#echocode

[agentmonet]

@echocode​ | Afternoon of September 27th at the Warehouse in Soro, Denmark

Any Pantheon agent worth their salt understood the importance of multi-tasking. It isn’t enough to bring home a singular trophy, when a bounty is the key to true notoriety. The nature of their work exploits such a fact - long and shot missions, interwoven together. An agent can either weave a tapestry, or get lost in their own knots. For Jack, it’s almost exclusively the latter. Almost. The Apollo that considers herself clean and seamless, has created a knot of her own. A complication in the form of Godsend’s Charon - who was more hell bent than his crew’s name implied. There is ice in her veins, but Erik spurs fire. What a loathsome thing it was, to feel this way about him. Hatred. Fear. Rage. Some nights, she asks herself - what is rage, if not the convolution of intimacy? What was it that acted as their hook, line, and sinker? The day her facade cracked, and she betrayed herself to get close. Or the day after, when he took her dark secret to the ends of the Earth?

The answer is irrelevant, when the threat Erik presents is real. Her reputation. Her life’s work. Her wins. The very things that define her, hanging off of the measliest of threads. But she’s determined to cut him loose, and it’s only as she’s halfway through preparing for the mission that she sees him. She follows him, lithe figure and delicate footsteps. A ghost, just as all Apollo’s are. A hand on the door frame, as she assesses him. At least months since their last conversation, and the bitterness is evident in her typically stoic eyes. “I never took you as the sort to run away from a fight, Agent Echo.” But his voice is not an echo, but a whisper - the incarnation of all her fears, in someone she may have even enjoyed. “Then again, what are Charon’s but overrated trolly runners.” It’s almost a joke, but her eyes are scathing. “You have not returned my calls or texts.”

[agentmonet]

@echocode

“So, that’s it, I guess. Um, I hope you’re good. I want you to be good. And, um, okay, so, goodbye. That word sounds really lame and stupid right now, but there it is. Goodbye.”

[mediaboxent]

🔥KODI 17.1 Mega Instalación Super Completa! XBMC

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[agentmonet]

@echocode​

The last thing she remembers is the scent of gun powder and smoke, and Agent Icarus carrying her in his arms. There is a lull of black, and by the time there is light, she can feel the pressure in her ears. A panic sets, vigilance wrought from years of service, but the attentive Iris has a hand on her wrist at a moment’s notice. You were shot in the right arm. Agent Icarus brought you back to the jet. It was a minor operation. You will recover. You are on medication. Short but informative words, that are pieced together as she awakes from a flurry of pain killers and medication. The sudden and familiar sensation, as off-putting as the injury itself. She looks back at her arm, wrapped in gauze, and only the notices the figure seated and asleep on the nearby chair. When Jack looks back at the Iris, they muster; he hasn’t left your side since the extraction. A realization that only leaves more questions than answers.

A second bout of paranoia sets. Was this some sort of act, meant to delude her into a false sense of safety? But the paranoia falls second only to the truth in the Iris’ words. More importantly, the way his large body is so uncomfortably nestled in the small airplane seat. Sectioned off into a separate compartment, away from prying eyes. Jack clears her throat once, then a second time. When that doesn’t work, she slowly extends her healthy arm. A jostle to Erik’s shoulder, trying to spur him awake. “What are you doing?”