Alphas

They killed Nikita...

Don't get me wrong. Normally, I don't wish for anyone to get killed much less get put on an abeyance list, but I can't say that she didn't deserve it. The mission clearly stated that she was supposed to kill Shays. Instead, she let him live. She did not pull the trigger. As much as Michael tried to save her dumb ass, she still didn't do her damn job and that's why she got sent in to not come back out.

Birkoff said he had never seen a moment like that ever at Section. Course, to his credit, he never went out on many missions either. But, the whole thing was a bit unusual. Even Michael seemed to be agitated about it. I guess I could at the very least give him that. Nikita was his material, after all. Yet, regardless he still went along with orders as instructed and led Nikita to her death.

And what a death it was…

Nikita went up in a spectacular inferno, incinerated in seconds as all of the chemical plant tumbled down around her. When Michael's team returned (what was left of it anyway), they all separated silently, not one even turning to look at the other. I suppose they all were in their world of disbelief at what had to be done for that mission. I'm sure it wasn't easy for either of them. I could tell it certainly wasn't easy for Michael. Even though he maintained his customary hard, blank appearance, there was a marked difference in the way he walked.

His shoulders slumped forward slightly like a huge weight had been heaped on his back instead of it being lifted off.

I thought getting rid of Nikita would lighten his load and allow him to fully concentrate on his duties again. With her gone, he would no longer be distracted or have to continue to put himself at risk trying to save her. I thought…

I thought he would have a chance to be happy again…

It occurred to me then that what made Michael happy was not the relaxing of goals, but the pursuit of them. He was not the type of man that was settled with a quiet, undisturbed life. He was just the opposite.

He thrived in contention.

He had to have something to aim for. He had to have a mission.

When it came time for the empty slots in Michael's decimated team to be filled, I volunteered my name into the pool. I boldly went to Madeline, the Queen Bitch herself, and demanded she put me in the list of available operatives to fill out Michael's Alpha Team. I showed her my newly evaluated stats, gave her more than enough factual percentages detailing my improvements, and produced for her more than a few examples of my accuracy and efficiency in the field. Her dark eyes looked me over coldly, no doubt judging every word coming out of my mouth. I could feel her scanning me, like some horrible robot calculating me and dismantling me piece by piece until there was nothing left but hardwire and data chips to analyze and compute. I stood erect, staring forward and pressing my lips tightly shut so that the words rattling around in my brain could not have a chance to seep out. Finally, after what felt like ages, her mechanized gaze broke from me and her face hinted at an amused smile. Her dark maroon lips pulled back revealing porcelain white teeth. She handed me back my panel.

"Alright. We'll try you out," she said evenly.

I was barely able to contain myself, I was so happy. Finally! I was going to be where I was supposed to be this whole time! It only took three years and the death of an entire team to get me on Michael's team.

"But the final say still rests with Michael," Madeline added as if knowing my thoughts instantly. "We will try you on the next outing. If he says you fit well with his team, then you will be assigned to him. If not…"

"If not?" My blood ran a little cold with the heavier inference of her words.

"If not," Madeline breathed out. "Then, provided you return in one piece, you will go for re-evaluation and programming, undergo further performance review, and be put back in General Operation Status."

"I won't be assigned to a team?"

"No."

I swallowed the humongous lump in my throat. It was not the kind of news I was hoping for. Being put back in General Operation was almost like being demoted back to a Level 1 Grunt. The majority of what made General Operation was Level 1 grunts and operatives put in abeyance. almost always were sent on suicide missions or details that did not require much skill to complete. They were throw-aways and used for exactly that purpose. Once you were put in the G.O pool, it was difficult to get out, and even more difficult to get assigned to a team without doing something impressively unique like single-handedly taking down a target, to have your review moved up.

I walked out of Madeline's office feeling two very different emotions. I was happy (no, more like ecstatic!) that I was going to be on Michael's team, but I was also scared to death of what was going to happen next. It was widely known that Michael's team often got sent on Hot Missions, and it was very likely that an operative could get themselves killed or badly injured if they weren't careful. Although Michael was easily considered the best team leader in Section, he wasn't always the nicest and would just as soon shoot you dead in the field if he thought you weren't doing your job and jeopardized the objective. I had heard of him even hobbling a team member before, some say to save their life, others because he fell behind. Whatever the case, Michael shot the guy before he was helped to extraction. To be honest, of all the stories I've heard of Michael and the Alpha Team, I don't believe that he would ever do anything like that without a reason. He is much too honorable to be so devious. However, if the order came from Command to do so…

Michael wasn't a successful Level 5 Field Leader and Tactician because he was nice. He made it as far in Section as he did because he followed orders to the very decimal. He did his job and not an action more outside of it. He told us all the same thing. Do your job and you will live another day. Don't do your job and it might be the last notion you realize before you're dead...if you are even allowed to notice that you screwed up.

It wasn't long before I was called in for my first briefing with Michael's team. I was strangely exhilarated and caught off guard when the phone rang and a somewhat husky sounding voice mumbled my code name.

"Juliet…"

I detected a heavy french accent and knew instantly that it was Michael. I think my heart stopped beating for a solid five seconds. I think I choked out an answer. I have no idea what I said to him. He was gone before I could collect myself fully. I quickly got together my things, pulled on my fingerless gloves and skully, threw my satchel over my shoulder, and was out of my apartment within twenty minutes. I listened to some heavy metal (Metallica to be exact) to get my blood pumping with the right kind of energy before I made it to Section. I could feel my stomach beginning to cramp a little as I rode the elevators down to the main floor. By the time I made it inside the Transport hall, I was almost doubled over with nerves. No matter how much I tried to steady myself, I just couldn't. My heart was thundering in my chest, my breath was choked in my throat, and I was feeling a little dizzy. The black turtleneck I wore felt like it was strangling me. I leaned my head against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

"You alright there, kiddo?"

I turned to see Harland Taylor making his way down the hall towards me. In the cold blue lights of the corridor, Taylor's tall, imposing frame dressed head to toe in black looked as menacing as death itself. His bald head reflected the lights creating a dark halo.

"What's up," I said, trying to sound unaffected, but I could tell he wasn't buying the act.

His dark eyes fell on me with heavy concern. Even though he was a step or two away from me, his presence felt too close for comfort. Coupled with his overwhelming air, his deep gravelly voice only added to his hellish allure.

"You coming to the meeting or not? Do you want me to get Medical?"

I shook my head, declining his offer. Even though I probably did need to see someone for the twisting going on in my stomach, I knew going to Level 4 instead of the briefing table would land me most certainly in General Ops, and I certainly didn't want that.

"I'm okay. Just...got a little winded for a second. I'm cool though. I'll be right there."

Taylor gave me another concerned glance before heading on down the hall without a look back. I watched him round the corner before breathing out a long breath. I urged myself to pull myself together and ignore the ugly sick feeling rolling about in my gut. I made my way down the hall and out into the atrium where all the rest of Section ebbed and flowed through its halls. Ahead, the briefing table was almost full with operatives awaiting Operations to descend from Command. My eyes went immediately to an empty chair where Michael always sat. I frowned a little, seeing the seat still absent of him as I took my seat at the only other available seat at the table. So far, there were eight operatives assigned on this mission, including myself and Michael. Seated next to Michael's chair was Birkoff, flipping casually through specs on his panel. I suppose he was reviewing his notes so that he would not leave out any pertinent details when it came time for him to add in his information. The churning in my stomach was becoming unbearable. Sweat was starting to bead at my temples, and a wave of deep nausea was setting in.

Of all days to get sick suddenly…

Michael and Operations arrived from Command together. Walking side by side, the two of them looked like God and the Archangel Michael descending from Heaven.

Well, maybe not God.

More like Lucifer and his highest-ranked devil coming to deliver both death and oblivion to us waiting purgatory souls. Michael eased into his seat, exemplifying both perfection and poise in his posture. My heart tightened as his hypnotic eyes found me and held me in place a moment before cruising over the rest of the faces seated at the table. Operations began his notes, but he could have been telling us all about how Santa Claus came to town. I wasn't hearing any of it. The second Michael sat down, all of my attention went to him.

It was finally my moment to run with the man that I have been dreaming of for so long. I would get an opportunity to prove to him that I was worth the struggle to get on his squad and remain there as his most trusted and competent member. Wherever I needed to be, I would be and whatever he needed me to do, I would not fail him. I would be his right hand, his eyes, his cover, his everything!

I loved him!

I was only mildly aware of my stomach from that point on. It was as if Michael magically took away all of the ill feelings I was experiencing earlier. Once Operations was done speaking, he turned the attention over to Michael for him to add whatever notes he felt necessary for us to know. I listened to him intently, hanging on his every syllable. Although his accent made certain words sound funny, I relished the sound of his voice. Some said he sounded nasal, ranging slightly high in octave at times and then low in others. I found his tonality not unlike a well-tuned harpsichord, playing delicately within the hollow walls of Section. It was unique and unmistakable. No one else on the planet could ever sound as beautiful to me as Michael did.

No one ever would.

After the briefing, we were sent to Walter to get suited up. The mission was set to run in three hours. It was a simple enough intel grab. We weren't expected to encounter resistance, but we had to be on guard and prepared if we were. I changed out into my tactical gear and waited for Walter to assign me my weapons and comm unit. I saw Michael pulling on his combat vest bulking up his slender frame. Even though I had seen him dressed out before, he never failed to captivate me. His pants fit tightly against the shape of his legs, narrowing down into big heavy combat boots. It was obvious he was going to be in the field with us and not calling the show from the Convoy. I pulled in a breath and started towards him. I wasn't sure what I would say to him. There were a million things that I wanted to say, but all of the words were jumbled and I knew if I just spoke I would look foolish. Instead of saying anything, I just stood close to him and grinned rather stupidly. His eyes cut to me quickly, then back to what he was doing, before slicing through the air again at me, this time holding a question.

"What is it, Vizcano?"

The fact that he knew my name right off sent shivers down my spine. I almost peed myself.

"...H-hi," I choked out.

It was all I could think to say and I felt dumb for saying even that, but the other words threatening to roll out of me would have made me look like a complete jackass. He returned a quick twitch of a smile before moving away from me. I collected my gear from Walter and started towards Transport with the rest of the team. Michael stood at the loading area accounting for each of us as we boarded the elevators before getting on himself. I stood towards the back next to Andrews and Patel staring at the back of Michael's head. His chestnut-colored hair brushed over his shoulders slightly. I could not ignore the loveliness of each and every twist and curl. Being that close to him was driving me nuts. This was my moment to prove myself to him.

"How are you feeling?" Taylor asked as we piled into the van.

I had nearly forgotten about my stomach trouble. The sickening sensation crawling around inside was masked by the butterflies I felt being so close to Michael. I was no longer feeling nauseated, and the sweat that was dampening my skully had turned cold with renewed mission nervousness. We were in the field now, and the time had come to be focused on the job at hand. My position was as a cover which meant I was to take 2nd to cover entrance and extraction points. Once the objective was acquired, I was to fall back to 3rd position then move towards egress after the first team passed the kill zone.

I had been through this sort of maneuver before, only I was never as close to the action as I was now on the Alpha Team. I was always covering Extraction or following behind for clean up. Watching Michael move quickly towards the warehouse we were gathering intel from made me giggle uncontrollably. My teammate, Swanson I think his name was (honestly, who the fuck cares!) looked at me with a strange expression. I squelched the rest of my giggles. I could not tell him why it was that I was suddenly overcome with giggles. I was sure he wouldn't understand that I was nervous and excited about finally getting to work with Michael. He certainly would not get how hard I worked just to get to where I was, or what had to be done to put me in the spot I was now inhabiting. I was in my rightful place and it was more than what I initially thought it would be. Michael was my team member, my mentor…

My leader…

After the mission was complete, we headed back to Section to debrief and unload our equipment back to Walter's meticulous inventory. I could hear his scratchy old man's voice yelling at us to put our equipment on his workstation and to not touch anything. Michael said something quietly to Walter which led him to respond rather coarsely.

"What, you thought I'd give you something that wouldn't work?" Walter made a dismissive sound as Michael returned an apology before leaving the armory.

Ever since Nikita was sent out on her suicide mission. Everyone involved with that mission began treating Michael as if he were cancer or an unwanted step-child. I couldn't figure it out. He only did what Section told him to do, what he was supposed to do, and yet everyone acted like he murdered Nikita. I knew he wasn't to blame for her death. Honestly, it was her fault for putting herself in that predicament. She should have just done her job.

Like Michael told her to do!

But she didn't listen. She didn't follow orders and because of that, she got snuffed. Her death affected the whole damn building, though. Anyone who knew anything about Nikita and Michael walked around like they had lost a dear loved one. Meanwhile, operatives were getting nixed left and right on various missions and no one seemed to give a rat's ass about them. On my next outing, Patel got shot in the head by a sniper. Two weeks later, Swanson was dead. Taylor barely made it out of a weapons silo. He had 3rd degree burns all over his back from the explosion. Pruit took a bullet to the gut and was laid up in Medical for weeks. Michael was cycling through Section operatives like used Kleenexes. After a while, people were starting to become afraid of getting assigned to his team. The rumor was, Michael didn't care anymore about life, anyone's life, much less his own. He took dangerous missions with very little probability of success. He took risks that often landed many of his team members in Medical. Even though he was successful, it was widely known that a mission with Michael was a death warrant just waiting to be signed.

I didn't care.

If Michael was going to be in the field, then so was I. We would face death together, hand in hand if necessary. He was not going to go down alone.