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Post by Ad Absurdum on Sept 8, 2016 23:41:14 GMT -5
I walked in total darkness. Every step vanished into a stretching silence. It was hard to push back the desire to sniff my way into figuring out where Lauren was taking me, but I couldn't know. Instead I concentrated on the leather between my fingertips, my nails digging into the handle of the briefcase. I wish I didn't have it in my hands; it was why I had to walk blindfolded through the city. Every hour the urge to fling it from the highest rooftop threatened to bubble over, but I knew too much now. They were going to kill me, briefcase or not. I had to run.
Suddenly a herd of sounds were trampling through my ears, the noise cancelling headphones pulled from my head. I tried to ignore the roars of cars driving by, footsteps rumbling from above. Too many clues. Then music overpowered everything and the blindfold was pulled from my eyes. I stood in a tiny, box-shaped room. Wallpaper peeled from every corner and the only piece of furniture was a dusty couch. The curtains had been drawn tightly shut.
“Don't look at the window,” Lauren said, her voice snapping like a whip. “Let's not give them any help.”
I coughed, suffocating in the room. “It's not exactly the Hilton.”
“Shut up and don't let them see or hear anything. Keep the music on and don't go looking around. I'll try and find someone who can get that chip out from your head.”
As Lauren left the room, my fingers slipped up to the raised lump behind my left ear. The implant had seemed such a good idea at the time, back when I was innocent, before the suitcase. I sat down on the dusty chair, staring blankly at the wall. They were always watching, always listening; watching through my eyes, listening through my ears.
“Hello Claire.”
I blinked, looking around. Nothing. No indication of any other presence in this dammed room, save for the haphazard waltz of the dust motes and the buzz of some fly currently outside my range of vision.
“Don’t be coy with me.”
They were talking to me.
Or rather, she was.
Because of the implant, Rena’s voice slithered straight past my ear, injecting itself right into mind like a shot of moonshine.
“Claire, can you hear me?” Her words snarled out in that familiar electronic alto–I had heard it far too many times before. “That’s rhetorical, of course. I know you can. You can try to ignore me if you’d like, but I’d reckon it’s dreadfully hard. It’s difficult enough to shut up your own inner voice.”
My temple ached. Fingers scratched across my head, tracing back, as they always did, to the implant. The malignant lump, throbbing slightly, as some internal speaker was at work.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to convince you to fling open the curtains, to broadcast your location to all of Valkyrie. You’d probably guess that would be a death wish, and you’re right. We’d kill you in an instant, along with all of those pesky Tempest agents.”
I stood up, walking across the room. Five strides–that’s how quick it took to cross it–back to the door. I didn’t open it, but rather bounced back to the other side. Five strides. Not so much a room. A cell. Currently, I shared it with the worst sort of roommate, a Valkyrie agent, and her voice far more excruciating than any sort of tinnitus. It would be over soon enough. The briefcase in my hands confirmed it. Another half hour and Valkyrie would be nothing more than a handful of blacked out government documents, another espionage organization lost in the maelstrom of paperwork.
“But really, darling, you’d ought to hear me out. Spare me a moment if you will.”
Shut up.
“Silly girl. Do I have to show you instead?”
The music that wafted through the apartment swelled, a lush kaleidoscope of strings and woodwinds–Beethoven? Tchaikovsky?–that I tried to fall into. I moved to the window, back to the door, back to the couch. Five strides. Five strides. Five strides. I hummed along to the melody. I tried to search for the fly, focus on the ambient whine of its wings in flight. Somewhere above, below, behind me. But still, Rena’s voice cut through it like a shark fin, slicing through the placidity of the room.
“Open the case, Claire. See for yourself.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” I had to hear my own voice, hers made my eardrums wither.
“Ah, now deciding to make conversation are we?”
“My question first.”
“Of course, of course, darling, where are my manners?” Rena, through whatever mic she was using, coughed. “Tempest – to put it charitably – are lying.”
I didn’t bother to contain my scoff. I wanted it to blast into Rena’s ears. “I expected better.”
“No theatrics, Claire. I’m being straight with you. Lauren isn’t going to bother removing that implant, none of Tempest are. When that bomb in your precious hands goes off. Your brain will be fried just like the rest of us.”
My grip only tightened on the case. “Preposterous.”
“Big words won’t help, darling. Hard to swallow, I know, but Tempest likes their operations clean. No loose threads. And you, having the fortune of serving as their mole, truly are that final string that’s spoiling the whole tuxedo. You really are the embodiment of series illegitimacy amidst that sad excuse of an agency. And, with your implant aligned on our network, it’s just too convenient, far too clean, for Tempest to resist.”
I closed my eyes, cursing under my breath. The logic was sound, to a degree, and perhaps if it were anyone else saying it, I would have believed it then and there. But yet, I didn’t want to entertain the notion. Comprehending it seemed absurd. To have spent the last two years in Valkyrie’s ranks, obtaining Intel, life saving ,essential intel, only to be offed as a foot note? To keep an operation clean? I couldn’t bear the thought. “That’s an entertaining fantasy. One of your best yet. But I suggest you enjoy one last glass of Shiraz or Merlot or whatever the hell you drink, because the way I see it, you have less than an hour till that timer runs out.”
“I’m more of a Chardonnay person personally, Claire. But either way, there’s hardly any time for that, because, if my calculations are correct – and I assure you they are – we have around seven minutes on the clock.”
“Bullshit.”
“Open the case, see for yourself.”
My nails tap-danced across the briefcase’s handle. “I don’t have the code.”
“Would you believe me if I said I did?”
“Doubtful.”
“That’s probably the most affirming answer you’ve given me so far, we’re making progress. But let me incentivize that further.”
My lips opened, my response about to dash off of my tongue, when a dagger of pain stabbed straight into my retina. My hands shot upwards, sending the briefcase to the floor. My eyelids slammed shut, a futile protective instinct, as I knew the agony was coming from inside the eye, some foul manifestation of the implant. But yet, in the darkness of that blink, an image flared against the black canvas.
Just one, only for a moment.
One, because Rena knew one would be enough. She knew what spectral picture would get my attention. And even as my eyelids opened again, taking in the corroding room around me, the image stayed, stained onto my retinas like an ink drop.
It was Damien and Kelly, tied down to a chair, their faces a tapestry of bruises. Valkyrie agents were flanking them, their guns pointed to their heads at such an odd angle it looked like they were adorned with synthetic horns.
“No.”
I wanted to rip the walls apart. I wanted to squeeze the lump behind my ear until the implant popped out like some damned tumour. I wanted to have my eyes ripped from their sockets.
And then, the sound. It seeped in, nearly incoherent. But Rena knew it wasn’t words, but rather the sound of their voices, raw and ripe with despair, that mattered.
No mother ever forgets the cries of their children.
Rena’s voice was as cold as frostbite as it cut through. “Do I have your attention now, Claire? I really hope I do. You’ve spent enough time in Valkyrie to know of our more-unorthodox methods of interrogation. Let’s hope we don’t have to do that to your children here.”
My eyes watered, my vision straining through a blur of half-shed tears. But I couldn’t blink; I couldn’t bear to see them like that again. “You fucking piece of shit, if you do anything–“
“Shut up. You’ve played enough sides in this espionage business. You sashayed to Tempest’s little tune and fucking played Valkyrie like a fiddle, but that bomb is not going to be the end of us. I’ve shot more than enough children in my life, and I’ll happily put a bullet in yours if you so give me the slightest damn reason.”
I didn’t reply. Nothing I could say mattered. My tongue flopped numb in my mouth.
Don't blink.
“Much better. Now the case. The code is six – two – one – nine, but that itself is a farce. A typical Tempest security measure. To fully unlock it you input that and then input the reverse. Do that now, you have ten seconds.”
I paused, my breathing having gone shallow. The case was at my feet; I hadn’t even felt it drop.
“Nine.”
I picked it up, flipping it over so the keypad faced me. I could see my fingers tremble as they punched in each digit, which meant Rena could see it too, all of my shattered actions merely vaudeville theatre to her, presented in high definition through the implant. As my finger hit the six again, the case popped open. The bomb was inside, a jagged tiara of wires and circuit boards. Its crown jewel, the neon timer in the middle, displayed its numbers in a near blinding azure.
Six minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
“I hope you’re sinking in the number on that timer there, Claire. Because currently, that’s how many seconds you have until your cranium shreds into confetti.”
I didn’t even occur to me at first that Rena had been right about Lauren and Tempest. My motions were automatic, if I dared to blink, Damien and Kelly would sear back into my eyes. “How do I shut it off?”
“Shut it off? That would be so unlike Valkyire, darling. We ought to be paying it forward – or backwards, I’m sure Tempest will appreciate the gesture.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Don’t embarrass yourself, Claire, just don’t. If you speak again, I’ll take one of the guns myself –“
“What the fuck is the next step then?” My response came through clenched teeth. The timer was sweeping down. Six minutes, ten seconds. I hadn’t the slightest idea on how to read the bomb. The miasmas of wires were mostly translucent, their interiors crackling with ice-blue electric currents, leaving the cliché of ‘cut the red’ completely out of the question.
The timer dipped into five.
“There’s a small pad directly above the timer, I can see it through your implant, can you?”
I look to the location and there it was, a small matte surface that glowed like a black mirror through the ocean of colour.
“Yes.”
“That’s a fingerprint scanner for getting Admin access to the Operating System. You’re going to have to get a Tempest agent’s.”
I grimaced; scanning my eyes across the room, making sure Rena knew well enough that I was the sole occupant. “In case you can’t see –”
“I said a fingerprint, Claire, not the whole package. Head to the door, take the case with you.”
Five minutes thirty seconds. I picked the case up, turning its opening away from me so I didn’t have to squint against the timer. Moving for the door, Rena’s voice clicked to life again.
“On the handle, Lauren just left. Find her print and bring the scanner close enough, it should read.”
I crouched down, bringing my eyes level to the handle. It may as well have been a spherical relic from the Bronze Age, my reflection barely shining through the liberal coating of dust that adhered to its surface. Yet, this was also to my advantage. Lauren’s fingerprints had bloomed fresh disturbances on the handle, small continents of burnt bronze that shimmered amidst the dulled surface.
I brought the case up, struggling to maneuver it against both the handle and the door itself. Readjusting the bomb several times–just under five minutes–I finally brought the scanner to the print, pushing the case close enough so that the two could practically kiss.
“You should hear a chiming noise.” Rena said.
Nothing.
I pressed it closer, the surfaces touching.
Nothing.
“Try another.” The Francophone curves of Rena’s voice always became more apparent when she was stressed. They were beginning to peel through now.
I did, rotating the whole damned thing counter clockwise.
Nothing.
Four minutes and thirty seconds.
“Alright, take the case and –“
“Fuck it.” I gripped the tip of the handle and yanked my arm downwards. There was a brief spurt of resistance, before the whole thing ripped free from the door. Twisting it in my hands and having much more breathing room with the angles, I brought it again to the scanner.
A chime. The timer, nestled on its throne of wires, blushed a deep emerald.
My own sigh of relief seemed to mirror Rena’s. My lip curled at the noise, the idea of us sharing the same emotion seemed reprehensible, a compromise to my own integrity. But there was hardly any time for such introspection, the timer had dipped into the threes.
“You have access now,“ Rena said. “Now, say the exact following words clearly, don’t stutter: ‘Brooklyn, Rainforest, Turnpike.”
I echoed them, each word slipping between hisses of my own laboured breath. As the last syllable of ‘turnpike’ writhed off my tongue, the bomb chimed yet again.
“Splendid, darling. You have priority vocal control in the system, your words can trigger the bomb.”
“What’s the code phrase?” It was more a demand than a statement at that point. My fingers brushed up to my own implant, a gesture that once again sparked images of my children, silhouettes of them that appeared like sunspots over the geography of the room.
“It’s completely up to you. The execute phrase will finalize the order, and it’s your creation. Say ‘Brooklyn’ again and then the phrase. At least two words and three syllables.”
I did so. Rena laughed when I uttered the words.
“How righteous of you. Now, a target. We need to register the new target.”
“Tempest, is it not Tempest?”
“I need a bio-link from one of their agent’s implants. A way to worm the bomb’s virus into their servers.”
“There are no damn agents here.”
“Give it another minute, Claire. If Tempest is adhering to their archaic procedures, they’ll be sending in a grab team, almost certainly under the guise of the implant removers.”
“Is that a definite?”
“Almost certainly. They need a way to dispose of that dead body of yours. I mean, they are expecting you collapsed on the floor, foaming in the mouth in–oh what is it now?–three minutes?”
“What do you need from them?”
“On their implants there should be a darkened square of skin. That serves as the serial number. Stare at it for a good two seconds and your implant should scan it, in turn the bomb will register it as a new target.”
“I’m practically pulling the trigger then.”
“You’re swiveling the goddamn barrel, Claire. Away from myself, yourself, all of Valkyrie, and, since I need to remind you, the two barrels pointed at your fucking children right now. So, three minutes, Claire. Three minutes on the fucking dot. Get the implant scanned.”
I moved back to the couch. Eight meek shuffles this time, my feet refusing to do much more. My own mouth tasted like gunmetal. My eyes watered, begging for me to blink. But I couldn’t bear it; I couldn’t bear another image of Damien and Kelly.
“Left cushion of the coach, open it up, there should be a firearm in there. Better in your hands than in Tempest’s.” Sitting in the middle, the cushion in question popped out like a cork. The couch itself would have been a bloody antique in King Arthur’s time, but miraculously it had a zipper carved across its length. Opening it up, I slipped my hand in, right as I heard voices in the hallway. One of them was Lauren’s.
“They’re here,” I muttered.
“Get the damn gun.”
My fingers were simply grasping cotton. The fabric gushed over my hands, as impractical to grasp as water. Finally, tilting the cushion vertical, I felt the cool grip of a handle. I grabbed the gun, pulling it clean from the cushion, and shoved it into my pea coat.
There was a commotion outside the door. Lauren was right there, six strides away.
Cushion.
I punched it back into the couch, moving to sit down, when another object screamed out at me.
The case was open, the timer on it now just fewer than two minutes. It was right before the door, Lauren would trip on it if she were to walk through.
Not so much five strides as it was three skips. My hand swooped down, clasping it shut and bringing it to a tuck under my arm just as the door flew open and Lauren poured in along with two other agents. I realized I was nearly panting for breath and squeezed by mouth shut, the action causing me to half-gag. Lauren gave me a quizzical look.
“Not the best room for R’n’R is it?”
I pushed my reply out delicately, partitioning my breath between words. “The implant, it’s throbbing. Getting worse.”
She nodded. “It’s probably Valkyrie’s tracing attempts. But even though the implant is on their network we’ve encrypted it too well. You’re safe for now. Besides, it’ll be out in twenty minutes, Gillespie and Levine here will help with that.” She gestured to the other two agents: thirty-some males in suits with widow’s peaks and bland expressions. “We’re just waiting for Dodgson. He’s the chief surgeon for these exercises.”
“That’s some bullshit right there. They’re expecting you dead in two minutes. Although, I admire Lauren’s poker face, she really knows how to play up the facade. Get that serial ID scan.”
I looked between the three, trying to hide my own disdain. As much as I despised Rena, at least she had been direct with her intentions. Lauren still had the audacity to keep her own charade up until the very end, right until the timer hit zero and she expected me on the floor, my brain blown half to death.
And then I looked behind them, and noticed the door handle was still missing.
Fuck.
My eyes riveted back onto Lauren, praying that none of them would follow my gaze. “Why don’t you sit back down, Claire?” Her stone face expression betrayed nothing. But that alone told me enough.
They knew. They knew I was compromised. One look was all it took. They would rewire the bomb. Rena would see, and my kids, oh god, not my–
“Claire, the coach,” Lauren tiled her head in it’s direction. “The surgery works far better when you’re relaxed.”
The bitch was still going by that narrative. But for now, I complied. The gun felt heavy in my pea coat, but I knew I couldn’t win in a firefight against three Tempest agents. My status as a mole endowed my privileged ass with only two hours of field training. I had a minute and a half left at best to scan one of three ears, an action both so innocuous yet so damning I was at a loss on how to accomplish it.
“That’s better,” Lauren said as I sat down. She moved and took a seat on the left cushion. A ghost of an expression creased across her face – a frown? – And she adjusted herself slightly. The gun clunked against my chest, getting heavier with each passing second. She looked at me again, and then to case. It was still nestled in my arm.
“I can take that now, Claire. No need for such a vice-like grip.”
My nod was shallow. “Sure.” My hands grasped the bomb harder as I moved it, my arms panning across my body as I brought the case to her. Her hands brushed mine as she took it, placing it on her own lap. My eyes were still following, as if looking away would send the whole plan spiraling out of my control. I had to move my whole head to bring my gaze to something else.
“Gillespie, take a seat as well. Let’s give her some anesthetic,” Lauren’s delivery was nonchalant.
Gillespie faltered, shaking his head. “Dodgson said –“
“Nobody cares what Dodgson said. Let’s get some anesthetic in her, we’ve all had defunct implants removed before, I’d rather her screams didn’t alert all of Valkyrie to our location.”
“How kind of them, they want to ease the pain away.”
Just as Gillespie took a step towards the couch, the door started to rattle.
Instantly, all three agents were up on their feet, the case falling off of Lauren’s lap. “Hold up!” The words emitted from the trio of mouths.
There was a pause, and the presence on the other side of the door seemed to relax.
“Scan it, now.” Rena’s shout blasted into my ear and I had to resist the urge to bring up my hand protectively. But she was right, all three agents had their backs turned, Gillespie a mere four feet in front of me. I slowly stood up.
“It’s Dodgson,” a voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Control didn’t brief me on the code phrases, apologies.”
“Closer.” I leaned in, the pores on Gillespie’s neck becoming visible. The lump was indeed there, and on it, a jigsaw piece of synthetic skin. “Yes, perfect. Scanning. Hold it…hold it…”
Lauren cursed beside me, her shoulders relaxing. “What a cluster-fuck this week has been,” came out as murmur I could hardly hear, and then, to the others: “At ease, Levine. Dodgson, get in here.”
“…I think…”
Gillespie turned, his ear eclipsing the skin, and my line of sight was cut off. I leaned back hastily, sending me from safe from the distance of false intimacy back to semi-platonic.
“Claire, sit back down. He’s one of ours and we only have…” Lauren looked at her watch.
“Forty three seconds.”
“…Seventeen minutes to get that implant out.”
Yes, Rena, but did it scan?
“She really is a bitch.”
Did it fucking scan? If only I was telepathic.
“Let’s get to work. Gillespie, anaesthetic injection, now.” Lauren crouched down, gripping her hand around the case.
As she picked it up, some object, as clear as a gunshot, rattled inside.
All heads in the room turned to it. “What the hell?”
“It’s scanned. All it needs is the activation words. You have thirty five seconds to say them, otherwise they’ll be wondering why you aren’t dead and you’ll end up with four bullets in your head–"
“Loose chip?” Levine was saying.
"–Say it inconspicuous enough, though, dear. If they hear they’ll know instantly and you’ll end up with four bullets in your head anyways."
Gillespie shook his head. “No, that bomb is brand new. No chance. It’s gotta be some foreign object. Lauren?”
She shot them both withering gazes, her fingers punching in the code. “I haven’t opened the damn thing since we left Control. It was fine then.”
Even though no eyes were on me, even though my name wasn’t being mentioned, I could slowly feel the needle of accusation slowly slipping in my direction, the connotations of conversation dripping down on my own name.
“It should be perfectly fine now,” Lauren clicked the case open.
Flashing scorched bronze, the door handle fell out. It landed on the floor with a thud that was far, far too loud for an object of its mass, rolling lopsidedly until it halted right in the middle of Lauren, Gillespie, Levine and Dodgson.
“The hell?”
At once, I could see four minds deciphering the situation, taking the variables into account, following the streams of logic. My head spun. Flee. Everything was fuzzy, wavering, the world around me seemingly underwater. My whole body seemed heavy, teetering into a half slumber.
In reality, it lasted only a second. Lauren’s gun snapped out of her holster and I woke up.
“You bitch,” her voice gnashed straight in my ear.
“She couldn’t have scanned one of us, yet. There’s no way. She doesn’t know the procedure,” Dodgson said.
“You and Levine, cover the windows. Gillespie you’re on the door.” Lauren said, her gun was screwed right up against my implant. While the skin around it was hypersensitive, the actual patch was numb, devoid of nerves. I couldn’t feel it in the slightest. My eyes fell upon the case; its timer was turned away from me, giving me no bearing on how long I had to hold out for. Still, I felt the nerve to speak up.
“Hell of a lot less than seventeen minutes on that timer, Lauren.” I said dryly.
That conjured up a thin smile. “I’m the clean up crew. Sorry, love, but that’s just how it’s played.” She turned to look at the timer now, seeing it dip past seven seconds. “Jesus Christ.” She spoke again this time to utter the voice override, her words tripping over themselves. “Brooklyn, Rainforest –“
I cut her off, my own voice seeping into the speakers of the bomb as the execute phrase rolled off of my tongue. I had no idea how much time was left. Rena had gone mute and my options were exhausted. It had to be now. “Goodbye, Lauren.”
The intonation of my voice told her all that she needed to know, but my head was already tilting forward, escaping the barrel of her gun. My hand came up at the same time, smacking it out of her grip, finger squeezing into open air instead of the trigger.
“Kill her!” The order rang out as I dove to the floor. “Kill her n–“
The last word didn’t escape her lips; instead it was chased by a cough, heavy sounding as if exploding with phlegm. It was echoed three times, sounding across the rooms. Not echoes from her own, but matching sounds from the three other Tempest agents.
Sprawled across the floor, I could see the timer now.
Zero.
A second volley of coughs, and I looked up, catching sight of Dodgson and Levine at the windows. Their guns were half drawn, quivering at their chests. The rest of their bodies were frozen with exception of the left side of their heads. There, the flesh was bubbling outwards, expanding into a peak, like a cyst caught between two fingers.
There was no sound as each of bulges ‘popped’. No, the only sound that occurred was the smattering noise of the brains, blood, and circuitry as it coated the walls across the room, everything ejecting straight out of the implants.
Dodgson’s and Levine’s heads tilted like their bodies were spent magazines, and they crumpled to the floor.
“Oh, how wonderful!”
I closed my eyes, breathing hard, a mixture of disgust and relief flooding over me. For a minute I simply laid there, with only Rena’s laughter providing any ambient noise.
Damien and Kelly. You did it for them. That’s it. It’s done. It’s over.
Thank Christ it’s over.
A noise. Not from Rena. No. In the room. My eyes flashed opened and I turned around.
Lauren was behind me, shakily rising to her feet. She glanced at the case first, it’s timer still flashing zero, and then locked eyes with me. “That’s better.” She cracked her neck, and then slowly turned her head, lifting her hair up, slowly revealing the naked skin behind her left ear. Where an implant should have been there instead was a patchwork of bandages, all of them encrusted with the glistening sheen of coagulating blood.
Before I could say anything, Lauren cut me off, her smile blooming into a full snakelike grin as she spoke. “I made a stop before I extracted you. A hasty job, no doubt, but efficiency wasn’t really on the table.” She shrugged. “When you’re not really aligned with Tempest’s interests, after all, it feels kind of disingenuous to die alongside them, no? But I do have to thank you, Claire. You’ve allowed me to keep my cover intact. Scratch out all the remaining agents who are off the grid. You really have served as a valuable asset for Valkyrie.”
She stepped across the room, her boot landing on the splayed fingers of Gillespie’s corpse. I could hear them snap as she spun her heel.
“So this…this was…”
“Of course this was the plan. Get you to an isolated location with the Bomb, away from all the precious little Tempest Agents. I knew as long as we gave Rena five minutes with you, you’d be dancing along our strings, with or without your children. Although I will say they made it far more expedient.
The gun flew out of my pea coat before I could even register what I was doing. It had been more than a few years since I had last fired one, but at a range this close, I doubt I needed much refreshment. My fingers squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Lauren’s ensuing laugh felt like a stone, plummeting to the bottom of my stomach. The gun seemed to wilt in my hand, useless.
“Don’t feel too bad now, Claire. It is loaded, but Tempest is quite keen on their bio-encryption. It seems like they didn’t trust you quite enough to tell you that bit of information. But then again, they were going to kill you alongside the rest of us. How’s that for payment?”
I watched as she slowly reached into her jacket, taking out another pistol. “Lauren, you don’t –“
“Lucky for me, I had their trust until the very end. Gave me more than a few of these new models.” She cocked the gun, appraising it with her steel gaze as if were an infant. “This makes it quick, how fortunate for you. I can’t say the same for your children, though. Rena, as you must know by now, has a thing for the theatrical.”
“Don’t mention my fucking children. Don’t you dare...”
“I can understand you’re very upset by this knot in the proceedings. But you must understand, even though I am Valkyrie, my job is essentially the same.” Lauren extended her arms, bringing the gun level to her eyes. “I’m the clean up crew, love. And you just happen to be another loose end.”
She pulled the trigger.
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