ACCESSING ARCHIVED FEEDS...
DATE: NOVEMBER 18th 2012
LOCATION: New Rochelle, NEW YORK CITY, USA
PRECISE LOCATION: BLESSED SACRAMENT-ST. JONATHON HIGH SCHOOL
NORTH PERIMETER 03 - 01:02:55
Pulling into the School's empty parking lot, the Hummer H2s slowly stopped about half a mile away from the school's doors. They had driven in mostly silence, as Floyd and Link hadn't dared say anything. The school looked like a strange castle in the nighttime, perhaps some museum that had been abandoned long ago. Mini's driver had contacted someone called 'Lennox' a contact of his, and someone who could be useful moving the drugs that Link had offered.
Of course, he had only offered them in exchange for their freedom from Elias's gang. It was a hard thing to buy, as Elias often had loyalty on lockdown, his assistants and enforcers keeping and upholding his law for the criminals in New York. But as the boroughs had been split by fighting, the Brotherhood had been allowed to rise in the shadows. Their mysterious leader, much like Elias, had built power through uneasy alliances.
Dominic had secured the support of Link's gang, and splinters from New York City's most infamous criminal circuits. Garcia and his Trinitario friends had declined to joined them at this moment, as they still had ties to HR.
Clasping his hands together, Link thought about the weapons he had given to the Brotherhood. The Barrett XM109's, they had stolen them off an old NYPD lockup site a while back. Such powerful instruments were supposed to be going to Elias.
Instead, Link had used them to leverage the deal, as well as Floyd's money from a previous heist. But it was all riding on the blocks of drugs they had brought, Mini mentioned something about an inspection, but taking them to a school wouldn't seem like a step in his plan.
The second Hummer drove on ahead, the doors opening and the goons stepping out. Some carrying handguns, the others opened the trunk and started to unload the packs and boxes of drugs that Link had given them as an offering.
Link Cordell swallowed in the backseat of the vehicle as Floyd leant on the window, watching the men take the boxes inside the school's North entrance. Touching her forehead, Evelyn took a breath as one of the men signalled to Mini and his driver.
The man known as 'The Armorer' was present too, wielding the same Jericho 941RPL pistol he had threatened Link with.
The Armorer greeted another tall (yet thinner) man dressed in street clothes. They shook hands and the thin man pointed to the Hummer that Evelyn and Link sat in. Going to open the door, Mini turned around after grabbing something from the glovebox - a suppressed Glock 18. Leaning back on the seat, his finger touched the trigger as he balanced the gun on the back of the driver's seat.
"You don't talk in there. Only talk when you're asked something, you're in the game now. Elias doesn't even deal with these guys, so keep your eyes down and your guard up." Mini advised them, opening the door and tucking the gun into his coat's pocket. The driver got out next and followed, then Floyd kicked her door open and stepped out, followed by Link.
Walking to the school, Mini and his group were ushered inside by the thinner man, who Mini welcomed with a nod. Entering through the North entrance, their escort guided them down the corridor. They had to walk past the empty classrooms, shadowed in darkness, and the dusty hallways littered with pictures of smiling students.
Looking at the brightly coloured cardboard displays that covered the dark walls of the North wing, Floyd was faced with old memories of her own school; The halls would be crowded with people, and the chaos would be perfect, like a movie. There would have been the couple that was always kissing passionately at the side of the hall, about ten feet further down, there would be the clique of girls.
Opposite them, the clique of jocks, between them, the parade of band-geeks with their huge instrument cases. There would be the rogue kids who never did anything but make paper airplanes and the fashion and popular kids that wheeled mannequins and clothing racks down the halls.
But then there was Floyd, who didn't fit into any of those groups. She would stare from the windows, and wonder if a life awaited her on the outside.
She should have known what would happen after. Falling in with Elias and his gang, men like Scarface whispering sweet nothings with no promises.
Her face was cast in the darkness as they continued down the hallway, then lit up in the artificial lights.
Somehow, all the doors to the school were open, but not a thing seem disturbed, innocent and carefree, like the school was untouched by time itself. Noticing the hidden camera in a glass trophy cabinet, Link admired his reflection slightly.
"It's just up here, they're expecting us." The thin man said dryly. He took Mini, Floyd, Link and the others into a larger hall. A basketball court just through a pair of double-doors. Already, the Armorer's men had brought in the cocaine blocks that Link had provided as an offering.
The thin man stepped to the side to reveal three pale-skinned individuals. One was female, and gave Evelyn an icy-eyed look. She had a stern face, and taught, straw-like hair that was pulled back into a bun. With lips tinted red, the woman wore a boxy suit and had a shield-badge in her hand. The woman was straight-backed, with pointed ears and a button-nose.
The men beside her wore the same cut of suit, dark blues and black shades with patterned ties. The tallest man had stubble, a five o'clock shadow and a flat-top haircut. Both looked like Police, with obvious weapon holsters attached to the underside of their jackets. The woman stepped forward first as Mini and the thin man approached.
GYM A CAM 04 - 01:19:05
She flashed her badge; DEA. "Special Agent Lennox, this is Thomsen and Neal, we spoke on the phone." She addressed Mini, who nodded. The cloudy white blocks arranged in front of them, Floyd stood beside Link who shuffled in his place. "We understand these came from a cook in Albany, correct?" Agent Neal asked, adjusting his glasses.
Link stuttered as the question was aimed at him, Mini shot him a glance and Link answered "Uh, yeah, yeah - we've - I've worked with him before." He stammered, and Neal responded with a grunt. Stepping forward, Agent Lennox put her hands on her curved hips. "We'll need a background check on him if-"
She was cut off by Mini who stood in-between her and Link "You won't need anything if this product is up to snuff, so tell me what I have here." He demanded with a pinch of a threat. Taking on a more authoritative voice, Mini touched his sidearm.
Lennox yielded, and instructed her escorts to check the blocks of condensed white powder in the middle of the court. They kneeled down to them one by one and pulled out some disposable, CSI-style gloves. Picking them up, the Agents looked at the contents and then laid them down carefully. Lennox and Mini each glancing between the two, while Evelyn stood back behind the armed men.
Touching his nose awkwardly, Link brushed his shirt with his other hand as the inspection continued. The DEA Agents looked at each block individually, and then they placed them back down.
"How many?" Mini questioned. Link slowly walked over to Floyd's side, and folded his arms. Agent Lennox signalled to her escorts, who pulled off their gloves and flanked her.
"Five. Four, if you're being technical." She said specifically. Mini seemed to be content with that, gesturing to her. The female Agent pointed to four of the blocks on the ground, and then the Brotherhood's men moved the refined cocaine over to her side of the basketball court. The thin man ringed his hands together as Floyd noticed him standing near the corner.
Mini waited a beat "I'll expect a cut in the next few days, file it through the Armorer's account." He instructed, and Lennox nodded accordingly.
The thin man was now standing behind Floyd, his hands behind his back and his eyes hooded by shadow.
The DEA and Mini were speaking generally, until Link broke the conversation abruptly "What about the rest?" He spat, louder than he intended. Mini's head turned like an owl, his face was stern and stoic. Floyd cringed, her whole body shivering briefly in fear. Didn't he remember what Mini had said?
He was suddenly saved the consequences as the side-doors to the basketball court opened and laughter followed. Two young boys, about sixteen or seventeen, Floyd guessed. One was carrying a basketball, the other, paler boy was wearing a sports' jersey.
The basketball dropped to the floor and bounced as the boys were frozen still.
The laughter had instantly ceased as the DEA pulled their weapons. Thomsen and Neal held SIG-Sauers on the boys. Even the thin man had a Walther P22, raised and aimed to the boy's heads. The pistols clicked as they prepared to fire.
Mini cautioned them, halting the enforcers. The thin man lowered his gun as Lennox did the same "They're kids, Neal, just stupid kids." She murmured under her breath.
"You boys play ball?" Mini started with, addressing the two teens informally. The orange and black basketball rolled to his feet and stopped. The shorter boy nodded a couple times, still looking at the DEA Agents who sheathed their weapons. Link unfolded his arms and waited, as a slight worry creeped into Floyd's head.
The paler boy eyed Lennox "They're Cops, right?" He said brazenly. His companion now focussed on the large packets of drugs on the ground. "Smart. They're Feds, and do you know who we are?" Mini changed his tone to a friendlier one. The boy who wore the hat knew, as he looked at Lennox, who refused to meet his eyes. "The Brotherhood." He pointed out.
Confirming what the boy said, Mini agreed "We are. You see, in this town, the Feds work for us. Cops and police can do what they like, but their bosses can't do shit compared to we can do. We run this city now." Mini postulated.
The two boys looked at each other, as the taller one looked like he was holding something.
Taking it out his jacket, he held a switchblade. Probably taken off the streets, the boy held it how a girl would hold a hairdryer. The Armorer could be heard reaching for his gun, and Mini raised a hand for him to stop. "They've seen our faces! They get out, we're all done!" The Armorer argued.
Turning his head, Mini's gaze silenced the trigger-happy Armorer. Going back to the youths, Mini looked down at the baseball cap-wearing boy. "You know about us?" He inquired gently.
The teen nodded "I had a brother...Lamar, he joined your crew when you went against Elias. Then some Detective got him." The boy lamented.
"Is that right? What about you?" Mini turned to the teen who held the switchblade. The paler youth shook his head, scratching his eyebrow "I knew a corner-boy for-"
The metallic blast of a suppressed gunshot went off when Mini popped the paler boy in the head. Holding his silenced Glock, he turned to the shorter boy before the limp body even dropped to the ground. "Go." He instructed coldly.
Turning to run, the shorter boy took off his baseball cap and raced to the door before Mini shot him in the back of the head. A trail of blood leaking from the metal doors where he had just reached freedom, Mini glanced at Agent Lennox. "Mop this up, and wipe the cameras." He spoke as if he'd done this all before.
Walking to the side of The Armorer, Mini leant down to his shoulder as his lips barely moved "Stay with them, make sure they properly dispose of the bodies." He instructed to his subordinate, who gladly agreed as Mini swaggered a few steps towards the doors.
He pushed the left-hand door open, and glanced back at the thin man. "They come with me. They're in now." Mini told him, referring to Link and Floyd. The bodyguards from Mini's crew escorted the thin man out of the room, as Link and Floyd were implored to go with them. "You didn't see that in there, and that's how it'll say. This is what you wanted, you're in the Brotherhood now." Mini said while walking.
"Which means you'll never have to worry about Elias ever again." He concluded.
ACCESSING CURRENT FEEDS...
DATE: AUGUST 21st 2014
LOCATION: Maple, NEW YORK STATE, USA
PRECISE LOCATION: MAPLE GENERAL HOSPITAL
WARD 5 CAM 2 - 05:19:22
The town of Maple was ideal, picturesque, one could say. It was devoid of traffic, skyscrapers or smog. Getting out of the hectic and bustled streets of New York was a blessing that Martine needed as she watched the sign for Maple speed by.
Though she couldn't forget what she had just come from, Weiss in a critical condition and Samaritan rushing to locate the dangerously knowledgeable attacker.
So far, the man had been traced to the Shadow Army, and his picture was in the process of being decrypted. Most likely Greer was using all his assets on the case, one by one they'd be dispatched and one by one they'd come back with nothing. It was almost getting too predictable at this point.
Travelling in an SUV to the Hospital, Martine was escorted by four men, each wearing dull grey suits and carrying fake FBI shields, pinned to their midsections. Her expression was mute as they pulled into the Ambulance bay of the hospital, and the door swung open. Stepping out and tilting her head until she heard a relaxing crack, Martine began to stride into the entrance of the hospital's reception.
Her black stiletto heels clicked on the freshly shined floor as Martine approached the front desk, escorted by her faceless bodyguards. The reception was quiet, with a bench and a few small stalls, selling greeting cards and plastic flowers. Behind the neat and mirror-like desk was an arrangement of papers and a potted plant, along with a woman dressed in a blouse and blazer.
She had faded green eyes and a square jawline, with brunette hair, tied back into a ponytail. Her name tag was labelled 'Katherine Piper: Receptionist' and Martine looked her up and down as she approached with a cold mask of determination on her face. "Agent Megan Watkins, Homeland Security. I understand this hospital is holding a person of interest in an investigation?" Martine began with.
Piper was more than helpful, leaning forward on the desk as she spoke "Yes, so I've heard. In fact, a gentleman just came by here asking the same thing, he's waiting with the doctors upstairs on the second floor." The receptionist recalled, her eyes gleaming from the lights of the sterilised hospital. She pointed towards one of the casually-dressed security guards, who escorted Martine and her men up to the second floor.
The gentleman that Piper mentioned was Greer's on-site asset, who Martine saw waiting with his back turned among a troop of other soldiers for Samaritan. Entering the level via the stairwell, Martine noticed the presence of the ASI immediately as the ball-like camera's fixed their red lights to her face.
Wearing a sleeveless, tight-fitting black dress, Martine wore a knee-length overcoat and a pair of heels. Exposing her pale and hairless legs, the nearest Samaritan agent's gaze was fixed to her body as she walked past him. Seeing the ward swarmed with armed men, Martine flashed her badge to the guards at the door of bay twelve.
They let her pass without a word as she stood in front of the white curtain that separated her from the ex-deceased Maryann Holst, the former administrator at a Cardiovascular Surgery in Pittsburgh. Filing in next to Rousseau, a clean-shaven agent held a clipboard and tapped it as he stood next to her.
"Agent Watkins, we've made contact with the patient, and our representative is ready to speak with you." The asset put forth, his face wiped of emotion. Martine gave a curt nod and walked back into the corridor of the empty ward. Her surroundings were once familiar, back when she cared for such things as the health of another.
Weiss was concerning her, all this talk of hospitals, if his condition worsened, would she care? Outside the bay, she heard footsteps approach her.
A thirty-something male and a girl in her early twenties were walking her way, Martine's eyes instantly checked the female. A young brunette in a black leather jacket, zipped up to her collar, she eyed every speck of this place with daggers for pupils, her brunette eyes lined in a bronze flame.
The male was fair-haired and pale, dressed in a grey suit with a striped red tie. Despite his bespoke looks, his eyes were pure ice, cold and piercing. He carried an industrial-looking briefcase and addressed Martine in a vaguely European accent. "My name is Schmidt, this is my assistant, Brittany O'Quinn." Schmidt gestured to Brittany, who brushed a lock of brown hair away from her face.
"Greer sent me as representative to deliver the package to the patient, I understand you're here to...bring her onto the winning team?" He leered, a brief gloating smile on his face. Martine knew that Samaritan had hundreds of Representatives across the country, and thousands across the world. Schmidt was just one of a collective of former political officials or international intelligence agents.
Brittany was harder to guess, Martine assumed that she was one of Lambert's apprentices. Jeremy Lambert had been overseeing the training and teaching of new Assets and soldiers prior to Samaritan's activation. But Brittany was different, she had a passion that could only come from Samaritan's guidance.
She touched her earpiece as Martine replied "Yes, I've been sent from the Steiner by him personally. Have you been monitoring the patient?" Martine asked.
"I'd rather leave that to the doctors, we weren't exactly recruited to keep humans alive. Preserving human life - not exactly one of Samaritan's mandates." Schmidt said with a chilling inflection. Gripping his briefcase, he noticed Martine glancing it for just a second. "This is it, Holst's new lifeline." Schmidt raised his briefcase, instructing two agents to open the doors to the nearest office.
WARD 4A OFFICE CAM 2 - 05:30:48
ASSET/ / 029
ASSET/ / 1101
ASSET/ / 1348
Schmidt lead them into the empty surgeon's office as his men shut the windows and closed the curtains. The room was soon vacated as it was just Martine, the representative and Brittany. The representative's briefcase was padded and armoured, it looked like it could have taken a high-powered bullet and still remained in one piece.
He lifted it up and placed it on the table with a thud. The office was small, with just a table and a desk by the corner, a box had been laid on the table, full of thin books and currently updated newspapers like The New York Journal, Metro Daily, and a copy of the Manhattan Today. Brittany hopped up onto the desk as Martine paced around the window.
The Samaritan liaison felt the rim of the briefcase before flipping up two buckles on the front of the case. Martine placed her hands on the top of the table as a smirk tugged at her lips. Unlocking the case, he went to lift it open with a slow pull as the door opened and Brittany's head snapped to the doorway like a predator poised to strike.
Suddenly, the plain-faced Samaritan agent stepped inside with his clipboard grasped in his hands as silhouettes flanked him in the hallway. "Sir, there's a problem. Samaritan detected a threat on the third floor, it's been contained but Doctor Haskell is here to see you." The asset relayed. Then the door bursted wide open as a lab-coat wearing Doctor walked in.
His body was simple, about a head taller than Martine, with slight stubble around his jaw and cheekbones poking from his face. Haskell's brown hair was greying, as the worry was present in his expression.
The Doctor walked into the room and the Agent shut the door behind him as he left, turning back to the corridor. "Four minutes ago, a patient was escorted into our ICU and held for containment, until your FBI suits arrived and just shut off his life-support. When I tried to access the patient files, they were locked behind a firewall, and your man outside won't let me see it." Haskell began.
"The patient was dangerous, he was carrying a blood disease that was genetic and could have infected the hospital's entire blood-bank." Brittany responded, her tone straight and truthful. Including Maryann Holst, who was currently hooked up to an IV. Idling by the door, Haskell walked over while Schmidt pulled up a chair and relaxed, interlocking his hands together.
Rubbing his chin, the Doctor glanced around, first to Martine and then to Mr. Schmidt. "This is connected to the woman you're keeping on this ward, isn't it? If our blood reserves get infected then you've lost her...for whatever reason you're keeping her here for." Doctor Haskell speculated. Schmidt raised his head, eyes wide.
"Samaritan has to secure all assets, even if that means protecting future endeavours." The representative replied.
"My staff should be still be allowed to view her records." Haskell pointed out, blinking in annoyance. Martine folded her arms, standing back from the table. Tracing the side of the desk with her thin finger, Brittany touched her belt, which Martine noticed was secured with a weapon's holster. "You wouldn't understand them anyway, so what's the point?" Martine retorted quickly.
Haskell sighed and emotion washed over his face again, his brow furrowed, he blinked furiously and leaned forwards. "Who the hell do you people think you are..." He hissed roughly, a hint of brewing anger in his voice. Suddenly, a pocket of his white doctor's coat started to vibrate. Schmidt gestured with his hand, prompting the Doctor to answer his phone.
He held his phone with a shaking hand as Greer's voice piped through the line "Mr. Schmidt and others like him are my eyes and ears inside your operation. We gave you a marvellous car, surely, you didn't think I'd let your drive it yourselves?" He said, bemused.
"Of course I did, you said we would." Haskell replied, a quiver in his voice.
"As for your unfortunate causality, Samaritan has compensated his family, and provided all the necessary arrangements and resources to bolster your ICU, should a similar case arise." Greer rasped through the phone. The Doctor glanced at Martine, who pursed her lips.
Greer's tone hardened "I'm wondering...would you like Mr. Schmidt to put the key back in the ignition?" He questioned. Sighing, Haskell nodded to himself, he had to let this matter go. Putting his ear back to the phone, the greying Doctor had defeated eyes "Fine, keep her records. Just don't turn anything off." Haskell yielded.
Immediately standing from his chair, Schmidt clicked his fingers and Brittany stepped off the desk, flanking the Doctor. "Good talk, Victor. The girl will escort you back to your ward." He remarked, dusting his jacket with the back of his hand. The young woman opened the door and followed Haskell until it was just Martine and the Representative.
"Nice work, do you always have Greer at your beck-and-call?" Martine raised an eyebrow as Schmidt went back to his briefcase. He pressed a four-digit code into a num-pad before unlocking the buckles again.
He pushed the lid open and marvelled at the LEDs and buttons inside. Inside the case was a stubby switch and a smaller box, held by a glass partition. Schmidt flicked the switch up with his thumb, and the glass barrier was raised with a whirring sound. "We represent Samaritan on official business, I am a liaison, so I liaise." Schmidt huffed.
"Greer simply supports our operations, as he supported you during your tenure with Decima." He said, his eyes quickly shifting back down to the briefcase. As a company, Decima was heading into an early grave. The executive board was days away from being fully dismantled, as the shadowy board members slipped back into anonymity.
Martine knew that the Decima Board supported Samaritan, to the point where they funded operations to secure the hardware and technology needed to activate the ASI.
Looking down at the contents of the case, Martine walked around the table to glance down inside the briefcase. Blue LED lights flickered as a thin wire was plugged into the smaller box. The wire was connected to a machine the size of Martine's ear, and covered in silver panelling.
She put her hands on her hips "Is this it? My bargaining chip with Holst?" Martine hesitated, as if it wasn't what she expected. The representative chuckled in response "Wendell's men have been working on it for months, from Decima to Samaritan, some powerful people have signed off on this thing." Schmidt explained, adding some legitimacy to the device's appearance.
Somewhat satisfied, Martine took a breath "How soon can Holst receive the surgery?" She asked at once.
"Immediately, her cooperation is all they require. We could haul her into the theatre right now, but then that'd take even more explaining on our part." Schmidt pointed out, placing his hands on the top of the case and pushing it shut. He rested his foot on the exposed chair, and leant his elbow on his knee. "Well, I guess it's more your part than mine...you wouldn't mind talking to her, would you?" He goaded.
Rolling her eyes, she blinked at him with a deadpan expression "We both know you don't give a damn wether I mind or not, Greer sent me here to recruit Holst." She went back to the subject, but Schmidt was more focused on getting a rise out of her. "Really? Samaritan doesn't choose favourites, it selects who it deems to be most effective. Simple logic and all, but Decima...those stains can get particularly hard to wash out." He poked, as Martine tilted her head.
A faint flicker of annoyance passed on her face "I don't get what you mean, most Decima agents joined Samaritan as it went online, as did I." She clarified, her hand touching the top of the briefcase. Schmidt was about to pull the case towards himself when Martine snatched it from his grasp with one hand.
Sneering, Schmidt's composure broke as his hand slammed onto the table, missing the case by an inch. "Men like Greer value respect, but Samaritan is a program, it's a set of code that can kill hundreds based on metadata in half a second, how can you go from honourable service to blind loyalty?" He questioned, a smirk on his lips.
Martine breathed and relaxed her shoulders, a calm, tight smile on her face. "The same way the son of a Polish immigrant and a German politician can rise to the position of senior staffer at the Office of Foreign Assets Control. Or do I misunderstand you, Mr. Mühle?" Martine shot back at him.
He took a long, reptilian blink "We can't all come from the glamour of a New York slum, Ms. Rousseau." He said with a devious inflection. "Some of us found salvation in Samaritan, it gave us hope, we didn't decide if and how we serve, we simply obey. That's the beauty of it, even your worst enemy can see the light as we do." Schmidt said as if he was a prophet.
From the corner of the room, the security camera honed in on the assets, Samaritan's red blinking eye indicated their numbers above their heads as the system began to delve deeper into the Maple Hospital's records.
WARD 4A OFFICE CAM 2 - 05:39:24
ACCESSING DATABASE_ / HRSA, HMO
FIREWALL DETECTED
FIREWALL DISABLED
FULL ACCESS GRANTED
INSTALLING SURVEILLANCE SOFTWARE..
INSTALLING PROXY VIRUS...
ACCESSING ARCHIVED FEEDS...
DATE: APRIL 2nd 2000
LOCATION: The Hague, HOLLAND, THE NETHERLANDS
ZONE 2 SEC 3 - 11:27:18
You'd think that working for the United Nations would be a job with little fun attached. No time for slacking or taking a day off in The Hague, especially when you worked at the international Criminal's Court, as an investigator no less. The Court of Justice was a formal place, but it wasn't without it's rewards. It wasn't without it's downtime.
Today was one of those days, as far as she was concerned. She had been working for The Hague non-stop since she arrived in late January as one of the interns.
Working her way up to the rank of an investigator, it had been a grind that she was thankful for. Since arriving, she had bided her time, watching briefings, sitting in on conference calls with the Directors and his Staffers.
It was worthwhile experience, and every so often, the Director would reward his students and employees with a trip into the City or out into the country, and on this occasion he chose the latter. Taking them to a gun-range outside The Hague in South Holland.
Though Director Westergaard would spend most of his time drinking with his peers, he allowed his employees a day of excitement and relaxation at his expense.
That was something she appreciated, as she stood in the cubicle-like stall, facing a row of metal silhouettes with targets tagged to their chests and heads. She wore a pair of safety goggles, ear-defenders and her dirty yet striking blonde hair was tied up into a bun.
A Glock 17 in her gloved hands, she had prepped and loaded it already as she lined up her shot. They were celebrating upon this special occasion, their three month-long investigation had led to the arrest and persecution of Jeffrey Lee Alcalá, an infamous ally of the regimes in Chile, and a Commander of an illegal slave encampment in West Argentina.
After the trial, Director Westergaard decided to take his investigating team out on a day of celebration, which began at the gun range. The firearm gripped in her hands, she aimed down the sights and loosed a shot that sent a shiver down her body. She took in the adrenaline for the first time as she felt the sun's rays trickle down on her through the gaps in the trees.
Suddenly, a voice cut past her rising and excited heartbeat. "You're ambidextrous?" Connor Herring said, stepping towards her and leaning on the wall of the booth. The UN Analyst muttered a little to himself as the blonde woman glanced to him "You know, it's not smart to startle a woman with a gun, or anyone with a gun for that matter." She retorted.
Connor smiled with his dull brown eyes (he looked different without his glasses) and pointed towards the weapon. "You write with your right hand, but you were firing with your left." He noticed, raising his head. The blonde woman nodded, she guessed that a former NSA computer analyst would be able to spot these things. "Sorry, I'm just a freak for patterns-"
"No, it's okay, I hadn't noticed." The woman responded with a friendly voice. She removed her ear-defenders as Connor put his hands in his pockets. The brunette man was a few years younger than she was, College educated, he got this job through recommendations by his peers and superiors.
But the woman with such blonde hair had it different, she had turned her whole life around for this chance. She had studied harder than she ever had at school, getting a Law Degree from a cousin's old firm, and then getting University contacts was easy, off the back of that she went into psychology and studied it privately.
Eventually grafting enough to get a PHD and catching the interest of a international UN Staffer and Civil Servant who recommended her to join the group of new recruits in Holland for the chance of a lifetime. She had taken that chance, and was riding the high ever since. Connor blushed "You know, Sven and Rueben have been asking about you." He mentioned as he looked at the metal target.
The target she aimed at was rusted, a dark grey shade. At the bottom of the target's torso was a woman's name engraved on a license plate, names like 'Grace' and 'Samantha' the names clearly meant something to the owner of the firing range.
The blonde woman nodded "I'm sure they have, did Sven tell you that joke? About the yogurt?" She said with a smirk and roll of her eyes as Connor stifled a laugh.
"God, does he tell that to every American?" Connor chuckled as he fiddled with a keychain in his pocket. Picking up her firearm again, she turned to the target ahead of her. Connor stood watching over her shoulder as she fired, blinking every time she pulled the trigger.
Moving her index finger back to the trigger, she pulled it, and the kickback was minimal. But the noise of the shot bouncing off the metal target was at least comforting to know that she was getting a little better. She was by no means perfect. Going to reload, she fumbled with the magazine. Connor stepped in "Hey, I got you there..." He mumbled as he took an extra magazine and helped her load the handgun.
Turning back around to aim, she squinted much less this time. After she had unloaded a volley of consecutive shots, the blonde woman suddenly found herself out of bullets.
She checked the impact zones on the target. "Dammit." The blonde woman cursed as she saw that none of the bullets had even made contact, striking the rocks beside the target or splintering off into the distance. Wiping his glasses, Connor was wearing a checkered shirt and a dark turquoise sweater with a low neckline "You'll get better, you've just gotta give it some time." He reassured.
"I've definitely got the time...I think this target likes me." She joked. Connor watched her turn back around and fire a couple more shots. "Director Westergaard was talking about assigning us to the Deputy next week, I think the whiskey makes him hopeful that he can weed out some slackers." Connor commented.
"The only thing Westergaard'll be weeding out is his garden when he retires." The blonde woman smirked as she turned sharply to the range in front of her, firing a straight set of five shots to the clean target. "Then you better give me a commendation when you become Director, the UN could such a useful asset as myself." Connor gave her a dry smile.
She put the pistol down again and turned on her heel "I have my ways, Connor. One day I'll get my own office, instead of bunking with you guys." She hoped.
Connor waited a second before replying "Hey, I think it's a positive thing, you being the only girl in the class, and all. Westergaard wouldn't like you nearly as much otherwise." He quipped, knowing she'd take it lightly. The blonde woman took it in humour, raising an eyebrow "Favouritism? That's bold, even for you." She retorted.
"I'm not - I'm not! Not bold, just observant, I see how Rueben and the others look at you." He imparted. She folded her arms wordlessly, licking her lips. "And you aren't tempted?" She replied, a testing nature in her voice.
Connor shook his head honestly "No, I've got more on my mind than your perfect curvatures, thank you." He chuckled along with her. They couldn't help but laugh now, as she eyed the firearm "I hope I never have to use one of these things..." She uttered abruptly.
The thought entered Connor's head too. "If you ever do have to use one, I hope it'll be on someone who matters. Someone who deserves it." He responded poignantly. Shuffling on his feet, he watched her take aim again. Connor eventually stepped away, leaving the blonde woman to continue her target practice.
ZONE 2 SEC 3 - 13:00:29
Walking back to the gun range, Connor put his hands back into his pocket as he waited behind her. She was still at the same booth with the same gun. Shooting at the same target. He attempted to shout her name, or tap her on the shoulder. None of those worked.
Waving off an impatient Sven, he touched the woman's arm softly. She removed her ear defenders and protective goggles, lowering her firearm. "Hey, we were just about to head into the City, the Director's buying." Connor shared, meeting her gaze.
"Uh, hey, I'm good for now. I'd rather just practice here, I'll catch up with you, okay?" She compromised. Connor breathed a sigh through his nose "Sure, take your time, the target isn't going anywhere." He joked in a friendly manner before he turned back to his peers.
The blonde woman turned around, raising her weapon, she fired another shot into the target's chest, almost hitting the name-plate at the bottom of the torso, which was engraved with another woman's name, exactly like the others.
She checked the sights of the gun as she fired, the bullet bouncing off the plate, hitting the side of the rusty name, nearly knocking it off.
However, no matter how many bullets she loosed 'Martine' wouldn't move. Martine didn't move at all.
