“Mummy? You need to close your eyes. You can’t sleep so silly!” I wait, but she doesn’t move. But her funny breathing is gone. I knew my cuddles would heal her! I always had magical cuddles, Mummy said. But this just proves it! I healed Mummy!
“Mummy, you need to wake up.” I shake her again this time. Her head falls down to her shoulder before her whole body collapses onto the concrete.
“Mummy, wake up!” I shake harder, holding onto her shirt tightly. “Mummy! Mummy, wake up! I’m scared!”
But she doesn’t.
Chapter 6:
Lauren steps into the warehouse from the left entrance as I break down the door to the right. We don’t get any time to adjust to the new surroundings as men swarmed the room around us from both sides, bullets piercing through the air, aimed at us.
I raise my semi-automatic rifle until the scope is within my sight and fire one, two, three times. Bodies drop with every bullet that leaves the chamber. Two of the men duck for cover behind couches, and I spray the bullets through the fabric without a care for where they land.
Idiots. Don’t they know fabric isn’t bulletproof?
From inside the first area we breached, there are three couches placed in a semi-circle around a flat screen plugged into the wall. There’s a table in the middle of the room, filled with empty glass bottles and half-smoked cigarettes. And now, four dead bodies leak blood onto the cream-coloured rug in the centre of the living area.
Another door opens, and two more men run out; one holding a machete and the other holding an axe. They barely make it two steps before their bodies drop to the floor. Smoke spills free from the barrel with every bullet I fire, now heating up with every pull of the trigger.
Crimson pools the grey concrete floors, the thick, red blood seeping into the cracks on the uneven floor. I step my boot in the blood, making a squelching sound as the liquid coats my boot print. I want the others to come find me. Then I get to kill them, too. So, I leave them a trail to follow.
Opening the door at the back of the warehouse, a knife comes barrelling towards my head. I barely have time to drop down, the blade narrowly missing my head and instead hitting the doorframe above me. Play time.
Unsheathing my knife, I allow a split second to recon the room, making sure there are no other unexpected threats waiting to strike. Only after I’m sure we’re alone, at least for now, I run towards the target, my knife gripped firmly in my hand. Using the table in the centre of the room for extra height, I build momentum as I take down the target. His head smashes into the concrete floor below us with the impact, blood dripping down his hair.
The target’s eyes widen, like he hadn’t planned on me being able to get over to him that quickly. His arms flop out from either side of me, landing on my waist and trying to force me to the ground.
But his movements are lazy, sloppy, like he doesn’t know what he’s fighting. Forcing him down to the ground, I sit on his chest, my knees holding down his arms.
“Crazy bitch! Get off me!”
A smile curves my lips as I start to feel the adrenaline flow through me, the thrill before the kill. The favourite part of my job, apart from the kill; that’s pretty fucking cool, too.
I’m selective on where to cut, sticking to both biceps for now as I pierce my blade through the muscles, rendering them useless. Once I’m satisfied he won’t be able to use his arms anymore, I turn and cut both his Achilles heels, paralysing him. The screams of his pain bounce around the walls to no end, his face wet and covered in tears. But I pay no attention to it, I don’t care.
“P-please! N-no!” the target pleads, sweat falling down his forehead as he turns pale. I watch as the shock starts to kick in. It’s our body’s natural response to something traumatic, besides adrenaline.
“Shhhh,” I coo, running my blade across his cheek, not intending to leave a cut, but one appears anyway. Whoops. Shame, he could have been pretty before. Tanned skin and straight black hair, piercing green eyes. Target 87. He’s been hard to find, which is why his target number is so low. The Academy couldn’t find him, and when they did, he disappeared.
But you can only run so far.
“Where are your computers?” I keep my voice flat, trying to hide the humour that threatens to creep into my tone as I stare down at the man once willing to go against the New Order, now bleeding out and looking up at me desperately, as if I’m going to help.
“I-I have a f-family!” The target tries to find a humanity I haven’t been trained to have.
“So did I. Send them my regards.” Lifting my leg and bringing my boot down on his neck, I cut off his air.
“Where. Are. Your. Computers?”
I watch as his face becomes red. The target claws at my boot, finally realising I won’t back down. I wait moments before he’s about to pass out before lifting my boot, letting him gasp desperately for air, coughing and fighting the swelling in his throat to breathe.
“T-top floor,” the target struggles to say. Instantly, I raise my rifle and a bullet goes between his eyes before I walk up the steps on the back of the wall.
“Anyone up here?” Taunting, I unsheathe my knife and throw my rifle back over my shoulder. I open the door at the top of the staircase before quickly stepping inside and clearing the room. Inside, two computers lay on a desk with chairs either side.
Taking out The Academy hard drive from my thigh pocket, I connect the cables to both computers, downloading all of their information. Once the screen on the hard drive begins to flash 100%, I unplug the cords and place it back in my thigh pocket.
?
