English. So far my understanding of the language was limited. But my vocabulary and understanding were growing quite quickly.
Since gaining my powers I could remember everything in perfect detail, it is strange but extremely useful for learning new languages. I do my best to listen to every conversation I hear and I was picking up bits of other languages in the process. French, Spanish, German, a half dozen other languages I had yet to identify and perhaps most interesting was sign language. I don't know enough English yet to ask what the signs mean but I think I know what a few of them are.
I had also found myself, not unable to, but rather not needing to sleep. Finding something to do with the extra hours was difficult. Out of necessity most of the people who made up the Black Company are light sleepers, something about combat apparently. The problem was that I needed to be quiet, so as not to wake anyone up. Most nights were spent either puzzling through the even more confusing written version of the English language, looking at pictures of different types of guns and weapons to add to my powers versatility, or playing solitaire with the deck of cards Raven had given me.
I like Solitaire, but the game is frustrating and monotonous. I had taken to wandering the edges of the camp to see the men standing guard for a few nights. Many of those men are not happy to see me. They are mostly tired, grumpy, and rude. I have not been allowed to do that since the night Raven had to come looking for me at two in the morning before taking over a shift of the watch.
Because I do not sleep the men have taken to calling me; little sentry, little night owl, Raven's owl, and nocturnal. I am not sure if nocturnal is supposed to be a name or a description. The way the men say it could suggest either, it could also be a curse in some cases.
"Come on girl. Time to get some grub, we'll see about teaching you how to properly complain about powdered eggs." Tom-Tom calls as I place down the three of hearts on top of a growing stack. Funny I didn't realize it was morning already. Casting a final glare at the game of solitaire I follow Tom-Tom out into the camp.
The little Black man's fingers beat a haphazard rhythm upon his little drum. Every so often one of the vibrations sets a pulse through the air, something about his power though he hasn't ever bothered to explain it to me.
As we trot across the compound I observe everything and everyone. Most of the men are making their way to the mess hall for food, a few are heading for the showers or latrine, but everyone is armed. No one is ever far from their weapon. They rarely wear full combat gear on base, and by regulation no gun may have a round chambered while on the base, except in the event of an attack, but weapons are always on hand. The men are always ready to fight.
It is, interesting. They can laugh and joke and sleep as if nothing is wrong. Yet all around them are weapons, which prove quite clearly that everything is not well, that at any moment they could be forced to fight or die. It is a strange contradiction which defies my understanding. I reach down and pat the combat knife which is the current manifestation of my power. Raven had given me a knife sheath to hold it in so I would not constantly have to carry a physical weapon, and to hide the fact I had powers from any unfriendly observers.
I run my finger along the sheath and knife. I suppose I'm never far from my weapon either. The comparison brings a small smile to my lips, though I'm not sure why.
Walking through the line I am, as usual, surprised at the quantity of food that it takes to feed so many people, though I am beginning to grow accustomed to the sight. Tom-Tom says something to the man giving out the food. I recognize the words eggs, and toast though I am unfamiliar with the word Bacon. I quickly realize it must be the strips of meat which are placed on my tray. They smell delicious.
Tom-Tom and I sit down near his brother, One-Eye, and a short ugly man named Goblin. The two are normally quite funny to watch. Sadly they have something of a truce going until they have both downed their first cup of the bitter drink called coffee.
"Tom-Tom, Owl girl, what are the two of you up to this morning." One-Eye grumbles around a fork full of the yellow stuff that does not taste like eggs.
"Raven's coming back today, was talking about teaching the girl to shoot if her power hasn't taught her already." Tom-Tom responds.
"Raven is coming back?"
"Yup, little owl, sometime around noon supposedly."
With a nod and a smile I turn back to my eggs. Raven likes to act scary, but I can see passed his act. There is more to him, a soft spot for children certainly, though it manifests in other small ways as well. Raven is certainly one of my favorite members of the company along with Tom-Tom and the bickering duo we are seated across from. Maybe I just appreciate these three more because, like me, they also have powers. The again it's fun to watch the shadowy prank wars unfold too.
I giggle as Goblin twitches his fingers in mad patterns and a fat hairy spider materializes out of smoke above One-Eye and descends on a string into the middle of his tray. Just like that the duo is off on another one of their games. I wonder if they do it more because they know I find it funny.
{}{}{}{}
Raven was giving me a very stern look, had been in fact for the better part of the past twenty minutes. Tom-Tom was sitting nearby with a Laptop and a old leather bound book. I'd asked him about it before. Apparently one of his jobs was to be the company's annalist. As the only person who could type, knows English, and the various languages the original annals had been written in, it was his job to copy the old annals in English onto the computer so they could be more easily copied and protected. It was also his job to keep the Annals up to date.
From what he had explained the Annals were the history of the company, every major battle and every member to ever be a part of the company was recorded in them. He had shown me the file that listed the name of every dead brother, how they died and who the company was serving at the time. It was enormous, going on for more than a hundred pages and it was not even finished yet! Tom-Tom told me the Annals are almost religious to the company because your name wasn't forgotten, because hundreds of years from now there would be a new generation of brothers who would carry the names of the dead with them. Immortality of a sort he called it. I'm not sure what immortality means though.
For some reason he thought Raven teaching me to shoot belonged in the Annals. When I asked him why he just laughed and shook his head before ruffling my hair. A lot of the brothers have taken to doing that lately.
Finally giving up on glaring at me Raven passed me a picture of a small gun.
"It's called a BB gun. It shoots a small circle of metal about this big." Raven hold up two fingers closely together. "There is no gun powder and it's rather slow compared to most weapons. However it is much safer to learn with than a real gun. See if you can make one."
Nodding I focus my power and quickly the knife reforms into the 'BB gun'. Raven nods his head in acknowledgment.
"Now the first rule of handling any gun; you only point it as something if you plan to shoot it. Otherwise you point it away from yourself and anyone else." Taking the gun he demonstrates pointing it mostly towards the ground but out at enough of an angle for it to be away from his feet.
"Now you." Raven says and hands the gun back to me. I take a moment to adjust my hold on the gun and glance up at Raven who nods.
"Alright, good. If you have to carry a gun, and you aren't shooting, you carry it like that. Next lesson, if you are not shooting a gun the safety is on at all times."
Raven reaches down and flips a tab on the gun. "Safety off." He flips it back. "Safety on. You can't fire a gun when the safety is on. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, even if the safety is on when you don't expect to need to fire your weapon make sure that it is not loaded. Or if it is loaded than make sure there is not a bullet in the chamber, in other words make sure that there is not a bullet ready to be fired. With this gun you put a round, which is another word for bullet, in the chamber by cocking it, like so."
Taking the gun back raven pulls forward a metal piece near the trigger and below the wooden part called the stock.
"Please reform the weapon."
I do so. For a brief moment the gun becomes a green and black blur before it reforms as the same BB gun. Raven looks it over and raises an eyebrow before glancing at me and raising it up to his shoulder. As Raven pulls the trigger a quiet whistling noise followed by a light ping of metal on metal reveals that the BB gun reformed loaded with the safety off.
"Please reform the weapon unloaded and with the safety on." Raven says while giving me a look of mild disapproval.
Once more I reform the weapon while focusing on the idea of the safety being on and the BB not being in the barrel. This time when Raven inspects the gun he nods in satisfaction before handing it back to me.
"Good. From now on whenever you form a weapon outside of combat make sure to form it like that; with the safety on, and the barrel empty. Now next lesson, when using the shooting range before firing you always check to make sure no one is in front of the shooting line. Do you understand?"
Some of the words were new or unfamiliar but from the ones I did know I was fairly certain I understood so I simply nodded. I could always ask Tom-Tom about the unfamiliar words later.
Raven spent the next twenty minutes going over proper shooting stances and giving me a seemingly endless stream of tips with occasional help from Tom-Tom who would explain the concepts in more detail in Kurdish, then repeat them in English to help my vocabulary.
Finally after what seemed much too long a wait I got my chance to shoot.
Steady the gun against my shoulder, feet shoulder width apart, aim down the sights, keep my eyes open. Breathe in, squeeze the trigger lightly, and keep the gun on target. Suddenly the gun kicked, it was only a slight jump, barely anything, but I felt it. With the kick of the gun came the same soft noise from before.
I repeated the process four times before Raven told me to hold my fire, and reeled in the target. Tom-Tom set aside his typing and ambled over to take a look. He quickly glanced at the human shaped outline on the piece of paper before glancing back at me.
"Raven how far out did you have the target?"
"Hundred feet."
"Uh huh, and what's this things effective range?"
"About double that."
"You sure you've never done any shooting before little Owl?"
"No."
"Well then, seems like your little Owl has a good set of eye's Raven. Once she learns to handle some real guns she'll have some nasty talons to go with them."
His piece said Tom-Tom went back to copying the old Annals, but not before taking a few moments to jot something down on paper.
{}{}{}{}
Another night another game of solitaire. I sigh as I flip the next three cards frowning at the complete and utter lack of the red jack I so desperately need.
Cursing softly in French, German, and Belgian for good measure I shut off the light and lean back letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the tent. It's a nice night out, no rain. I slip out for a stroll in what little moonlight might make it through the cloud cover.
On a whim my power shifted into a fancy curved dagger which I began to flip. At some point over the past four years I had picked up on Raven's love for knives. While Raven liked to risk a bloody finger by cleaning under his nails with a knife point, I had picked up the skill for flipping knives. It helped that thanks to my power the knives were always perfectly balanced. There had been a few close calls when I started practicing the skill, but now it came as naturally as walking.
The soft noise of the dagger hilt slapping back into my palm as I strolled through the night beat out a calming rhythm. The noise of the local wildlife was strange compared to the forests I grew up in but it still held certain similarities; bugs, bats, and the sounds of nocturnal animals drawn close by the smell of food, but kept at bay by the lights and patrols. Not to mention the fence.
On a whim I turn towards one of the sparring rings on the edge of camp. They are nothing fancy, just circles scratched out in soft dirt but that's more than enough. Settling into a loose stance I let my weapon slip from a dagger into the nebulous green and black energy. Taking a calming breath I let my mind and power cycle through a half dozen melee combat weapons before settling on a jitte, a sort of ancient Japanese police baton.
With a practiced movement I raise the weapon in a block that would catch an attacker's blade between the two metal bars. Shifting my footing and twisting my wrist I perform one of the basic disarming moves followed by a strike to my imaginary adversary's throat.
I pivot on my right heel and bring up my left arm to block an imaginary knife blow by blocking at the wrist. With a quick shift I'm holding a brass knuckle trench knife. Stepping in I swing the blade into where the attackers temple would be, a lethal blow.
I practiced like that for another half hour, shifting between weapons on a whim trying to perfect the timing of certain counters. I was no master with any hand to hand weapon, but I was quickly becoming proficient with quite a few. The sheer variety and outlandish nature of some of the weapons I had been learning to use over the years as well as my ability to easily change weapons in the middle of a fight made me a menace in armed combat. I was a much better shot than a close quarter's combatant, but I was doing my best to fix that. It's great to be a good shot with most any weapon you could name, but I'd heard a fair number of stories about brothers who got killed because they neglected to practice the more dated forms of combat.
The story about the cape that was immaterial until she got within two feet of a living human and fought with knives and short swords was nightmare fuel of the highest caliber. It was also some of my driving motivation for CQC training.
Sitting on a bench I take a drink from my canteen, and just enjoy the sounds and smells of the night. The air is a bit chilly but it doesn't fool me one bit, once the sun comes up the temperature will quickly rise to near unbearable levels.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure hunched over, and creeping along the fence. With a bit of a struggle and a clumsy fall the figure managed to get inside the compound. That was not good. The Company had men walking patrols inside and outside of the base, and none of them would ever feel the need to climb over the fence, or be so clumsy about it if they did.
With a quick shift I was holding a pistol, a mauser C96. It was an older style of pistol but one of my favorites. Slipping silently behind the man I tailed him as he snuck through the camp. It quickly became apparent the man knew where he was going. He was ignoring the mess hall and the barracks. He was headed for the officer's quarters. The man had snuck into camp and was heading for officers quarters. There was only one reason for someone to do that.
"Halt!" I called out in the local dialect as I took a firing stance and trained my pistol on his center of mass.
The man spun and flung a flurry of light purple balls at me. Cursing I tried to jump out of the way managing to avoid the majority but I was still hit by several of the lights. Surprisingly I didn't feel any pain. The shock of the apparent lack of effect made me pause. Cursing quietly but apparently unconcerned with me the intruder spun on his heel and made to bolt for the officer's quarters. No longer hesitating I fired three shots from my position on the ground. The awkward firing position threw off my aim slightly the first shot catching the man in the arm before I adjusted and my second and third shot ripped through his back.
Between my shout and the gunshots the camp quickly came alive as members of the Company poured out the various buildings. I didn't pay them too much attention though. My focus was on the man I had shot who was bleeding out on the ground. Strangely I didn't feel all that bad about it. He snuck in here to attack us, to kill us.
I had simply killed him first.
"Looks like the Owl made her first kill, and at night too. She really is an owl." One of the men muttered as he came close only to be smacked upside the head by another brother. I didn't mind though, if anything I felt a bit of pride in living up to their name for me.
"Owl, what the hell happened here?" The Captain's voice boomed out as he ambled forward through the slowly growing crowd. Snapping to my feet in a sort of haphazard at ease stance I answered.
"I was taking a break from practicing my CQC when I saw this man slipping over the fence. I tailed him through the camp until I realized he was headed for officer's quarters. I told him to halt and he launched some kind of light at me. I dodged most of it but several hit me. They didn't seem to do anything. He made to sprint for the officer's quarters and I shot him in the back."
The Captain seemed to mull that over for a moment before he flipped the man I had shot onto his back with a foot. The Captain examined the man's face briefly before standing up straight.
"Those light, were they light purple?"
"Yes sir."
"You lucked out Owl. It's the last of the revolutionaries on our list, Amnesia. Those lights make people forget the past half hour or so. If you didn't have perfect memory he would have had plenty of time to do what he came here for. You are damn lucky he wasn't the kind of blaster who causes explosions." The Captain said. Throughout his short lecture he had fixed me with one of his looks; the kind that promised lots of drills and lectures on tactics.
"Lieutenant, get things organized around here, have the body sent to our employer and let him know our contract is complete. Everyone back to bed! In the morning we start packing up so get some shut eye before then! Owl, you come with me."
Nodding a bit nervously I fell in behind the Captain as he walked back to his quarters. Waving his hand absently the Captain directed me to the one chair in his room while he seated himself on his cot. Knitting his fingers together the Captain simply stared at me for a few minutes while I did my best not to fidget under his inspection.
"Owl, you've been with us for quite some time now. You are seventeen, one of the best shots I've ever met with most weapons I can name and a few I probably couldn't. The sergeants tell me you are a menace in close quarters. You've just killed for the first time."
The Captain paused seeming to gather his thoughts.
"I think it's clear now that we can't allow Raven to put this off any longer. You have options. You can join a hero team either in the States or in Europe, you are plenty skilled, and you know how to work as part of a team. They would be lucky to have you. But make no mistake they will handicap your abilities by insisting you not kill. You can stop using your powers and try to live a normal life somewhere. Though if it ever gets out that you have powers you may not get a choice in the matter. Or you can take the oath and join the Company officially. Raven has been trying to delay this and influence you away from fighting since day one. Now, while he isn't here to lean on you, or me, what are you going to do?"
I took a moment to consider the options before me. It was not the first time I had done so. The arguments for and against each course of action played through my mind at a lightning pace, but in the end it all boiled down to one point. This was my family now, my brothers and uncles, even a few sisters and aunts. This was where I belonged. I had been the Company's Owl for too long to be anyone else.
"I'd like to join the Company, if you'll have me Captain."
Nodding decisively the Captain stood and walked out of the room, going down the hall to bang on a nearby door.
"Tom-Tom! Grab the annals, we're swearing in a new member!"
{}{}{}{}
I looked down the scope of my sniper rifle, a CheyTac Intervention, observing the killing field. I had been waiting three years for this moment. Many of us had.
When an operation against the Slaughterhouse 9 goes wrong the body count is always through the roof. That day had been no exception. We had lost so many people. Out of everyone though, losing Tom-Tom had hurt the most.
I had spent years cursing Jack Slash for somehow recruiting the Siberian, and almost as long cursing whoever had managed to miss the fact that he had done it. We hadn't even been able to recover Tom-Tom's body because the sick bitch had eaten him.
My grip on the rifle tensed and I had to force myself to breath and relax. I couldn't afford to let my emotions affect me. Not now. It would throw off my aim. I focused on my breathing, and heart beat. I calmed myself with reminders that the Company and I were about to get our revenge, and with her gone we would be better able to deal with the remainder of the 9.
"I see him." One-Eye, my spotter, and Tom-Tom's brother said from his position beside me.
"Blue sedan, left lane massive dent in the front bumper."
"I've got it."
"Two thousand meters out and closing, wind coming across from the left, two kph. He's traveling at… 30 kph. No other vehicles. No pedestrians. Fire when ready."
I kept my breathing even and reached up to adjust my scope slightly. Taking my time I trained my sights on the vehicle's only occupant."
"Nineteen hundred meters."
I took a deep breath and adjusted my aim making sure to lead the target. I took a deep breath as I ran through the calculations for the shot again in my head. I slipped off the safety, and placed my finger over the trigger which I began to squeeze lightly. I felt for my heartbeat, and let the steady rhythm of its beet fill my ears.
Between the beats I completed my squeeze of the trigger and the gun barked in my hands my shoulder and supine body absorbing the recoil.
Even as I watched the windshield of the Sedan shatter as my bullet punched through I was already loading the next round into the chamber.
It proved unnecessary. Through the cracked windshield I could clearly see a growing patch of red on the targets chest. Bonesaw was miles away, even if he survived the initial shot she wouldn't make it here in time to save him.
The car swerved out of control but slowed down. Not rapidly like when someone slammed on the breaks. No this was the result of the targets foot jerking off of the gas from the force of the shot.
Ignoring One-Eye's jearing and congratulations I reached up to my earpiece.
"Captain this is Owl. The first shot hit center of mass. Can the recon team confirm the Siberians disappearance?"
"Confirmed Owl. The Siberian just vanished into thin air."
"Permission to put another round into the bastard to be sure he's dead before collecting the body?"
"Make it two, better not to take chances with the 9."
"Two it is sir."
{}{}{}{}
Knocking at my door woke me from my dreaming memories. I took a moment to shake off the memories, before rising to see what whoever was at my door needed.
Raven stood in the doorway. He was getting on in years being in his early forties by my best guess, grey streaks showed clearly in his hair. Despite his age he still carried himself well and had that hard glint to his eyes that fooled most of the world.
"Captain called a meeting to discuss the recruitment potential and the local scene. He wants the senior staff there." I nodded while blinking the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.
"What's the name of this town again? I wasn't really paying much attention to anything after that last mission."
"Brockton Bay; home to Nazi's, a dragon and drug addicts. Supposedly the Captain has his eye on a few of the minor players."
Nodding I grabbed my helmet and followed Raven. Perhaps the meeting would help distract me from the memories.
AN: reviews are always welcome and constructive criticism will never be turned away, just please no flames.