Hey!
Before the chapter, I would like to mention that if someone can come up with a better summary for the story than the current one (as I'm not quite happy about it) please post your version of it on the comments or send a pm to me.
Chapter 25
One month later
3rd Pov
Since Vinny’s death, Calla got in touch with Darrel. Before she accepted anything, she asked about their organization and discussed what manner of jobs would she perform and how the payment would be handled.
The first thing she learned was that Darrel’s organization was called ‘Rabbit Hole’, and that Darrel wasn’t the leader of the whole group. No, he was just a leader for the New York branch, as the ‘Rabbit Hole’ was an international organization.
Other than that, she also discovered what manner of a group it was, and verified the facts with the help of Mox as much as she could.
She found out from Darrel’s explanations and Mox’s research that the Rabbit Hole is sort of a neutral group in the criminal underworld, that was created in the sixties by a collaboration of many organized criminal groups, such as the many mafias, including the Russian Bratva amongst others.
Rabbit Hole was created due to the constant backstabbing that happened between different groups to bring some civility and trust to the criminals and their dealings.
Simply put, they would witness a contract between two parties, and take a small cut from the money involved. They’ll be the witness for the contract if both parties agree to it beforehand, and when they do become involved, they would see to it that both parties will honor the contract.
In case of a breach of contract, the Rabbit Hole would punish the party that broke the contract. Depending on the scale of the breach, they would act accordingly.
There are other things they are involved in, but the purpose they were originally created was to oversee the dealings of the larger groups and make sure the contracts they were hired to oversee will be held.
That brings us to this moment, where Calla is in the back seat of a black Nissan Qashqai. The other person in the car is the driver, who has no idea that Calla has snuck on board while he was still in his offices.
The driver, a man named Dave Renee, was a CEO of his business that is a front for money laundering.
Dave betrayed a local, relativity small group of criminals, to the Chinese, and the whole thing ended up in the deaths of the local group.
The thing Dave didn’t know before the betrayal, was that the contract was witnessed by Rabbit Hole. In fact, he didn’t even know what Rabbit Hole was, as he was a small-time money launderer.
Because of this, he saw the chance to make good money and gain a favor with the triads. The triads didn’t take any part in his betrayal, even though they were the ones that benefited from it the most. For that reason, Dave is the target of Rabbit Hole, instead of the Chinese.
The car drives down the busy streets of New York, as the news played on the radio. Calla was in the back seat, now sitting normally, instead of in the crouched position she was on the floor when Dave came to the car.
She thinks about the words Darrel said to her before this ‘audition’.
He explained to Calla that she would have to first do a job for free, where they can see roughly how she operates, so Calla thought the whole thing as an audition.
She is glad that she will not be tied to the Rabbit Hole, and instead, she is seen as an independent contractor, so they can’t order her around.
The car is exiting the busy street to some more secluded roads. Calla has chosen the spot of the assassination beforehand, keeping in mind the routes Dave takes to home, and the position of the cameras on the streets.
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Pov Calla
It’s only a few hundred meters away, I think to myself while watching outside of the window. My target is blissfully ignorant to my presence behind him and to his impending death.
I don’t know much what the target did to deserve this, but I reckon he broke some contract. Not that it matters to me, he’s just a mark.
The car takes a left turn, and the spot I have chosen comes to view.
It’s a street with no traffic, with apartment buildings on each side of the road. Dave’s home isn’t too far from here, but he doesn’t live alone, but with his family so I decided I’ll do the task when he is not surrounded by anyone from the office or from his home.
The car comes to a small intersection, where there is some amount of traffic on the crossing road.
I can see the black car that is waiting in the lights ahead of us. The car belongs to another member of the Rabbit Hole, who was introduced by Darrel. He is here to help out and observe how I plan and execute the mission.
Dave’s car comes to a stop behind the black Audi in front of us, and he silently curses to himself that why the car doesn’t move even though the light is green.
Just as his about to honk the horn, I act.
Faster than he can react, I swing the small wire over his head and tighten it around his neck.
A muffled sound escapes his lips before his trachea completely shuts. He tries to pry the wire out with his hands as I tighten my hold, and wait for his life to end.
Slowly but surely, his movements stop as the blood circulation to his brains have ceased, and his hands fall limply to his sides.
After a while, I loosen my hold and check for his pulse to make sure he has died.
Before exiting the car, I drop a business card on his lap. The card is completely white, with only a black spot in the middle with the diameter of few centimeters.
The cards purpose is to identify this hit as the work of the Rabbit Hole so that the people who matter know why and by which group this was done.
After getting out of the car I walk to the Audi waiting in front of me, quickly glancing that there are no pedestrians on the street and no witnesses to see me exiting the car.
I enter the Audi, and the driver takes off immediately.
“How did it go?” The man I know as John asks.
“According to the plan.” I answer simply. We don’t talk more, and I sit in silence as we drive through the streets.
The car comes to a stop and I exit the vehicle.
“When there are more jobs available, we’ll contact you. Now then, see you later Izza:” he bids his goodbyes as the car takes off.
Izza el-Khan. That’s the name I chose to use when dealing with the Rabbit Hole. I also got a fake ID for that name by the courtesy of Mox.
Izza was the name of the girl I killed months ago in order to infiltrate the J.A.T.F. safe-house to assassinate Ala Dawud. The mission that changed my life for good.
Heh… I chuckle at my own sentimentality by choosing that name. For some reason, I remember that kill better than most.
I walk down the street and spot a cab, and wave for it to stop.
Mox had something urgent to tell me, so he is meeting me at the library. I tell the address to the driver, that is a block away from the library and start thinking about the possibilities as to what is so urgent that it couldn’t wait a day.
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Pov Mox
I nervously tap my feet on the floor in the rhythm of Beethoven as I wait for Calla in the library. I’ll quickly inform her of what happened and go underground after that.
I have a bad feeling about this.
The door disguised as a bookshelf opens and Calla enters the hidden rooms of the library. I lock eyes with her and note that her clothing is not the usual she wears when she goes about her daily business. I can only conclude that the reason she is wearing dark, and easy to move clothes is that she came from a jog or the more likely option that she just finished one of her ‘missions’. I have made it to a rule, to not ask too much for what she spends her time.
It’s not my business, and she doesn’t want to involve me, but I'm guessing this particular mission was given to her by the Rabbit Hole.
God’s. Had I known a month ago that the ones buying the painting were the Rabbit hole, I would have been more at ease as their reputation is that they never brake a deal, if the other party doesn’t do it first.
“What’s up Mox?” Calla greets me.
“Hey” I answer her and go straight to business “So what I wanted to tell you was that the G-men found Jeff killed in his warehouse. And he was tortured before being shot to death.”
“…”
“Calla?”
“Jeff?” She tilts her head while asking.
Figures.
“My semtex and c4 supplier I introduced to you.” I watch as the gears turn in her head, and a flash of recognition comes to her face.
“Oh, Jeff! Now I remember. So?”
I think I need a drink…
“So? If he was tortured, he was probably interrogated! This happened shortly after your little raid in Brooklyn so one could assume the attacker would have been after you!” I tell her, slightly getting angry. Half because I’m annoyed and sad that I lost my supplier and friend, and a half because I’m worried for Calla and myself.
“Ah. So, you think someone is after me?”
“That may be so. In any case, I’m going to lay low for a while. This is a number you can reach me if you absolutely must or you find information about the attacker.” I give her a slip of paper where the number is written. “Burn it after you have memorized it.” I add the instruction to her. Only two people know that number, now three. All people I trust.
I don’t dally, and start moving towards the exit. I’m going to my safest safehouse, safehouse number 17.
As I’m exiting the back rooms I find myself incapable of leaving without saying something smart, so I act on that impulse.
“And remember Calla, life is ten per cent what happens to you and ninety per cent how you react to it. Arrivederci!”
Heh... It’s been a while since I last quoted Charles R. Swindoll…
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Week later
3rd Pov
After Mox’s visit, Calla hasn’t noticed anything unusual. Only things worth mentioning she did during the past week is one more job for the Rabbit hole. It was a simple job, some unfortunate idiot tried to take advantage of Rabbit hole by spreading false information, so he was targeted for assassination.
The man didn’t know what he was getting in to and was much too careless as he didn’t know they would place a hit on him. Calla completed the hit in a crowd when the man was out shopping.
A quick stab to the vitals, after which she disappeared into the large mass of people. When the first scream came, Calla had already cleared from the immediate vicinity. Calla used a long and thin knife to stab the heart so that the target wouldn’t collapse right away giving Calla a chance to slip away.
Calla walked towards the target and bumped into him, and in that instance, she slipped the knife in between his ribs before making her exit. It all happened so fast that the man didn’t realize the sharp pain was from a stab wound, and he even managed to take a few steps before noticing something was seriously wrong.
After that job, Calla got paid. The Rabbit Hole gave Calla’s alias ‘Izza’ a bank account. They organized the whole thing so well that Calla was more than happy to sacrifice twelve percent of the income she got to the Rabbit hole. Every time she did a job, she would be paid 88% of the agreed amount. The twelve percent Rabbit hole kept to them self, was due to the costs that would come from laundering the money for Calla, and setting up her alias.
As of the moment, Calla owed them, as the twelve percent from that one job wasn’t enough, but Darrel realized Calla’s worth and was sure that in the future Calla would be worth it. Good relations with operatives was imperative for big organizations and Darrel wasn’t dumb enough to not notice that, that was what Calla was, an operative.
They gave ‘Izza el-Khan’ a background that would pass the less intrusive background checks. The alias Izza is now a trust fund baby, whose mother died on birth and father died of cancer a few years back. Calla received information about the alias that she should memorize along with the bank account and other documents she would need.
The account itself was from a Swiss bank, so it was unlikely that the authorities gain access to it even if the alias comes under scrutiny.
Now she has another job though, a job where she isn’t required to assassinate anyone.
The Rabbit Hole operates differently from other criminal organizations. Basically, you gain a membership for the organization if you do a job for them. After that, they give contracts for the members that vary from assassinations to intel gathering and witnessing deals made between their clients.
When they are to witness a deal, they act as the representative of the Rabbit Hole. When acting as a representative, they are to remain neutral, witness the contract and report to the branch head who gave the job.
It is a position of respect, and it is unconventional for a new member to receive such a job.
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Pov random thug
I follow the boss to the meeting place. It’s here, in a small pub that the meeting is to take place. Our group runs the docs and we are to make a deal with the Turks, as they want to expand their drug business to New York.
There is sure to be territorial fights because of their actions but that doesn’t have anything to do with us. We are just to help them to get the drugs through customs. Of course, there is a change we will be targeted by their rival drug lords, or god forbid, the cartels, but such are the risks of our lifestyle.
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We enter the discreet little pub with the force of five men. There is the counter to the left and tables to the right. No other persons are inside other than the barkeep, a middle-aged balding man who runs the pub.
This pub is a regular place where these kinds of meetings take place, so as the barkeep notices our presence, he says nothing, but instead goes to the window and turns the ‘closed’ sign so that we wouldn’t be interrupted.
Three of us sits by the counter, as I and the boss walk to the dark wooden table at the end of the narrow bar, and sit down.
We don’t have to wait long as four men of Turkish decent enter the bar, two of them remain close to the door and two of them comes to our table.
“Soza, I presume?” Says one of the two with a thick Turkish accent. He’s wearing a suit like the other and has a very dark hair and beard. His whole demeanor screams businessman, contrary to the men he came with, who are obviously bodyguards.
“Indeed, and Ahmed, I presume?” The boss answers.
“Yes. Are we ready to go down to business?”
“Not yet. We are still waiting for one party.” My boss says. I turn to look at him, bewildered, as I didn’t know there would be more coming.
“What? Who? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” Ahmed says, clearly irritated.
“I invited them because this is the first time I’m doing business with you. And don’t worry, I’ll manage the payment for them as it’s a small sum compared to what we stand to gain from our deal. Surely a man of your stature has heard of the Rabbit Hole?” My boss elaborates.
Rabbit Hole? Holy shit! I didn’t think they really existed.
They are more of a legend or a myth among the small-time criminals, and they would only be involved in transactions and deals where the money involved is substantial. And by substantial, I mean that the amounts involved are enough for the bigger organizations to go to war.
“Hoh? The Rabbit Hole is it? I’ve heard of them, but this will be the first time for them to oversee a deal of mine.” Ahmed notes, not showing other emotions than surprise. A good sing, I think.
*ding*
The bell by the bar door sounds, as two persons walk in and head towards us.
The other one is a man in his thirties, wearing a suit. He has a bald head, and he looks more like a military man than a criminal.
But it’s the other one that draws puzzled gazes. A girl, looking to be around sixteen years of age, with slim body and moderately fashionable clothes, that heads towards us with confident steps.
She is wearing a beige parka with a white shirt underneath and has black capris for pants. Her hair is blond and tied to a ponytail which falls to her back from under a fedora she has on her head, slightly tilted.
As she walks closer to us, she removes the round sunglasses and reveals the most beautiful crystal blue eyes I have ever seen.
“Erica, from the Rabbit Hole.” She simply says as she pulls a chair for her to sit at the same table as us.
My boss and Ahmed look at the man who she came with, who has taken a position slightly behind her, and it is obvious that they both expected the man to be the witness to the deal.
Silence prevails for a moment, but the man who came with the girl stays silent, so it becomes obvious that he isn’t going to take a seat at the table.
“Very well.” My boss moves the situation along.
Nobody knows much about the Rabbit Hole, and I doubt that even the members of it don’t know how deep it runs, hence the name 'Rabbit Hole'. I myself believed it to be a myth until today.
“Business then?” Ahmed acknowledges the attempt of my boss to move things along.
The business talks proceed well, with little disagreements that are solved on the spot. The man who came with Erica has seated himself on a table next to us and writes down our deal into the form of contract.
Very rarely would we keep paper contracts in our line of business, as they wouldn’t be legal, obviously, and they would only work as a proof for the authorities if we were ever caught.
That is not the case now, since the overseers of the criminal world are present, and they need the contract. There will only be one copy, and it belongs to the Rabbit Hole.
During the talks, the girl just listens silently and observes us. At one point I notice that she is packing a weapon, and it makes me wonder what her story is. Being a member of the Rabbit Hole at such age, and even acting as their envoy, so to speak, isn’t what one would expect. But I know better than to try prying into the matters of the elusive Rabbit Hole and their representatives.
As the talks come to an end, our both parties inspect the written terms and sign it.
“The deal is witnessed. Any breach in the contract will be punished accordingly. Our payment will be two percent of the yearly income this deal profits, for a three-year time period, after which, we will stop enforcing the deal unless you desire our continued involvement and we come to another deal. Failure to pay will be punished accordingly.” The girl says, seemingly from memory, as she hands a card to both of our parties.
“With this number, you can reach the person who will be overseeing this contract if you suspect a breach or you both wish to change the terms.” She continues.
I look at the card that my boss is holding. A white card, with a number on the other side, and a black dot on the other, like someone spilled ink over it.
The Turks are the first to leave, after shaking hands with my boss, and we follow shortly after, leaving the people of the Rabbit Hole alone in the bar.
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Pov Calla
I’m left alone with John, as the others leave the pub.
“It went well, didn’t it?” I ask him.
This was a somewhat interesting experience since I have never done any missions besides terminations. The ramble about the conditions, payment and the contact means for the Rabbit Hole was something I was instructed to say before coming here.
From what I understand, the man named Soza knew about the terms beforehand and as he was the one paying, instead of splitting the bill with the Turks, there wasn’t any fear of me having to start negotiating on behalf of the Rabbit hole. I don’t think they trust me enough to handle that.
According to John, it’s very unconventional for me to act as a representative when I just became a member.
“Yes, it did. Good work Izza.” He says to me.
I decided to use the name Erica for this meeting. I have many names and not one of them is official, but the name Calla, which Linda gave me is the one I choose to recognize as my real one. I use Izza el-Khan with the Rabbit Hole because I don’t want them to know I have connections to the J.A.T.F. though I doubt they would found out anyway. It’s not like I’m famous, it’s the opposite. I think J.A.T.F. has classified all information relating to me. Never the less, being an operative, it's somewhat a tradition, from what I understand, to bury you real identity beneath countless of aliases. Usually it's done in order to protect your close ones, but I don't really have any, but it still can't hurt to be extra careful. I like to think it's protecting Linda.
I smile at his reply as we start exiting the pub. John gives a nod to the barkeep as we leave the building.
As we walk down the street towards the car that is a small distance away, I spot something on a display window that draws my attention.
“I’ll go and start the car.” John remarks as he notices I have stopped by the shop.
I absentmindedly nod and continue to look through the masks that are displayed on the window. I’m pretty sure this is the shop where Mox bought the white mask he gifted to me some time ago.
Well, whatever. I start heading to the car, where John is already seated in the driver seat.
*BOOOM*
Fuck!
I fall to my back as the car explodes when John tried to start it.
My training takes over as I immediately roll backward and get on my feet.
Assess the situation.
A car bomb most probably.
Target either me, John or the Rabbit Hole organization. I think me, as the death of Jeff springs to mind.
My body feels alright, I don’t think I was injured.
But most importantly, I’m an easy target for snipers right about now.
I dash for the alley that is next to the pub and leads to the back alleys.
I ready my pistol in my right hand and my combat knife in my left hand in a reverse grip.
I support the pistol with my left arm as I walk the alley deeper, tactically advancing, keeping my eyes on the windows and corners while straining my ears to hear any rapid movement.
I turn a corner and notice a shady looking guy with cheap looking ragged clothes, that’s sitting on the pavement and leaning against the wall.
I stop for a second, pondering what should I do but decide to take no chances.
*BAM* I place a bullet in his head.
I rather kill him than walk past him and showing him my back. He could very well be an enemy, and the moment I walk past him, he pulls a gun and shoots me.
I mean, he was clearly awake as he was watching me, and he didn't react when an explosion occurred on the street. Like he knew it was going to happen.
There is another corner ahead of me, the alley being only a few meters in width, surrounded by brick walls filled with graffiti.
As I turn the corner I immediately duck back as the sound of a shot echoes in the alley and bullet flies just past my head.
The shooter was a man in his thirties with a blond hair and blue eyes wearing dark clothes fit for training and combat. The man seems oddly familiar, but I pay no mind to it.
I need to take the initiative if I intend to survive. It's too risky to turn back, and he would surely chase after me.
That one shot was enough to tell me the man is a professional and means business.
He took the shot the moment I turned the corner, and I barely managed to duck, so I’m guessing he's an operative.
I storm the corner turning right, towards the shooter, jumping to the left side of the alley.
*bam*bam**BAM*
The shots echo in the small alley as we both open fire.
I dodge his aim by jumping back to the right side of the alley while he dodges my aim to his right.
Damn! He isn’t just any operative.
This small exchange already puts his skill above that of the Alpha trainer.
*bam*BAM* We both fire and dodge as he starts running to meet me.
We have limited time to end this if we are going to escape the police that is surely coming due to the explosion.
My enemy is using suppresser but I’m not. I have one with me but there isn’t any time to attach it.
The man too takes a knife to his left hand as our distance is rapidly closing.
*bam*BAM*BAM*
Only a few meters now.
Both of our eyes are concentrating on each other’s pistol in order to dodge the aim.
I momentarily consider throwing my knife in order to catch him off guard but that would be stupid.
If it fails, he would have even more advantage in close quarter combat other than his already bigger frame and probably much larger experience.
We enter combat.
*BAM* I fire my weapon, anticipating where his going to dodge and swing my left hand towards his new position that is to the left of me, as he ducks low and to the side, still advancing forward.
I can almost see the sparks, as he parries my attack with his knife and aims his gun.
*bam*
I barely managed to dodge the shot aimed at to my head. I think it grazed my cheek.
I do a low kick, aiming his knee with my right foot, but he blocks it with his left and stabs the knife with his left hand towards me.
I parry the knife with mine, to my right side, and fire my pistol towards his center mass.
He pivots on his right foot, and spins to dodge the shot, and tries to end the spin by stabbing his knife to the side of my neck.
I dodge backward and I'm about to shoot again, aiming towards his center mass, but he takes the lead and aims first.
*bam*
I try to dodge, but I still have the momentum of my backward dodge and only slightly succeed to change my position.
The bullet impacts on the left side of my side, few centimeters above my lower ribs.
It hurts, but the pain is manageable. But I know I’m in trouble now, and I’m lucky if I survive this.
Though I’m already lucky to stop by the window when the car bomb should have killed me.
*BAM* I shoot towards him just to buy time. He dodges both shots expertly, but I managed to prevent him shooting again.
We have both fired seven times now, so that means I have six bullets left. He, on the other hand, has four, as I recognize his pistol and know that it has a smaller magazine.
*bam* He fires, and I barely dodge to my right, moving in a manner that probably worsens my wound but it’s the only way to survive.
He’s in the middle of the alley and I’m on the right side, so I decide to use my only advantage that I can see now.
I rush towards him but before we come in contact he fires again.
*bam*
And I dodge the shot by jumping towards the wall on his left, using every bit of my superior agility, and grunting from the pain, I bounce from the wall towards him.
I’m in the air above him and try to stab the knife to his eye but he dodges low.
Usually, in a fight, jumping is the last thing you want do, but in this narrow alley, against a stronger and bigger opponent, I must try something.
I’m still airborne, falling towards the ground behind him, I start doing a frontal flip, and aim towards him as best as I can in my current position and condition.
*BAM*
The shot connects and hits his left leg just as he was turning around and taking aim.
I have five left, and he has two.
I land on the pavement, using my momentum I roll forwards and spring to my legs.
Just in time, I turn around and dodge to the side.
*bam*
He has only one bullet left.
I take the fight to close quarters as his leg is hurt, although I’m starting to notice the effects of my wound.
I believe my left lung is collapsing. I probably have seconds, instead of minutes before my combat ability is compromised and falls under acceptable levels.
I feint a stab towards his right shoulder, forcing him to put his weight on his wounded left leg.
Like I suspected, like me, the pain does little to hinder him. But it slows his movement enough for me to fire again. I aim the pistol low from my hip, in order to not let him notice the aim.
*BAM* I hit his left leg again, this time the hit connects with his bone as he falls to his knee.
*bam*
He fires his last bullet. Though it hits me, I shifted my weight just enough to survive. The bullet hit’s my shoulder muscle but it goes through and through, leaving only a flesh wound behind.
*BAM*
I fire to his stomach, and he finally falls to his back.
He is out of bullets, and more injured, and has lost his mobility.
It’s my win.
I don’t have time to question him as I seriously need some medical attention.
But still, I must confirm something.
The whole fight took barely a minute, but that’s how it is when people with our skill fight. And I was lucky to survive, as he had all the advantage, and he was even more skillful in combat than me.
Experience is everything.
I realize now that Caturix has more subjects of this caliber under their command. But, the more I keep resisting and opposing them, the more I keep gaining combat experience, the more of a threat I will become for them, and in the end, I will be their undoing.
The only reason I lived through this contact is because I caught him off guard by jumping from the wall. Normally people wouldn’t do something like that as it makes your trajectory predictable and leaves you no way to dodge. It was a risky move, but it won the fight for me.
And the reason I must confirm something is that in our short encounter, I recognized his combat style.
That is because, for years, that same style has been hammered into my body and mind.
The style al-Aman thought me is a combination of little bit of everything. Basically, mixed martial arts with heavy weight on krav maga, sambo, muay thai, aikido and basic CQC amongst others.
The only option I find probable as to why he uses the same style is that he is a subject of the Caturix movement.
He even looks like me. Is it because the genetics of the mothers have the genes for blond hair and blue eyes, or are we blood related somehow? Well, no point in guessing, and I doubt even he knows.
“Your name?...or number?” I say to him.
He is laying on his back, calmly looking at me.
He knows he has lost. He has lost his mobility, and the gut shot would kill him anyway if it doesn’t get treated. Well I’ll die too if I don’t get treated. I’m already feeling the space around my lung filling with air and blood as the lung is collapsing.
And I here sirens in the distance so time’s getting short.
“…5xy”
So, he is a subject. I look at him with complicated expression.
That could very well be me, if the Al Aman didn’t get in the cross hairs of J.A.T.F.
He doesn’t show any emotion on his face as I keep staring at him.
“If you know anything, would you tell me?”
“No.” He simply answers.
And I don’t have time to question him.
And I know that like me, he has been trained to resist torture, so I wouldn’t get anything out of him.
“I understand.” I answer.
Truth to be told, my emotions are all over the place, even though I don’t show it on my face.
This person has the most in common with me than anybody I have ever met.
But we were destined to be opponents.
Destiny, the hidden power believed to control future events, and in other words, fate.
I don’t believe in that crap. No, I refuse to believe in it.
My fate is my own to decide, and nobody can control the outcome of life and free will. There is no predetermined path to anything.
“I’m sorry. I know you were just following orders. Mission comes first, right?” I say to him, my voice breaking. I can feel something wet on my cheeks as I give him a weak smile, and realize that I must be crying.
No, not crying. Crying requires wailing, according to the dictionaries I’ve read.
I’m shedding tears.
I’m sure he too has realized that we have much in common, only my shackles were broken while his was not.
“Right.” He gives a small smile with his response.
*BAM*
…
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Pov Paramedic
I’m sitting in the back of the ambo, chatting with my partner. We are one of the three ambulances that arrived on the scene of a car bomb, that went off about some minutes ago.
There is three dead, one died in the car bomb, and the other two were found shot to death in a back alley, the shooter still at large. And one pedestrian who was wounded in the explosion. We are on the scene but there isn’t anything to do. But still, we are required to stay here as long as the police is still searching the area, in case there were more causalities.
“I hate these pointless calls, you know.” My partner complains. Truth to be told, I don’t like these much either.
I wanted to be a paramedic to save people, not to be there just in case.
As I’m about to answer, someone enters the back of the ambo and closes the door the instant she enters
She takes a seat at the stretcher, opposite to me, and points a gun at my face.
“Drive, or your partner dies!” The bloodies teenager hisses, between rough breathing while a trickle of blood comes from the corner of her mouth.
“Wha..?!” My partner turns around with round eyes, looking at the injured girl, who is holding me at gun point.
“FUCKING DRIVE!” She yells at my partner.
As my partner realizes that she ain’t asking, but telling, he starts the engine, and prepares to drive.
I, on the other hand, keep my calm. I wasn’t expecting this, and truth to be told, I’m a bit scared. But as an ex combat-medic, this ain’t the scariest situation I have been.
I take this time to examine the girl. She is a blond teenager, slightly bruised, and bleeding from her shoulder and side. Her face is smeared with tears and blood that she has coughed. I can pretty much guess that she was shot and that her lung is collapsing, as this ain’t the first gunshot wound I’ve seen. I recognize that rough breathing that accompanies one, when one of the lungs is being pressured by the air and blood that is accumulating from the hole the bullet made.
“Pneumothorax.” She simply says as the ambo is moving down the street, while she's removing her jacket.
She gets a small coughing fit, but still keeps the gun to my head.
“Fix it.” She tells as she rips her top to shreds, and gives me a visual over the wound.
“Holy fuck…” I cannot help but exclaim, as I see the condition of her body, with toned muscles and filled with scars.
I get to work, not caring the scared whimpering of my partner. I block the hole of the bullet and prepare a shunt.
*hisss*
I hear the sound of air and a bit of blood escaping the area outside of her lung, as her breathing stabilizes.
“You still need to go to the hospital.” I inform her as there is still the bullet inside of her. I start working on her shoulder, but notice it isn’t that serious, and just but a compress bandage on it.
“No. Dig the bullet out.” She refuses me.
“No. You need surgery.” I refuse her back.
She calmly looks at my face, nothing suggesting that she is in any kind of pain. With a steady move, she aims at the driver seat, towards my partner.
“Dig it out. Now.” She growls.
Fuck.
With a small hesitation, I take a scalpel, and start cutting into her. She barely twitches from the pain, and that alone is enough to impress me. I have done this many times when I served, but not even the most hardened warrior got through this without screaming.
But she is silent, and even her aim at my partner doesn’t falter.
… We have driven about twenty minutes now, and I have successfully removed the bullet.
I still cannot believe that she took the pain without screaming, when most men would’ve passed out. I have patched her up, but she still needs more attention.
“Stop the car.” She says much to my partners relieve.
“Phones.”
Me and my partner hand over our phones to her.
She aims her gun to me, while she reaches the front seat, and with one swift movement, she graps the radio’s talk piece, ripping the cord.
“Thanks”
That’s the only thing she says, before she disappears into the alleys of New York.
“Well that was interesting.” I try to break the tension in the silent ambo.
My partner just stares at me, clearly still shocked of the whole experience.
Well, I’m too. Though probably not as much as my partner.
I cannot help, but to wonder who the girl was…