a/n: Andrew. People do not like him.
If automatic doors could bang, these did. A heavy duffel slammed onto the couch.
"That kind of mission?" Alexa hovered between the coffee pot and the fridge. "Beer or coffee?"
"Murder. Knives. Shaped charges!" A soldier crashed onto the opposite couch. The cushions muffled half of her scream. "I hate him."
"Who?"
"Andrew."
"Stiff guy with the English lah-dee-dah accent?" Alexa asked amiably.
"The one like a tall mouse. Pink, big ears, twitches. I told him to keep to the right edge but nooooo. He cost me my skell."
Alexa froze. "He dies at midnight," she said quietly.
a/n: Probably my kid's Cross, Cécile.
Next up: Prick.