Both Jack and I are provided with a comm unit, which will allow us to stay in contact with both each other and our handler while in the field.
I pick out a FISA standard-issue Glock as well as a tranquilliser gun. If I can get away without using the former, I’ll be glad of it. Lethal violence is not, and has rarely been, my go-to line of defence. Even if we are going after OI agents who actually chose to become OI agents and therefore knew the kind of organisation they were getting involved with.
Killing does not come naturally to me, which has been something of a challenge to circumvent while out on missions in the past. There are plenty of enemy organisations and terrorist cells full of people who are more than happy to aim for the head with little provocation, for the sake of their ideals or ultimate goals.
Jack, somewhat predictably, does not even look at the tranquilliser guns. He spends a considerable amount of time examining the various pistols lining the Armoury walls before making his choice. He picks out two different weapons, a Glock 17 and a SIG P250.
I watch as Jack checks the weapons out with more concentrated attention. He doesn’t speak to me until we’re collecting the ammunition for our chosen weapons, all of which is in a more highly restricted area of the Armoury. Every bullet and magazine must be accounted for and documented before they can be officially signed out.
“As far as I’m aware, tranquilliser guns are not standardised weaponry for a stealth mission with FISA,” Jack comments. He still isn’t looking at me, preferring to fiddle with his SIG like it’s a Rubik’s Cube he’s solved a couple dozen times before.
Our first mission is rather simple, which I imagine is by design to see how Jack and I get on together. It’s also probably to make sure Jack doesn’t just try to murder me and leg it.
We are to infiltrate an Obsidian Inc. safe house and gather intelligence regarding a known scientist who has very recently gone off the radar. FISA believes that the scientist has been taken by OI.
Our intelligence suggests this scientist was in the process of being recruited by them. The safe house has been marked for a search as it is set up close to where the missing scientist was last seen.
Obsidian Inc. was monitoring the scientist, gathering intel about them, possibly to use as blackmail to force the scientist to work with them. Either that, or it was merely OI’s extreme version of a background check before the final job interview.
“No, they aren’t,” I say, self-consciously touching my hand to the tranq gun I already have holstered at my right hip. It’s the weapon I’d go for first, so I’ve put it on my dominant side.
“Then why are you bringing one?” Jack asks, finally deigning to glance up from his new pet gun, Siggy. “Are you planning on abducting someone and handcuffing them to a toilet again? I don’t remember that being part of the mission brief,” he adds sarcastically.
I should have known he’d still be sore about that shit.
“How many times do I have to apologise for the toilet thing?” I play up the exasperation just to see Jack make one of his disgruntled faces at me.
“You’ve never apologised for it,” Jack mutters.
“Oh.”
There’s a short pause.
“Well?” Jack prods. “Are you going to?”
I take a good three seconds, pretending to think about it.
“Nah, don’t think so.”
Jack somehow manages to sound both disappointed and pleased at the same time, like I’ve passed a test he didn’t think me capable of deciphering the rules to. “Wow. Stone cold.”
“Ah, you seem tough,” I reply flippantly, shooting him a soft grin. “I think you’ll get over it eventually.”
Jack doesn’t comment on my pronouncement. Or hit me for teasing him, which is what I keep expecting him to do. He’s surprisingly tolerant for a purebred killer with an obvious temper. Although maybe he’s had an inordinate amount of practice at not unleashing himself on people who mock and belittle him just because they know he can’t fight back without getting seriously punished.
That thought makes me feel guilty for playing around with him. He deserves better from me as his partner.
Jack finishes strapping his weapons to his FISA suit, seemingly oblivious to my internal chagrin.
FISA suits are made from special material, originally created by Rohan, which moulds to the person’s body and protects them from things like bullets, knives, and explosions. It means we don’t need body armour, as the material acts as a form of armour and is more effective than any other material of its kind.
All field agents are expected to wear the black suit unless we are on an undercover mission.
“Ready to go?” I ask once Jack looks sorted.
When he nods in assent, we leave go to sign out our various weapons and ammunition before leaving the Armoury together.
Jack takes my lead as I guide him down to the garage area where the FISA vehicles are stored. There are numerous cars and vans and motorcycles for field use. North gave me the keys to a black van earlier.
