In that split second, the anticipation was held back by peculiar little ties.  Like the last strip of leaves being pinned between stakes, an already bare tree before the windy months of spring. He paused, stilling the rise and fall of his chest.

It's unmistakable, the shink-click sound and motion that allows fingers to break away before a heavy lean forward and down to avoid the black blast.

Ka-Boom. 

Mortars. He's followed the same motion a thousand times. Activate, align, drop, ear save. Ka-Boom. Each swings an entry point to his newly devised harmony, it's a tune curated for the already in tempo symphony. The reverberating halo of dust sets the world into an ethereal glow of brimstone. 

A hand-launched short-range missile leaving its departure location like a stone skipping across a still lake. The deep base of the explosive ordinance rattles his chest with a satisfactory thump. 

An offensive play to move troops downrange. Again, another, and another rang through the twilight, each a gift from the gods of hell, a scorching rain,  fire upon the unlucky few. 

Ka-boom. 

Another successful launch. He continued his automatic motions before reaching for - a quick, sharp clack hit the side of his ribs, knocking the wind from him, setting his vision from the median line to the heavens. The world slipped out from underneath him, feet sliding while he hit the ground hard. His price paid to fall in the dirt - a rush of air. In a wheeze it ran, escaping his lungs to avoid the wet rag placed over his face. Slowing his breathing it forced his movie reel of life to a grinding halt. 

The clouds had never been black before. Why were they-? 

But those stars. Ach, they twinkled, an astigmatism-like tug on the edges of pinpointed light. Not once did he hear the voices above him,  a blurry muffle, just like their faces.

This was the first of three times Enoch Boracco found himself instantly engaged in a come to Jesus meeting for his sins.  

 "WAKE UP!"

 "Ey! YOU ALIVE?!" Fingers prodded against his stomach until -

"MOTHERFUCKER!" he cursed, his thick bur slicing the air as they rolled knuckles down his sternum and then shoved him up on his side. Tears sprang forth, a sharp jolt of pain wrenching him away from his day-dreamy haze. "I'M FUCKING AWAKE! GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS OUT OF MY-" Consciousness slipped as fingers prodded the bullet wound, a wash of pure white slicing through it all, a gasp of blood flecking the floor beside him as he coughed. No matter how much he swallowed he couldn't stop the shower of water in the back of his throat. It was making him feel like a drowning imbecile of an animal - the ones that cranked their heads back when it started to rain. 

"N-No! NO!" He roars, kicking at whatever was shredding away his uniform. He wants it. Needs it! Especially if he's going to die. He doesn't relate the tugs on his feet to the action of removing his boots, no. Instead, his fogged mind is certain that he's being dragged down by a demon of some sort. No fucking way they'd short him of his glory uniform in Valhalla. 

He can't think, and now, due to the pain as he thrashes, he can't see. His agony stains the tent deeper than any amount of blood.

__

And it's not the cries, but his blood that Cliff is trying to get cleaned up, desperately, as he fishes through the sinew of muscle in the giant's chest while shouting at a nurse beside him. "I need my five-blade!" He continues, over and over. That five-blade is a missing fork at his dinner place setting.

 For a while, they're wrist deep, his hands that is, testing and teasing veins and arteries for the broken lines needing repair. And it's a moment before ungloved fingers reappear, outstretched, waving as he waits impatiently. "Nurse. NURSE! Fucking do something!" The man before him is a lost cause already, and yet....he still makes his attempts to remove the lead and brass from those little sacks of oxygen. Underlying it all there's a frantic need lacing his every fiber to resuscitate the man who's crossed his path.

It's some hours later - when he's covered in that coppery smell of a sickly sweet bloodbath- that he finally stops, and begins to deftly, albeit rudimentary, stitch up his chest. With each turn of his wrist, and a pair of suture scissors he takes a deep, negativity clearing breath. Why perfect a line, and use more supply when the man wouldn't even see the sunrise? 

A dirty rag smears away what's left of his work on his knuckles. 

"Give him some water, miss...."He didn't know her name, nor did he have the time to find out. "Nurse."  A tool clatters in an aluminum tray. "And find him a bunk. Yank his tag, and start his DOA paperwork, I'm calling his time early, twenty-two, forty-five" Because, with the way the foreign soldier appeared on his operating table, he expected his heart to give out long before the morning hour. 

 The man was a fighter though. The large and imposing ones usually were, until they realized they could finally sleep. Hell, he was surprised he didn't hear a soft cry for a mother, tears shed for this soon to be lost soul.

It's just another day as a soldier, a nurse, and a trauma surgeon in the throes of war.

Oh! That smell!

 That god awful, nose burning, and yet, disgustingly divine smell.

Zoey inhaled deep before pulling the band of her head covering back over her face, a small cough rumbling from her chest. It was nothing but the pure stench of trash, tires, refuse and the gods only knew what burning. It was a beacon. A calling. A homage in her brain to the notion that she was back at work. For the next 16 months it would become home.

She had missed it.

More so than she would have ever liked to confess.

She was insane to return, they had told her. Senseless to go back to that lawless land. “Alright…maybe I am…but I can’t clarify it. Can’t feature in words why the draw to return is so fevering.”

Perhaps she was truly insane.

Putting her life on the line to do nothing but go marching for miles and miles? To put a few rounds down range?

The conflict about this forgotten land was exactly the same as NAM in the 70’s. No reason to be there, not our fight they’d outcried. Zoey didn’t care. It was in her job title to fight where she was told. To use her finely honed skills where her country needed her to do so.

She never once argued it. If she had she wouldn’t have signed that electronic pad with her signature.

Pebbles and sand churned up from beneath her boots. A language far from her own drifted in and out across covered ears as the world began to wake. Livestock let out little bleats, crows, and calls. This world…so dissident from her own became an obsession. Why had she related to such an atrocious, tactile experience?

She didn’t know.

There was something soothing in the sunrise. Soldiers chatted among themselves like gossiping old ladies. Packs creaked and groaned with each step. Weapons clicked as they shifted it to make the strap slightly more comfortable. A futile attempt. 175 pounds would never truly get comfortable. The tank and vehicles behind them crawled slowly, an enigma of a protective barrier that didn’t work. Gunners perched atop trucks blared music in the green zone.

Skindred: Electric Ave.

This was patrol.

A fist would raise, music would pause. Soldiers would still. Silence would creep, breaths would hold tight. And they’d stop, knees finding the ground, she would take to drawing a low ready rifle up until the center line matched across in the hairs of  her sights. Each of them would make a slow, crawling sweep of bombed out buildings, waiting for a sight of something beyond the ordinary and then….they’d continue.

Majority of the time.

An adrenaline rush that lay in a slow, steady drip.

She prized it.

Respired it.

Slept and dreamt about it.

Oh sweet siren’s call of war.

This was Ramadi. The land where one could wake to armistice or a thunderous boom.

Zoey had found herself caught back up in its embrace.

An addict finding their fix.

{Warning 18+ mature content}

Where…..where the fuck am I?

The instant rush of sounds and smells was suddenly overpowering to the senses; sending her mind into a frenzy of distraught thought.Stay calm and gather yourself. What’s around you? There's dirt on the floor...and....it's dark. I hear dampness in it's drops.... She inhaled sharply. Iron. Its a sickly pungent smell. Sticky and soft squishing in the dirt beneath her feet gave her rising fear alarm. Was it hers? Her own blood? She checked for sensations of pain or numbness and felt none.

No. It wasn’t of her own flesh. Thankfully. But it did absolutely nothing to quell her worries. Looking down she pressed a booted foot once more into the mess before realizing exactly what it was and it’s originating point.

A soft moan escaped her lips, as did a hitch in her breath. Please….oh god….

Stewart…….. Zach…..

Many hadn’t known the situation between the pair. And to be honest if they were found out they would have surely been separated. Neither of them wanted that. Hence the tight lip on everything. It might have been a relationship out of wartime and well needed physical contact but she had considered the man a close friend. Someone she loved in only that strange mannerism that one could love a brother in arms.

And now…he was gone. His life the pooling of crimson in front of her feet.

All of it accumulated to one simple and harrowing thought: Zoey had to have been captured.

Formations for routine patrols. It’s how in every tale these kinds of stories start. Where lengths of those disgustingly crowded and third world homes are littered with a plethora of trash and raw sewage dumped from high up windows. Each footfall took them down the streets of Baghdad, trekked upon while hefting packs that were most assuredly the same as her body weight. Water bladders were left about half empty in the afternoon swelter, and for once she was enjoying the fact that she had taken up a local demanding she wear a head scarf. It eliminated the harsh rays of the sun from her nape. Their unit had taken a green route that they sojourned. Kids occupied the streets, littered by the dozens begging for chocolate and other wares. They knew who they were by their faces, and would approach for anything they could procure. The adults would sit there squatting outside the homes, talking in huddles or playing cards, occasionally throwing dice written with numbers instead of dots. Rarely they would get a wave, or an invite for tea or a snack. Some tried for meals, which over time the soldiers obliged in, but quickly they learned that was not so kind on their stomachs, so it was put to a stop.

This day was like every other day of their tour of duty, marching away foot fall by footfall the last marked numbers of the month.

It started out of nothing. It was simply as if her body had been tugged on by rip cord and a harness. She had no control. Feet and hands flailed as they desperately worked to find purchase in the assault. Deafening noise and earsplitting rings resonated within those shells of hers followed by the blinding lighting of some incendiary device that was rupturing it’s way through their tranquility.

Rubble finally sprayed down as the female landed on her back with a wheeze and a heavy thud.

It wasn’t the first time Zoey had been involved with explosions. The last one had done a truly spectacular job of taking out her vehicle and the vehicle in front of hers. Lets not forget those explosions that gave reason for them to divert into a ravine and get ambushed. She would never forget the sound as a bullet slid past her face in a blur and plunked into the door frame to produce a high caliber hole.

Those firefight ambushes were common enough …but this….this was different. This one faded her world to black and deafened every noise until in a rush it brought her back in. This time to a very different environment.

Where ….the….hell….am…I?

Zoey managed to work off the binding around her eyes. A fuzzy haze still sat there, settling in heavily with a desire to take over in it’s pitch. It was fogging the brain and addling her mind. She couldn’t exactly make up from down, or left from right. Let alone gather enough intelligence to figure out why this was going on. That soft ringing still remained. Leaning forward Zoey made a movement to rub at her eyes only to be greeted by the hard clank of metal against metal, and a lurch of her shoulders.

Bound.

Now it was starting to make sense. Now Zoey could understand what was happening. She was being held captive. Though…she hadn’t expected what was about to follow.

“Hello Ryder. Zoey……”

The voice was male. Clear and very American. Taken off guard the female soldier lurched forward again only to find herself sitting back down abruptly. “Sargent Cantu….” The amount of spite and bile in those two words became enough to fill the vast room. Of course, he would be the one to go AWOL and turn against his country. “You know, it was just pure luck that they brought you here. I had no clue that I was going to get to play with you today, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh.” He tisked “Now now, you need a little foreplay before you can get into the dirty stuff my precious little doll.” She could hear him walking as he slipped out of her peripheral, boot steps getting heavier as he loomed. “All in due time….don’t be so eager.” He sounded…different. The interpreter of a man had come to them under the guise and name of Anthony Cantu. A person who had taken advantage of the American dream and learned everything he would need to know to fight the good fight. The vile man secretly worked every ounce and twisted it to his profit. His found treasure in it all? The opportunity to turn on his country when he was offered more money and gold by those they were fighting against. Zoey had never forgiven him for that one, especially since she had put her life on the line more than once to make sure he didn’t get shot.

“I doubt you’d ever be able to satisfy if that’s where you think this is going. Find me a real man, and maybe we’ll talk.” She was grinning. Put him off his game, and make him think this is all an annoyance. Keep your wits, but don’t push too far. She needed the reminder. An inner monologue she latched onto for sanity.

“So…” He sat down. “Tell me this. Where is your unit heading. Where is Lieutenant Reed?”  The Lieutenant. That man had been at the top of everyone’s list. Including their unit. He had caused more inside trouble and knew far too much for anyone’s comfort. He had been their leader and yet unlike so many of the others he had taken up his rifle and gladly fought  by their side. A formidable man who seemed too good for where he had wound up.

“I don’t know.” Truth spoken. Not that she wanted to give him that answer.

“Bullshit. I know that you are familiar with his habits. You have to know where he’s gone.” LT had been AWOL as well. But instead of instigating attacks like this one in front of her, he was out there…..making his own mark of vigilante justice. They were sure at this point he had joined himself to a mercenary team somewhere near a Ramadi outpost.

Zoey didn’t believe the Hearsay, but it was the closest they could get in spoken word about the man.

“I cant tell you what I don’t know.”

Flipping the table over that rested between them, he picked up his chair and settled it near. A thumb slid against the inner length of her thigh so dangerously close to the apex in which he parted them to nestle himself. “Tell me what you do know. This isn’t a game. Don’t think that you’re going to get control from me. Even if you do tell me what I want to know Ryder….you’re not going home, just like your friend over there.” It’s a blatant threat that has his thumb jerking in Zachary’s direction.

At some point in this game Zoey saw herself as a black widow. Cursed to the heavens for bothering to think that she could have friends. Every time that she made an attempt…well…they died. And there was a reason that they were dying. Each of them had found out what Zoey was really doing, and they wanted to help. All of them at some point fighting together in that specialized unit.

“I’m just a lowly Civil Affairs soldier. You can’t bet on everything you hear, love.” The words oozed past her lips smeared in poisonous honey and dripped with just a hint of affection. But it was the lie they had all been trained on. Told to spout in these situations. Cantu knew it all too well. After all the man had taken her under his wing when she’d first joined, and after so many years in her position he had been the one who instigated the battle to keep her on orders with his unit. She had admired his tenacity and decisiveness after that. Even if he hadn’t been privy to everything she had.

Another hand slid up the side of her ribs to curl around the ample weight he’d mentioned in jest one day desiring his favor that lay so beautifully there. “Emily…remember her death? Remember how she went? You could be like her…..” Zoey gritted teeth at his touch, and the memory. Emily was one of those girls who had always been friendly, loving and just…radiant in her happiness. No matter where she went she had something that glowed about her.  She had taken to being a combat medic in her first contract and when she re-upped, well she wanted to do something more. Which had landed her with them. She learned the very hard way that caring for people is what became a weakness, and when Emily had taken in Cantu much like Zoey had - right before he went AWOL-she’d been found three weeks later in a burned down crack house outside their base.

Cantu knew Zoey far more than the woman would have liked to admitted. He’d met her up during patrol shifts and had lunch with her, or gave her a ring when something happened to an officer and it was reported on the news in their town. He had cared so much, in fact far too much to just be sitting like this now in front of her. It scared her how much she’d misjudged him. Instead of the person he was he had been here he was acting to her every ounce hard, cold, and calculated.

“Anthony, we were kids when this all started. But we were the only ones who could do it….don’t you see that? How else could we have accomplished what we did when we did?” She was asking, eager to know. Gold threaded hues slid up, daring to meet him face to face.

“That’s the bullshit of it all isn’t it!” He roared. His face turning red. “Fucking 18 ,19, 20 years old and shoved into this abomination of a shit hole! Forced to get mind fucked into believing we were doing something useful! Fucking brainwashed into oblivion, and then remade into their idea of the perfect soldier. Make it or break it, huh?!” He slid in far closer now, hot panted breaths spreading across her neck as he spoke, swirling across that tattooed spans to reach her ear.

She hated it. Her face scrunched up in disgust. She’d always been disgusted by people who weren’t her lovers breathing on her, and he knew it. “Then kill me, because the God’s honest truth is I don’t know where Reed went, and I don’t know what he’s up to. The last time I saw him was when we were putting Scott into the ground. Now, before you say shit, you were there too fucker. Your guess is as good as mine.”  

Scott….

Have you ever read anything having to do with Deadpool? Yeah. I’m sure you have. Nearly everyone has that loves comics. Scottie was pretty much the epitome of Wilson Wade. And he was smart as fuck. Scott had been one of those geniuses that hid behind a façade of raunchy jokes, trouble-making, and causing creative explosions. He adored explosions. Actually, he liked anything to do with chemicals and was amazing at creating compounds. Jerk should have been a chemist. Not a soldier. ‘Needed to find a way to pay for college.’ He had once explained to Zoey. ‘Tuition will eat you alive if you don’t do something…and so I thought…shiiiiit. What better way to pay than to blow some fuckers up, kick some ass, take some names, and get free money?’  Free money. He’d always thought of it that way. The man had absolutely no care in the world for possessions or where he lived. All he cared about was a little bit of food, and a couch to sleep on. Zoey had always made sure he had a place to stay, since he was much a person who needed a keeper. Downside to their connection? He’d decided one day to join up with their team, put his skills to use, and well….figuring out the rest isn’t too hard.

Her face lurched to the left. A hard crack of skin to skin contact snapping her back to the reality before her. “Eyes front and center, little pet. We’re not finished here. No checking out.” Zoey grunted at the slap, but gave him no further satisfaction, other than the spitting of blood to the floor. “Alright then, Cantu…what else is there?” He had her attention once more, that deadpan stare greeting him. Interview tactics had been taught to them all. Giving up pertinent information was never acceptable, and to be honest many of them only had bits. Without the whole team together, none of them would make sense. They had their directives, and that’s all they needed.

“Now we get your information. I’ve got all I need to piece it together….but yours….is what we are missing….”

No. “No, fuck you. You, the asshole who ran out on us. Who traded one country for another. Who did everything and anything he could to make sure we were taken care of and was a great leader for us all; and this shit is how you fucking repay us? Are you kidding me? I’ve done everything for you! I’ve been there for you when no one else has, and I’ve always make sure that you knew I was someone you could rely on. I was there when advice was needed. I fed you when you were broke, and I gave you a fucking place to stay when Julia decided to fuck some Jodie. Fuck you! Traitor!” She was seething and she could no longer keep her calm. Her temper had taken over. The harder she yelled at him the more those binds bit into soft flesh. The tie down points on the floor protested, and the chair shrieked against the cement as she pushed hard. He was despicable.

“Well then. Guess I’ll just find out your cipher the hard way…” He grinned. Cantu had always been an immaculate hacker and no matter what happened he could find information on anything, anywhere. Even when one thought that it wouldn’t have dared to be computerized. He knew how to extract it. Even if it took months. “Looks like you’re of no more use to me then. A shame, really. I had hoped that with enough convincing I might have been able to convince you to join our side. Don’t  you see? The country is falling apart. And in a few days time…no matter what happens….the civil riots will begin again. Worse than ‘The Rage’, worse than those who claim their oppression by law enforcement and the government. Our time will come.” He was stroking her hair as each sentence seeped forth, a disgusting ooze of words. “Goodbye, little love.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, one last prize he could claim on the situation.

Zoey felt violated.

Standing he let out a long and hard sigh. “Tsk. Ach. Such a shame.” His hands reached down, and in a flash of pure white and a roar causing her ears to ring, Zoey felt her entire body lurch once more to the side. But this…this was more than a slap to the face…she felt the warmth sliding from her head as she slid to the floor, the chair now gone from beneath her. Her thoughts started to blend into a strange conglomerate of noise, and feedback. The world was getting hazy…and red spilled around her in a huge pool. Her viewpoint now of a cement slab. “Goodniiiggghhhttt…” the singsong voice resonated. Last words for a soldier…she supposed……

“…..Dump the body. I don’t give a fuck where…..”

GAAAAAAASSSSPPPPP!

The sudden inhale of air had Zoey sitting upright as she reached out hoping to latch onto…something. Anything. Her head shrieking in protest at the sudden onslaught of vertigo that claimed her in waves. Her stomach rolled and she leaned over the side of her bed to vomit. But, nothing came out. Instead the moaning wail of a sound followed by a dry heave.

“She’s up!” A nurse proclaimed as she passed by the room, only to be suddenly halted by the sight. “Room 14! Can I get a doctor, please!?” Oh, oh! That noise. That ungodly noise….

“Shhhh….” Was all that Zoey could muster. The lights…oh god, please…turn them off…please. Was she speaking? Or talking in her head? She couldn’t really figure out. And why was she here? Where was here anyways? What happened? So many qustions….so much to find out…

“Ma’am….I’m a nurse. Do you know who you are?”

I’m Elizabeth Ryder…call me Zoey though….

“Ma’am?”

I just told you…I’m fucking Corporal Ryder. It took a moment for Zoey to understand that she wasn’t actually speaking. Mostly because she felt like she was screaming inside her head. But also because the face of concern that was on the nurses had told her that their question hadn’t been answered.

“Y….yeah…” She said, breathlessly. “I’m c…corporal…..Ryder.” No, that wasn’t right. Why was it so hard to get out a sentence?

The woman’s eyes were lighting up though. “Very good. And do you know why you’re here?”

Zoey didn’t want to shake her head. Instead she spoke again carefully. “N…no.” A look of sadness crossed the red head’s face. “Well, Corporal, you’re very lucky. You disappeared during a patrol. No one could find you. When we did...we were scared you were already gone. You’ve been shot. But...you made it. You’re alive. Four months later…but you’re alive!” She seemed like she wanted to dance.

And then a blur of muscle slid into her field of view, thick cords wrapping her up tight.

“Zoey.” The same voice that haunted her dream. Tormented her every ounce of the way through it. “Oh thank god you’re awake!” His forlorn voice and near tremble in his shoulders made her want to shove him away.

None of this felt right. It was empty, a void. A reality created in false memory. As if  she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Don’t.” She stated in a soft tone, pushing at the man gently. He started, if only for a second.

“I FUCKING SAID DON’T!” And again she pushed against him. Her chest swelling with an uncontrollable urge as she began to flail against him.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” Warm streams found themselves falling in fattening drops. She was panicking. Feeling that overwhelming desire to run as fast and as far as she could from all of this.

All Zoey wanted to do was to go back to sleep, back to her dreams. Back to the moments where they hadn’t forgotten about her. She couldn’t feel that simple connection the man in front of her was trying to convey. No, after all the deaths accruing, and her fellow comrades gone, Scotty, Emily, Reed…… She didn’t want to feel. Not like this.

Lets not forget the ones who had happily abandoned her along the way….they too were seen as her casualties of this life. This was so much more than just sitting in a war time. It was her entire life. Everyone left her in one way or another. 

She wanted more than anything - while she swallowed huge gulps of air and began to let out a sob – to simply be dead inside. 

It would have been far easier than this.

[I've once again found my muse after a hard fought battle. With that being said some know and some don't. I had a profile for Tulip O'Hare on rolepages which I wrote for unfortunately an all too short amount of time. I've always loved her as a character and kind of regret walking away. Today, with some things going on in my world I couldn't help myself. I had the urge to write as her again. She's an infinitely complex, caring, loving, temperamental and compassionate creature.  I usually don't post with one character on another account. This will most likely be only a one time thing. My apologies if someone's picked her up here.  ]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please. Just ....

For her temper knows no bounds. 

Because she too can feel it in situations that have arisen.

Even if she's not right in feeling that way. 

Let her be sad. 

And let her feel remorse. 

Let her be caring. 

Just let her let go in her own way. 

It's all she really needs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        An array of tools sat there laying against the table, all of them bloodied and worn. That smirk on her face as she leans back in the leather bound chair plastered so neatly.  Tulip has always had this job, despite who it links her to. Countless times she's turned her back and walked away from the greasy sleaze who all but owns her, and yet countless times she's turned back to it, if only because it's the most faithful thing. 

"See now? And all you had to do was tell me those words I wanted to hear, when I'd asked you the first few times!" Those words fall on deaf ears. She's speaking to something lifeless in front of her. 

This is what money had been exchanged for. No longer did she cringe. 

It wasn't the most beautiful of jobs, but for Tulip it was what she knew. Life had given her lemons and she bit down in the fucker and chewed over every drop and rind of it until it was gone. She had no other options.

"You made me do it the hard way...you didn't let me get anything else in edgewise before you shut down." Was she speaking about how he'd reacted?  Or was it her mind that had been doing that task while she drifted into other thoughts....

        She just didn't know. Her head swirled, it had been continually since she cleaned out that inbox on her voicemail that morning. And she'd found things that tugged a little on old memories. Things she thought were long gone. She's far from content, and resenting herself for dredging up something she thought she'd discarded long ago and thought that she had given peace to. She needs no one, and yet.... There's some remorse at the ending of certain situations. Ones that she can't let go until it's made right, even if that action is only for the quieting of her own mind. Maybe then, and only then she can close on her anger so she can turn heel and march away. 

The good lord knows that she going to need that resolve. 

Because one day she threatened that she'd teach him how to hate her. 

And it still stung somewhere deep down that she had kept that promise true. 

(Trying to get back into the swing of things. Sorry it's a bit rusty. )

Everything that had happened in the past few days slammed into her head like a cruel torment. Mocking her with the constant barrage of things she'd done wrong. She wished she could take so much back, and of course there were a million things that she wished she could have done differently.

"Zoey..." The male voice resonated in her ear, a soft whisper.

Her attention refocused. Her eyes back on the image before her.

Oh god, Please.

Just….

shift….

a fraction…..

further……

to the left.....

The rush of adrenaline caused a flush in her cheeks. Her breathing came out in soft pants. Zoey had lost control of her carefully poised self.  Desperate to gain some sense of discipline again she allowed for rose stained lips to part, giving way to an exercised exhale. Hands gripped down tight. Amber hues slammed  shut for a moment before the thick fringe of lashes parted once more; a long leg slid up beside her in an arch.

And with all that whispered begging he moved.

Biting down ever so softly on her lower lip she tried to keep from grinning wide. It was perfect. The view down the length of the black barrel of metal was exactly as she had prayed for the night before. Another deep inhale expanded her chest, followed by an deeper exhale. A clouded stream, now visible stayed hanging there in a puff of moisture upon the cold air. Ink black irises focused down into a pinpoint as she lined up her crosshairs.

Laying out in the prone position on her stomach for as many hours as she had she wished she could let out a groan; but she couldn't. Rolling to one side for a second for relief her hips screamed,  begging to be released the trap of the hard wood beneath her. She’d been there for nearly six hours.

Suddenly a heavier pack of movement through her scope caught her eye, and she settled back into place.

Digits slid from the barrel of the rifle to her throat to press on the microphone button that hugged there. The rough slide of a barely voiced whisper permeated the silence of the morning. “Target acquired.” A soft keyed up digital tone replied for the go ahead to take the man down. 

Who was she waiting for? A brunette male, with green eyes and short well groomed hair. His dossier stated he was nearly 27 years of age. 6 feet, 7 inches tall. But they always failed a few details in things like this. It was a shame he was so good looking. What a waste. As she waited she noticed muscle and sinew ripple underneath a dark charcoal grey shirt, dressy black slacks bunched around larger than normal thighs. The trim and tapered waist of his remained partially covered by the jacket that covered his 1911, .45. A glimmer of a badge peeked through the opening of his coat.

She murmured gently as she exhaled. That tattooed digit with ‘Aim True’ slid into the trigger well, and with her final exhale she squeezed that hardened plastic down. “Fire….fire….fire..."

A cataclysmic boom resonated, causing a near ringing in her ears. The sharp rap of the rifle against the crook of her shoulder something that would surely cause pain in the morning, a harsh push striking that tender spot. The bolt slid back in a coiled pinging sound. And a round flew from the ejection port on the side, hitting her on the arm as it fell and then clattered to the floor.

Despite it all she did not move an inch. Only a soft flinch when the firing pin struck the bullet could have been spotted. It might have been her downfall, after all any movement could change a long distance shot drastically. She hoped not. Watching through that scope mounted tightly on her barrel she kept a close eye on the outcome.

And it was glorious.

His body slid back as the impact swept him off his feet. And the heavy grunt that escaped could be heard by those around him. Shocked gasps followed as he fell. But there was no large red splatter behind him. No 5.56 hole in the front of his shirt.

Instead there was nothing more than a crimson splotch of theater blood. Fragments of orange exploded around him, a rubber bullet.

Static clipped over the piece in her ear and then a deep voice resonated, raspy and filled with pain. “Good hit, Ryder…Sternum shot…remind me to get you back for this.” The grin that slid across her face a reply to his voice. “Thanks Cole. And yeah, I guess I owe you one.”

The voice that followed over the radio was a stark contrast from the pair.

“Alright kiddos, lets get back to class, and we can go over what went right, and what went wrong with all of this…..”

Sniper training. One of the many joys and pains of the week before the start of SWAT school.