#espionage fanfic

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 13

(Ch. 12) ... (Ch. 1)

Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Operation Market Garden is underway and American intelligence operatives, now commanded by the British SOE, have their own battles to fight. Sometimes painful situations demand painful sacrifices.

May or may not feature a Smol cameo...👀

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Violence against women

A/N: Sorry this took so long; I tried to do the thing where I wait & release a chapter once I'm ahead but I'm way too impulsive for that so here lol 💀💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @emmythespacecowgirl @bellewintersroe @holdingforgeneralhugs

Contemporary: September 17th, 1944. Eindhoven, Netherlands.

Alix was just finishing up what would be her tenth interrogation of the day when she heard what sounded like singing in the streets outside the hotel they were using as a home base.

She cocked her head and looked over to Andries, the sniper standing beside her, with curiosity in her eyes.

He only shrugged.

"We are happy to be liberated," he said simply before aiming a glare at the man they had backed up against the room's wall.

"Most of us anyway." 

The collaborator shook his head, quailing under the teenager's stern gaze.

"I am innocent!" he babbled, his heavily Dutch-accented French coming out barely comprehensible due to his nerves. "What you accuse me of, I would never...You have the wrong man!" 

"You're telling me you're not…" Alix checked the coded list of targets she'd kept stashed inside her fake Passport.

"Maurits Van Der Waal? Because if you're not, then there must be somebody else out there who looks just like you and lives at your address selling out your Jewish neighbors to the SS." 

“N-No, I am Maurits,” the man stammered, rocking back and forth on his heels “But I…I never help the SS, never.” 

“You were seen, you idiot,” Andries snapped harshly, pulling several photographs out of the pocket of his dark green coat and thrusting them into Van Der Waal’s shaking hands. 

The collaborator inspected the photos silently, all the blood draining from his face as he realized he’d been caught.

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed as she watched the middle-aged collaborator blubbering excuses pathetically before her, her anger simmering in her stomach. 

This rat would get a quick death, she thought bitterly. A mercy he didn’t deserve. 

The thirty Jewish families he had sold out to the SS would not be so lucky.

“How much are they paying you, Maurits?” she demanded, cocking the gun with a click. “How much is a human life worth to you?” 

“815 Guilder each, by the looks of it," the blond boy, Diederik, answered for him from the corner desk.

He held up a notepad full of decoded messages for them to see and read off, "All of them made out to a...Mr. Maurits Van Der Waal, imagine that." 

"Those aren't mine!" Van Der Waal lied lamely, practically bleating through his tears like a goat. "I'm innocent!"

"Tragic," Alix remarked dryly. "Anyway, please face the wall now."  

"And if…if I don't?" he sniveled pathetically, a note of hope raising his words. "Will you free me?"

A hope Alix would crush like an insect under her heel.

“If you don’t face the wall, then I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

"Well that went well!" Andries commented moments later, as Alix wordlessly knelt to retrieve items from the pockets of the tenth collaborator, who now lay dead on the floor. 

Oh yeah, she wanted to snap. Just fucking splendid.

There was a fine line between doing one’s duty and reveling in it, and for the Dutch Resistance, that line seemed to be blurring more and more by the hour. 

When she had finished collecting the necessary supplies from the dead man's pockets, one of the younger fighters, a small redheaded boy named Piers, joined Andries in dragging the body over to the corner with the other nine corpses.

Alix didn't know how the Resistance was disposing of the bodies but some things were better left unknown so she didn't ask. There were more pressing matters anyway.

The radio on the desk in front of Diederik crackled to life and he pressed the headset harder against his ear as he strained to hear. 

Alix could tell by his concentration-scrunched face that the connection was poor but the boy appeared to still recognize the voice on the other end of the line. 

He quickly jotted down some notes before turning to Alix, who had crossed the room to meet him. 

"It's Kristof," he responded, tearing a page from his notepad and handing her the coded address he'd just taken down. "The SOE says it's time." 

Alix nodded her assent. Nix and Van Kooijk were on the other side of town and she would have to meet them on her way.

The trick would be finding them in the crowds.

Checking herself for blood in the mirror one last time, she smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her skirt before slipping her gun and handheld radio into her purse and quietly exiting the room.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Stepping out of the hotel and into the street was like being suddenly thrust into a carnival. Jubilant whoops filled the air and streams of bright ticker-tape rained down like flurries of rainbow-colored snow but Alix didn't have time to enjoy the celebration. 

She was doing her best to wade through the ever-growing crush of people but she was being jostled from all sides like a toy boat on ocean waves as civilians and soldiers alike rushed to participate in the festivities. 

Keeping a white-knuckle grip on her purse, Alix managed to shuffle her way further into the crowd, passing scores of troopers from Dog and Fox company on her way. 

Seeing the almost frantic urgency with which the Dutch townspeople were greeting servicemembers, the young agent was suddenly grateful to be in civilian clothes because she didn't need that kind of attention right now. 

She needed to find her handler and her contact so she could complete her mission. Nixon had her bottle of Prussic Acid in his pocket because he didn’t trust her to carry it– “It’s liquid cyanide for Christ’s sake!”--  so she would need to retrieve it before locating her target. 

As she tried to blend in with the crowd, slipping in behind a cluster of ANC nurses, Alix couldn’t help but study them with a twinge of envy. She wore the same Red Cross armband as they did when she was in uniform, carried the same aid bag slung over her shoulder. 

But instead of tourniquets, she carried garrote wire and guns. Instead of syringes, she carried knives. Instead of administering medicine, she would be administering poison.

The women walking next to her got to save lives; all Alix did was take them. 

As if somehow reading her thoughts, the freckle-faced nurse to her left gave her a kindhearted smile and in her bright, toothy grin Alix was pretty sure she saw a glimpse of her friend Don shining through.

The spy returned the smile, the fleeting reminder of her own humanity equipping her with the necessary resolve to continue her journey. 

She had work to do.

 Gathering the dark polka-dotted material of her skirt in her hands and trying not to break an ankle on the cobblestones, Alix squeezed by the nurses and pressed on ahead. 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

But by the time she reached the edge of the herd, the joy-filled singing had transformed into something else. Nightmarish, broken screams, jeers, and a grief-stricken wailing that made Alix's stomach twist echoed off the cobblestones. For a moment, she froze, almost unable to fully comprehend the hellish scenes of chaos unfolding in front of her. 

The townspeople were brutal, seizing local women from the crowd and hurling them to their knees in the center of the circle. Some looked to be no older than their late teens, bawling as they were stripped to their slips in front of the merciless horde, the roaring of the mob only increasing in intensity as swastikas were daubed onto their foreheads with ink-like tar. 

Alix couldn't understand Dutch but she could understand body language and every microexpression on the citizens' faces screamed disgust and hatred. 

The women were sobbing, red-faced and quaking with fear as they were yanked by their hair to older women manning clippers like weapons, who would shear them and shove them away afterwards with an almost sanctimonious revulsion.

As the victims were being hauled to their feet, Alix managed to force her eyes away from the mob, searching the faces around her frantically as the harsh burn of rage began to sear her stomach.

Why was no one stopping this?

Even with her training, Alix knew she would never be able to take on a crowd this large by herself. She would need backup.

Where was Joe? Where were Skip and Don? Where the hell was the Resistance?

More and more women were being dragged into the fray and two tall, skinny teenagers shoved their way past Alix, forcing a terrified girl in a salmon-colored dress into the circle with them.

Her bloodshot hazel eyes were wide, tears streaming down her reddened face as the fabric was violently torn from her body. 

For a brief second, she met Alix’s horrified gaze before thrusting a hand out in a desperate plea for the agent’s help.

Feeling a violent jolt of grief in her stomach, Alix strained as far forward as she could to reach the girl’s hand but she was too late. 

The boy in the burgundy sweater pivoted, wrenching the girl’s arm away and holding her still as they began shearing her head and that’s when Alix saw it.

The boys were wearing orange armbands. 

This was the Resistance. 

Sickened and infuriated, Alix lunged toward the center of the circle, ready to rip the frightened girl from their grasp, when she felt a calloused hand clutching her upper arm.

Whipping her head around, she met the worried glance of Lieutenant Nixon, whose painfully tight grip on her bicep was the only thing keeping her from launching herself into the fray.

"Niccolò, let go or I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking hand." 

It wasn’t an empty threat this time and her handler knew it too, but even so, he didn't flinch. 

“The mission, Adelina,” he hissed, tightening his hold on her arm. "Do you want to blow our cover?"

Alix was practically seeing red.

Women were being mercilessly brutalized in the street and all Nix was worried about was their stupid fucking mission?!

But before she could reply, John Van Kooijk emerged from behind them, wearing his usual expression of thinly-veiled smugness. 

“Problem?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Alix narrowed her eyes.

“Oh there’s about to be,” she snarled.

The words had barely left her mouth when the agent felt Nixon’s fingers clamp down even harder on her bicep, strengthening his hold in case she decided to try something.

“Be civil to our friend, Lina,” her handler cautioned and Alix snorted with derision, swiveling her head back to meet his eyes. 

“Given that my first instinct was to throttle our ‘friend’, I think I’m being perfectly fucking civil right now.”

Turning back to the Resistance leader, Alix gestured with her free hand to the chaos unfolding before them.

“Now, care to explain what the Hell is going on?”

The Dutchman was seemingly unfazed. 

"They are collaborators," he stated with a careless shrug. "It is what they have earned." 

"What exactly did they do?" Alix demanded, her French coming out rapid-fire in her fury. "Who did they betray?"

"They slept with the enemy," was the vague reply. "This is merciful. We could have had them shot for that." 

"This is mercy?"  Alix barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "No, this is a bullshit attempt at retaliation."

Her nostrils were flaring with rage and one fist was balled when she spoke next, the boiling inside her building like a volcano seconds from erupting.

"And for the record, taking your misplaced anger out on people who have no say sounds an awful lot like the enemy we're supposed to be fighting." 

"You interrogated and executed ten men only hours ago, yes?" The Resistance leader eyed her skeptically. "But now the Sparrow has a conscience?"  

"It was quick,” Alix retorted defensively. “I wasn't torturing people!"

"Neither are we!" Van Kooijk seemed genuinely perplexed at her objections. "This is justice!" 

"No, this is vengeance," Alix countered, yanking her arm out of Nixon's cautioning grasp.

"And I want none of it! Go find yourselves a new attack-dog because I'm done."

With that, she pushed past them, storming off ahead but Nixon followed her, keeping himself chained to her right side as they walked so he could deliberately block her from the circle. 

"Simmer down, will you?" Nixon had switched from French to Italian effortlessly but even still, his words carried an unusually sharp edge that only served to fan the flames of Alix’s rage further.

“Simmer down, are you fucking kidding me?” Alix was bristling with indignation now but she fought to keep her face impartial and her voice steely calm to avoid arousing suspicion.

“After that? After what they were doing to those girls?” 

A small gaggle of civilians passed them by, heading in the direction that the pair had just come from.

Noticing their glances, Nixon faked a laugh as though she’d just said something funny, as though they were merely two friends taking a stroll and not two intelligence operatives seconds away from a fistfight.

Alix played along, painting on a fake smile and nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette, her stride never faltering.

They were both in civilian clothing– Nix in his boxy khaki overcoat that concealed his uniform and Alix in her dark sweater and spotted skirt – so it didn’t take long for the eyes of the Dutch citizens to stray from them as they continued on their journey.

“Just focus on the mission, alright?” Nix commanded out of the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck the mission,” Alix returned quietly. “I'm not doing any favors for people who torture women for fun."

"Oh for Christ’s sake, Adelina, I don't like it either," Nixon sighed in exasperation once the Dutch citizens were out of earshot.

"But if you blow our cover trying to stop this shit, then you can’t take care of Kruger, and more people are going to get hurt. And it won't just be collaborators like this time, it'll be our assets too, other operatives, innocent civilians, maybe troopers too. Is that what you want?" 

"Of course it isn’t," Alix snapped as she felt the sudden weight of the prepped cyanide vials being covertly dropped into her purse. "I’m still planning on finishing the mission. I'm just not working with those assholes to do it." 

Lieutenant Nixon frowned. 

He could already tell where this was going.

"No,” he stated firmly, cutting Alix off before she had even clarified.

“You’re not refusing backup on this one. Any other target, maybe, but not with an SS Lieutenant, not on my watch.”

“Niccolò,” Alix scolded, the clacking of her saddle shoes on the pavement accenting her words. “I’ll be fine. The man’s got trench fever, for Christ’s sake. He might be dead before I even get there.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Nixon argued. “You could be acting on faulty intel. There’s a leak in the SOE, remember?” 

“That’s the risk we take with every mission. It’s never stopped us before.”

“The stakes were never this high before,” Nixon contended, massaging his temple. “The Wehrmacht is one thing but this is the goddamn SS. At least let me send Andries to Oosterbeek with you, just in case. One sniper and I’ll let it go, alright?”

Alix scowled. 

“I said No,” she maintained testily after a short drag from her cigarette.  “So you can save your breath. I don’t want anything to do with them after what the fuck we just saw. Either I go in alone or I don’t go at all.” 

“Putain de merde, Adelina, will you fucking listen?” Realizing his tone had risen slightly, he took a deep breath before lowering his voice again. “You may be willing to gamble with your life but I'm not. I’ll be with the Brits and the 101st so I won’t be on comms and if something happens–” 

“If something happens, I’ll take care of it myself,” Alix finished for him with a puff of smoke. “You told HQ I was more than capable, remember?” 

“I knew I’d regret saying that,” Nixon muttered with a shake of his head. "I just didn't think it'd be so goddamn soon."

“Besides,” Alix reminded him with a reassuring, sisterly bump to the shoulder.

“Everyone knows Kruger’s an arrogant alcoholic who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. It should be a piece of cake to get him alone and finish the job. I'll be back in no time."

“Still,” Nixon grimaced. “He’s an SS officer. He was trained for adverse situations and if he gets the upper hand at any point, you’re done.” 

“Which is why I won’t let him,” Alix assured bracingly. “The man’s not superhuman. He’s already sick, probably drunk, and once he drinks the Prussic Acid, he’s toast. No backup needed.” 

Nixon let out a small huff of displeasure and as he glanced at his watch, his frown only deepened.

Both he and Alix knew he didn’t have time to argue. He still needed to ditch his coat somewhere, coordinate with Winters and rejoin Van Kooijk’s group before the Airborne offensive could truly begin.

“Fine,” he grunted with a shake of his head. “But if you get yourself killed, Liebgott, Muck, Malarkey and I are splitting the 10 Grand. Not that I need it.” 

Alix cocked an eyebrow. 

“I don’t remember designating you as a beneficiary. The others, yes, but not you.”

“Well I think I deserve to be too,” Nixon remarked wryly and hooked her into a light headlock, mussing up her hair with his knuckles.

“As compensation for putting up with your bullshit for 2 years. I already have one pain-in-the-ass sister, I never asked for another!”

Alix gave him a smack on the arm and he released her with a gentle push in the opposite direction.

“Now get a move-on, will you, before your mark leaves the country.” 

“Yeah, sure thing,” Alix commented with an eyeroll. “Just don’t go getting your hopes up on that payout, alright Gi-”

The younger agent cut herself off abruptly, the realization of her mistake briefly punching the breath out of her. Her smile slipped and she saw Nixon’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise. But if he recognized the name from her file, he chose not to comment on it.

There was a second of silence as a mutual understanding seemed to pass between the two. There was nothing either of them could do about the dangers of the situation.

All they could do was trust each other: trust that he had prepared her enough for anything she might face and trust that at least some of the SOE's intel was good.

Her life would depend on it.

"Hey, any words of wisdom you'd like to impart before you go, oh great teacher?" Alix inquired jokingly as she tried to keep her mind off the very real possibility that she could be walking into an elaborate trap with no backup.

Lieutenant Nixon mulled the question over for a moment before responding, "You’d better not end up dead or I’ll kill you myself. Clear?” 

“Careful, Nico,” Alix deadpanned, shortening his codename just to irk him. “I think you were almost nice for a second.” 

Nixon snorted. 

"Don’t get used to it,” he snarked. “Someone has to keep you humble.” 

With that, her case officer reluctantly stepped off into an alleyway, leaving Alix to continue the rest of her journey alone. 

Reaching the Post Office, the spy made her way to the employee side entrance, where according to plan, a slightly-rusted bicycle was waiting for her, propped up invitingly against the building.

And partially tucked underneath the back wheel was a faded orange hair ribbon, subtly designating the bike as belonging to a Resistance member. Easing it away from the wall, she gingerly placed her purse in the basket, arranging it with the utmost care so she could avoid any cyanide leaking onto her designer heels or her gun.

Taking one final breath to settle the uneasy feeling plaguing her, Alix bid a silent goodbye to Eindhoven and began the long ride to the SS headquarters in Oosterbeek.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 2 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The car ride was tense, with only the sound of tires humming against the asphalt breaking the silence. You stared out the window, watching the trees blur by, trying to suppress the anxiety gnawing at you.

“We need to get to the train station,” you suggested, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Too risky. We have to stay low for a while.”

You nodded, your mind racing through the possibilities. If a motel or hotel was too dangerous, where could you go? “We should camp. I have the gear in the car.”

Bucky glanced at you, a small nod of approval. “Good.”

The awkward silence returned, thick and suffocating, until a small voice broke through.

“This is destiny,” Lori murmured, her face lighting up as she reached into her bag to pull out a notebook. She began scribbling furiously.

You and Bucky exchanged a confused look. “What’s got you writing all of a sudden?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“New ideas for my fanfiction,” Lori said, her tone excited.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Lori…”

Bucky kept driving, his eyes scanning the road ahead until he found a secluded area surrounded by trees. He maneuvered the car off the road, hiding it as best he could among the foliage.

“Who is she, really?” Bucky asked, his tone serious.

“My niece,” you replied, your voice low.

Lori, sensing the conversation was about her, raised her hand like she was in class. “Oh, I have a confession to make. I’m the one who replied to your email.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something else. “Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. But thanks to her, I finally know your real name.”

Lori, completely missing the tension in the air, beamed. “You didn’t even know each other’s names, but you kept looking for her? That’s so romantic.”

Bucky shot you a look, his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze lingered made you uncomfortable. Was she really your niece? He couldn’t help but wonder.

You shook your head, grabbing your bag and pulling out a burner phone. You needed to call your sister and let her know you were taking Lori with you, that things had gotten… complicated.

Lori, oblivious to the serious undertone of the situation, watched you and Bucky closely, analyzing every glance and gesture. Through her writer’s lens, she saw the tension between you two as something else entirely. She grinned, her mind already spinning a new story of enemies-turned-lovers.

“Uh, I have a question,” Lori piped up. “After I replied, did you immediately read it?”

Bucky didn’t answer, his silence louder than any words could be. Lori took it as confirmation. “So, before you replied, you rushed to find my cool aunt, and when you got closer, you finally sent it. That’s such dedication to chasing love.” She squealed, hugging her notebook to her chest like a love-struck fangirl.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Both of you walked in silence, the tension between you growing thicker with every step. You stayed close to the car, unwilling to stray too far, as if the vehicle was the only thing grounding you in this increasingly chaotic world.

“We can’t be together,” you finally said, your voice heavy with regret.

“But—” Bucky began, but you cut him off.

Without a word, you reached up and tugged down your collar, revealing a line of jagged scars etched into the skin of your neck. You usually kept them hidden under layers of makeup, but today, there was no time for that. The collar had been your only shield.

“These… they still haunt me,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes softened, and without hesitation, he pulled up his shirt to reveal the scars marring his shoulder. The sight of them made your heart twist with guilt.

“It’s not just you,” he said, his voice low and filled with a shared pain. He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “We were both in the wrong.”

In the world of espionage, trust was a luxury neither of you could afford. You had been a double agent, living in the gray area between loyalty and betrayal. Bucky, a triple agent, had danced even closer to the edge. The scars you both bore were reminders of the countless times trust had been shattered.

The real reason you were being hunted wasn’t just because you were a skilled operative; it was because you had broken a vow. You had promised never to contact Bucky again, a promise made under the threat of being burned by your agency. But you had broken that promise, and now, you were paying the price.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice filled with an ache you couldn’t suppress. But your words died in your throat as you caught sight of movement behind a tree.

Lori. Your creative, ever-curious niece was hiding, scribbling furiously in her notebook as if she was documenting your every word.

“So, both of them feel guilty. It haunts them,” Lori muttered to herself, her eyes wide with fascination as she jotted down her thoughts.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You marched over to Lori, grabbing her bag with a grunt. “Why is this so heavy?” you demanded, feeling the strain in your arm. Then it hit you. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring your books?”

Lori snatched her bag back, clutching it to her chest protectively. “No! I can’t live without them. This one is my favorite.”

You sighed again, rubbing your temples as if it would somehow alleviate the stress of the situation. Arguing with Lori was pointless; she was as stubborn as you were. You glanced over at Bucky, who had been watching the exchange with an amused yet concerned look.

“We should set up camp here,” you said, your voice resigned but firm.

Bucky nodded, but the way his eyes lingered on you told you that he wasn’t just agreeing to the plan; he was agreeing to this unspoken understanding that, despite everything, you were in this together, whether you liked it or not.

As you began to unpack the gear, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The scars, the guilt, the constant running—it was all too much. But here you were, setting up camp in the middle of nowhere with a man who was both your greatest ally and your deepest regret, and a niece who seemed determined to make you believe again in romance.

And all you could think about was how much it hurt, how much it haunted you, and how much you wished things could be different. But in the world you lived in, wishes were just as dangerous as promises.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

After setting up the camp, you busied yourself with preparing dinner. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky twilight that painted the sky in shades of purple and orange.

The scent of the forest mingled with the aroma of the food, creating a comforting atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the tension from earlier.

Bucky sat by the lake, his figure a dark silhouette against the shimmering water. He occasionally stole glances in your direction, watching as you moved with practiced efficiency. The sight of you, so capable and yet so burdened, stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite name.

A soft voice broke the stillness. “🎵I’m just a talking plant, don’t mind me,🎵” Lori sang in a playful, lilting tone as she twirled her way over to Bucky. She stopped beside him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do you like my aunt?” she asked, her tone innocent yet oddly probing.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. What’s wrong with this kid? He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his surprise.

Lori, undeterred by his silence, continued with a knowing smile. “I get it. You’re a man of few words. You’re exactly like the male character from this book.”

She held up the novel she’d been carrying, the title "The Red Swan" emblazoned on the cover. Bucky tilted his head, the title vaguely familiar but not enough to place it.

“Are you really her niece?” Bucky asked, his curiosity piqued by Lori’s strange mix of wisdom and childlike wonder.

Lori shrugged a carefree gesture that spoke volumes. “My dad is a theater teacher.”

Bucky nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. That explained a lot—her flair for the dramatic, her perceptiveness, her relentless curiosity.

“Here,” Lori said, thrusting the romance novel into his hands.

“Why?” Bucky asked, looking down at the book with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lori sighed as if explaining something painfully obvious. “It’s as clear as the sky is blue that you like my aunt. But you never express it. If your actions alone aren’t enough, you need to use your words. From the start, you’ve only said thirty-one words. None of us can read each other’s minds.”

Bucky found himself unexpectedly impressed. This kid had been counting his words? And, annoyingly enough, she was right. He glanced at Lori, who gave him a confident salute, her eyes twinkling with a mix of innocence and cunning.

“Trust me,” she said with a playful wink before scampering back over to you, her small figure darting between the trees with the energy of a whirlwind.

Bucky watched her go, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something endearing about Lori’s antics, the way she seemed to bring a different side out of you, a side he hadn’t seen before. A side he realized he wanted to know more about.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and looked down at the book Lori had handed him. Romance novels had never been his thing, but something about the way she insisted piqued his interest.

He flipped to the summary on the back cover, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise at the plot. It was more intricate than he’d expected, with themes of loyalty, betrayal, and forbidden love woven through the narrative.

Intrigued despite himself, Bucky began reading, his fingers brushing the pages as he turned them. As he read, his breath hitched slightly. The story was compelling, drawing him in with its depth and emotion. “This is… interesting,” he murmured to himself, unable to deny the pull of the story.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, the three of you made your way to the train station. It was too risky to fly; the airport would be crawling with potential threats. You handled the ticket counter, purchasing a ticket for Lori while she waited with Bucky a short distance away. She noticed the way he kept his eyes on you, his gaze lingering as if trying to memorize every detail.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Lori leaned over and pinched his thigh. “You should talk to her,” she whispered, her tone insistent.

Just then, you returned, holding the tickets in your hand. “Alright, I got it,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for helping us.” Your voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something unsaid, a tension that hung in the air.

Bucky hesitated, his thoughts warring within him. Then, out of nowhere, he felt a sharp kick to his shin. Lori again, urging him forward. “Say something before you lose this chance!” she hissed.

“Seven years,” Bucky finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

“What?” You turned to him, confused by his sudden declaration.

“I’ve been looking for you and waiting for seven years,” he continued, his eyes locking onto yours.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, stirring up emotions you’d buried deep. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest. Seven years. The weight of those words hung between you, thickening the air. Lori squealed beside you, her excitement palpable, but you could barely hear her over the rush of blood in your ears.

Bucky took a step closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped searching. Every lead, every dead end—it all brought me back to you.”

Before you could respond, a sudden prickle of awareness swept over you. You didn’t have to look around to know—you were being watched. Instinct kicked in, and you grabbed Lori’s hand. “We have to go,” you said urgently, pulling her along.

“But Aunt, he’s not done!” Lori protested, glancing back at Bucky as you hurried away.

Bucky was right behind you, not willing to let you slip away again. “We can’t stay together, Bucky!” you insisted, your voice edged with both desperation and regret.

“You’re going to Massachusetts,” he replied, undeterred. “I want to go there too.”

“Why?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing.

Bucky held up the book that Lori had given him. “Because of this.” He pointed to the title on the cover, his expression serious.

“The Red Swan.” The words rolled off your tongue with a sense of familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. The title dredged up old memories, ones you’d tried hard to forget.

Bucky saw the recognition in your eyes and pressed on. “From what I’ve read—”

“You read it?” Lori interrupted, her voice tinged with awe.

“From what I’ve read,” Bucky continued, his gaze never leaving yours, “the mission in this book mirrors the one we had. The same code names, the same hotel rooms…”

Lori gasped, her eyes wide with amazement. “Oh wow!”

“You don’t mean—” you started, your mind racing to catch up.

Bucky nodded grimly. “I need to see the author of this novel. What’s his deal? How does a romance author know so much about a mission we both lived through? The details are too precise to be coincidence.”

Your heart pounded harder, and you exchanged a glance with Bucky. The implications were chilling. Someone out there knew far too much about your past—a past that was supposed to be buried. And now, that knowledge was in the pages of a book for anyone to read.

"Let's go," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. But then you hesitated, realizing, "Oh, but I didn’t buy your ticket."

Bucky chuckled softly, a rare sound that almost made you smile. "I’ll handle it," he replied, his confidence soothing your worry.

The three of you boarded the train, slipping into a quiet compartment. Lori, practically bouncing with excitement, clasped her hands together. She was thrilled that you and Bucky weren’t parting ways.

Unable to contain her joy, she started singing softly, “🎵We’re all in this together…🎵”

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[sentrysapper]

I don't know if any of you have read my engiespy fic... I'm horrible when it comes to posting the last chapters of things I've written, but I promise I am working on it...

Here is a snippet :3

if you have NOT read it, it is linked down below in case you are curious...

[trypo-p]

I finally finished my first ever fanfiction 😼🙏

This one will probably be.... very, very long. Hope you guys like slowburn engiespy angst!

[easternpine]

Life gets in the way and thus my 2024 Mass Effect Big Bang project fizzles into a regular story. But... a trilogy! This is a story that's been living in my head and on my computer as little bits and bobs for a long time now. I was happy to finally have the excuse to write it. Description:

Ex-Alliance soldier, Jane Shepard, is out of work and down her luck when an old childhood friend, Gianna Parasini, comes calling. With Gianna’s help, Shepard high-tails it to the Citadel and begins a brand new life as a corporate investigator. But things quickly turn deadly as one of Gianna’s former colleagues is found drowned in the galactic capital.

Under the guidance of C-Sec’s special investigator, Detective Garrus Vakarian, Shepard and Gianna work to unravel a tangled knot of avarice, murder, and corporate corruption.

A Shakarian, No Reapers AU

There was nothing to weigh her down, not really. Two pairs of sensible shoes, a selection of shirts (black or gray) , three pairs of pants, one pair of brand new jogging shorts, socks, underwear, and the usual personal hygiene products: these were the things that Jane Shepard had brought with her onto the ship that had ferried her from Earth. She owned little in the way of personal effects. She had no use for sentimental things—no family heirlooms, no trinkets bought on holiday, not a single photograph committed to physical form. The only thing she’d packed besdies the basics was her Alliance service medal, a heavy, brassy thing that had never been removed from its original box, now shoved into a hidden pocket inside her rucksack like a forgotten, ancient talisman. Leaving Earth was not as regrettable as she had expected. Seven months she’d been unemployed, about the same amount of time since she’d finished serving her last tour with the Alliance, and she was desperate to do anything, anywhere, as long as it meant keeping her nose clean and keeping herself housed and fed.

continue reading the story on AO3

[stcrfeesh]

the complexities of simplicity

(and the friendships built with sandwiches)

No warnings apply; Safe for work.

The retelling of the roundabout way Al Haitham tries to become friends with you.

Or, how not to be spies with covers as employees in the corporate world.

Al Haitham was such a conundrum. Unlike everyone else, he was different.

Despite the field he was working in, one where he was required to lie, he was still never one to engage in false pleasantries and hollow compliments. He’d openly refuse to take time out of his day to chat about the weather to get the information he needs—the twists and turns were unnecessary to him.

If he could walk into an establishment to steal information, then he’d do just that. It was simpler to walk in and then walk out without being detected anyway. It wasn’t like anyone would suspect some feeble man for information theft. Why would they? After all, he was just another paying customer using the washroom after trying out a new coffee blend.

Al Haitham gets what he wants and what he needs, in a roundabout, but oddly efficient way. Why aim for the straight path to his goals when he could simply jump to his goal? It would save him so much more time and effort—save him his breath and thoughts.

The path between point A and point B was, indeed, already simple. Even a pigeon would understand such simplicity. But in his mind, anything that was already efficient would always have something to make it even simpler.

The simpler it was, the less work he’d have to do, and the less work on his plate, the better. It was like dealing with fractions in math—always answer with the simplest form.

He was a conundrum in the way he contradicts himself. The lengths he’d go to for certain things; an extensive plan on how to steal intel without having to talk much with anyone, or perhaps, commissioning someone to fashion a device for him so he wouldn’t have to water the plants outside every single morning himself.

Al Haitham in all of his contradictions, turns simplicity into complexity, and sometimes, it made your head spin in confusion.

You would always see him enter the building at eight in the morning—on the dot every day. It was the same routine for the most part; a cup of coffee in his hand, and his coworker? Friend? You weren’t sure, but the guy would always be complaining behind him as he rubbed the sleep off his eyes. Then, Al Haitham leaves at four in the afternoon. At that time, though, without his partner—who you’d usually see cursing his very being—in tow.

In all the days he’s passed by you, you’d give him a smile—not the same one you give everyone else, though. This smile was reserved for him alone, you thought that perhaps, he needed a little more kindness in his life—so, you’d smile at him every morning and every afternoon to greet him. Much to your dismay, however, he never greets you back. No “good morning” or “thank you”, and especially not a single glance towards you. And so, you have come to a conclusion.

Al Haitham was not nice. Though, of course, not in the way where you’d call him an absolute prick. He wasn’t a dick, per se, he was just… unsociable. Well, maybe he was a little bit of a dick for never greeting you back, but it wasn’t like a greeting less affected your entire life. He was just some sleeper agent working on the top floor of the same company you’ve been stationed in, who, also happens to not like making small talk.

Yes, that was definitely it. Perhaps he liked being in his own little world where nothing bothers him, and you could get around that. That much was understandable. After all, with years of undercover work at the front desk of a company where the rudest people in all of Teyvat would barge in with their incomprehensible demands, you too would like to be in your own little world.

Alas, such is life in the world of espionage.

Al Haitham wasn’t an important part of your life—okay, maybe he was, but that was if, and only if your covers were to be blown. You weren’t high up in the ranks to have had the immediate clearance to know his codename, it even took you half a year of running errands for headquarters to figure it out yourself. Turns out, Al Haitham, the quiet man who’d never greet you back, was the Agent Vulture everyone either feared or idolised. Or both.

Should your covers be blown, you’d trust him enough to get the both of you out of trouble. That was assuming he’d even lend you a hand.

You wonder then if he knows you were just like him—a sleeper agent, which you now begin to doubt he does 1. He probably doesn’t even know your name despite the gold name tag pinned onto your uniform. Does he even see you greet him? You’ll never know, to be honest, nor do you ever plan on knowing.

That thought changes, however, on one unsuspecting morning.

You watch him enter the front doors. On the dot at eight in the morning. His companion mutters curses under his breath as he follows behind him. Today, you manage to make out what the blond man was complaining about.

“Oh, I don’t know, Al Haitham,” You heard the blond whisper sarcastically. “Maybe a ‘Thank you so much for helping me out, Kaveh’ would do!”

You watch Al Haitham inch closer towards the front desk, probably to clock in. He hisses at his companion, “Why should I thank you, oh great Kaveh? I pay for your share of the rent. Isn’t that a ‘thank you’ enough?”

Kaveh, you let the name resound in your mind. So that’s what the blond guy’s name was. The name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t pinpoint why or how. Not that it mattered.

When they were near enough, you put on a smile to greet them, “Good morning,”

The blond guy, whose name you now know was Kaveh, stops ranting furiously at his companion and flashes you a toothed smile. “Yes, hello, darling, good morning.”

Al Haitham presses his hand against the clocking device, and it makes a little ding sound, signifying that he’s successfully clocked in. You already assumed he wouldn’t pay you any mind like always did, that he’d walk away, but he doesn’t. He stops in his tracks, to look you directly in the eye.

He doesn’t glance at your name tag, but somehow, he says your name as if he’s known the entire time. You hadn’t expected him to know your name, quite the contrary, actually. You believed he didn’t even know your face. So, when he says your name, your jaw drops the slightest in shock, and then you snap it back shut when you realise you must’ve looked like a fool.

“Yes?” You answer simply, testing the waters. “Is there something you need?”

He shakes his head letting you know that he didn’t, and then hands you something wrapped in wax paper, “You left your lunch, so I bought an extra sandwich for you instead.”

Now you’re just confused. What in Teyvat was he even saying? What does he mean you left your lunch at home? You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if he was a double agent out to get you, but his expression remains as stoic as ever. Had it not been for his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk, you would have believed what you wanted to believe.

Message, you managed to gather from his tapping. You nod, getting his message as you take the item from him. “Oh… I was in a rush earlier, and I forgot to make lunch for myself. Thank you, you didn’t have to trouble yourself.”

Al Haitham nods one last time before he and Kaveh disappear into the hallway.

When they were finally out of earshot, your front desk partner playfully bumps your shoulder. She grins at you, and you immediately knew she was up to no good, “I see you have someone bringing you lunch now… I wonder who he might be. Boyfriend, perhaps?”

When she says that, you couldn’t help the snort that comes out of you. You? A boyfriend? And the best operative in Sumeru, no less? When Shroomboars begin to fly.

“He’s just a friend,” You lie—or, maybe, it was a small little white lie. Al Haitham wasn’t your friend, you didn’t even know his favourite colour, but you knew him just enough to get your lie to work. Plus, you certainly weren’t lying when you denied being in a romantic relationship with him.

You are a spy, an asset specifically placed in this specific company in case someone from your faction needed immediate help. Dating was far, far off the list of things you needed to do.

“Just a friend?” She asks you, her voice full of doubt. “Dear, you can’t expect me to believe that. Friends don’t just bring each other lunch because they’re friends.”

You frown at her mindset, that was untrue. Friends do bring each other lunch from time to time. You flick her forehead. “Not everything is about romance, you know?” You stare at the wrapped food in your hands. You knew better than to play with food, but you were curious, so you squish it lightly—it was probably a sandwich.

You cough, clearing your throat. The next thing you say, now this—this was a lie, “I need to put this away. I’ll be real quick.”

“Be quick,” Your desk partner reminds. “The front doors will be opening soon.”

And that’s what you did. Quick on your feet, you find yourself in the break room in no time. When you notice that the room was deserted, you carefully unwrap the wax paper. You find a small card tucked between the wax paper and the sandwich (you were right).

Report to headquarters at 6 PM.

You flip the card around to find nothing else. You stare at the card for another moment longer. Not only did he actually know your name, but he also knew who you were—that you were an operative like him. Which now begs the question, was he just being a dick the entire time?

You shove the card in your pocket before placing the sandwich in the fridge.

Seriously. You thought to yourself, was it so hard to just tell me this in person?

Al Haitham giving you homemade sandwiches did not stop that one time.

The next morning, he gives you another one. Using the same excuse as the day before, but this time without the message from headquarters. He does it again every single day for the next week, and then the next two months. Throughout it all, he uses the exact same excuse over and over again, “You forgot your lunch again,”

On one of those mornings, you raise a brow at Kaveh. A silent question of why. What was his companion planning? Why must it be you, in particular? But, when Kaveh furrows his brows, you realise then that even his own companion had no idea—the poor guy was even confused.

“Here,” Al Haitham says, handing you the sandwich. He stops to look at you for a short moment, and begins to tap his fingers against the desk as he speaks, “It’s cheese and turkey.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap—A message.

“Oh,” Is all that you’re able to let out, despite all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Thank you again, Al Haitham.”

As he was about to leave, you stop him, “Hold on!” You pull out the box hidden in a cubby behind the desk before walking towards him, “I was making cookies last night, and I made a batch too many. So, uhm, these are for you.”

That was a lie. You made the cookies for him, and you were quite certain he knew you were lying. But, if your lie works, then it works. He didn’t need to know the truth.

He raises a brow at you, and for a glimmer of a moment, you swore you saw a smile grace his lips. It was small and subtle, but you swore you saw it. Maybe you were imagining things, maybe you were not—you were leaning toward the latter, though—but regardless of whether it was real or a mere trick of the light, you thought that smiles suited him. It made him look nicer.

“Al Haitham!” Kaveh called, letting out an annoyed groan. “Come on! What are you still doing over there?”

“Thanks,” Was all he tells you as he takes the box from you. You hold your breath for a moment, afraid his hand would brush against yours, but it doesn’t. Not even the slightest bit, and you almost let out a snort in front of him. Thankfully, you were able to stop yourself.

“Thank you,” You reply, like the fool that you are. You cough, pretending something was just stuck in your throat. “I mean, yeah, sure. No problem.”

Al Haitham nods, following his companion further down into the hall. When you were certain he was gone, you let out the breath you were holding. What the hell?

Of course, it wouldn’t, you think to yourself. Why should it? You weren’t some protagonist in a cliché romance novel scene.

You return to the front desk, peeking inside the wrapper of the sandwich he had made for you. You discreetly slip the note out, stealing a glance before shoving it into your pockets. Eyes darting towards your desk partner, you let out a sigh of relief. Good, she didn’t see.

Meet me for lunch, if you’d like, was what was written on the note. And you do, you meet him for lunch a few hours later. You find him waiting for you by the front doors, in his hand a brown paper bag—which you assumed was his packed lunch.

“Hello,” You greet politely. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I didn’t. Let’s go?” The man begins to walk, and at first, you assumed he was going to leave you by yourself, but he doesn’t. He looks back at you, waiting for you—again. That was embarrassing.

Despite the heat that was evidently creeping onto your cheeks, dusting them with a shade of pink, with your whole chest and whatever arrogance was left in you, you decide then and there that Al Haitham wasn’t the dick you thought he was. Of course, he still wasn’t nice in your books, but he was a decent guy.

You jog up to him—at least, with your heels, you attempt to. “Thanks for the sandwich again, Al Haitham.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me every time you see me, you know?” He chuckles. You immediately look up at him in surprise. He chuckles. You’ve never heard him chuckle before. Holy archons.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me a sandwich either,” You tell him. “Actually, why do you give me a sandwich every single day? Are you trying to condition me or something?”

If you thought a chuckle was surprising enough, then you weren’t prepared for the laugh he lets out. Al Haitham laughs at your words—at the notion of you thinking you were being conditioned by him.

“I’m not, don’t worry,” He says, still laughing. “I just find making an extra sandwich for a friend therapeutic.”

At that very moment, realisation finally dawns on you. The sandwiches were because he wanted to be your friend. Al Haitham wanted to be your friend. The twists and turns he went through all because he wanted to be your… friend. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at that.

In the little moments you had been allowed to catch glimpses of him beyond the stoic exterior, you learn that he was one contradicting and ironic man. He was a man that made the most simple of things complicated, and a man who was too honest, despite the life he leads as a spy.

Al Haitham was not nice, you were definitely certain of that. He was not someone who engaged in false pleasantries to get into the good graces of people. So uncharacteristic of an operative—or, at least, that was what you think.

He was blunt—a little too honest, but you realise then that in a life where everything around you was a lie, you didn’t mind having an insanely honest man for a friend; even with all the contradictions and irony.

“Friend,” You repeat, smiling at him. “Well then, friend, would you like to have lunch with me every day from now on?”

“I see no reason as to why not,” He replies. “Friend.”

Who knew sandwiches were such a good, albeit roundabout way to make friends?

This is me experimenting with insert-reader fics. Please take my silly interpretation of Al Haitham. He's a funny guy. I am also sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'll probably rewrite this some day. I just needed to get the brainrot out of my head to continue writing off the precipice. I hope you enjoy, though!

A sleeper agent, also called sleeper cell, is a spy who is placed in a target country or organization not to undertake an immediate mission, but instead to act as a potential asset if activated.

GENSHIN MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI SUPPORT

© stcrfeesh 2020-2023 — reposts, translations, and any other form of reproduction of my work is prohibited.

[s3znl-gr3znl]

[INCOMING COMMS]

//SENDER: [ENCRYPTED]

//SUBJECT RE: STOLEN DATA OF JOINT TRAINING BETWEEN BALAM RECRUITS AND INDEPENDANT MERCENARIES(I.M.)

//BODY: Thought you might find something useful in here about Balam tactics, but it seem we've stumbled upon something better, their trainer. We will need to renegotiate payment.

I.M. : ...lets begin.

I.M. : ...*static*

I.M. : ..on your fucking left, rook.

I.M. : ...if you wait until the last second to fire, you've waited too long.

I.M. : next one...

I.M. : useless, they've got no talent, and even less awareness...

I.M. : better keep these pups in the sims, Volta. Otherwise, Rubicon will eat them alive.

[sees-writes]

Writing fanfiction am I right

[snowed-leopard]

Uh, I write fic sometimes, and even more rarely, I post it! First upload to ao3 and it’s angsty miscommunication practical espionage. Maybe probably ooc

Here’s the summary:

Dell Conagher may not be the best man at taking hints and understanding emotions in others and himself, but even he can get a memo eventually. After one too many taunts from his dear Spy towards the other Engineer’s accent. Dell decides it’s high time to fix in himself what his partner clearly doesn’t like. Displeasure ensues from both sides, but for vastly different reasons.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56828164

[sk1fanfiction]

Chapter Ten: Parry, Feint, Castle

“What is it?” asked Harry, pushing himself up into a sitting position so he could get a better view.

Sirius let the medal slip through his fingers, the satin ribbon held between his index finger and thumb, slowly rotating in the ample light of the Hospital Wing, the ‘M’ sparkling.

“Order of Merlin,” he said. “First class.”

I knew it was something important! thought Harry triumphantly.

“Not something you drop in a junk shop,” said Sirius contemplatively. “Not something you’re really intended to wear, either. Some sort of message, maybe… a warning… or a threat…”

There's something he suspects, thought Harry, his stomach lurching uneasily, searching Sirius’s face studiously, noticing the slight clench of his jaw. Something he doesn’t want to tell us.

“What is it?” Harry breathed.

Sirius sighed heavily, his voice growing more and more bitter as he spoke. “I can’t be sure. But there’s one Death Eater who definitely owns one of these, one Death Eater for whom it is his crowning glory, his only achievement.”

All the time Sirius was speaking, it was as if something dark and heavy was settling on the Hospital Wing. Harry felt as if the light had dimmed, the room had darkened, a great shadow was leaning over them.

“I can’t be sure,” said Sirius again, frowning at the medal. ”But I think this may belong to—"

Dumbledore, T.M. Riddle, and Bill get to the bottom of the mysterious curse. Sirius visits Harry in the Hospital Wing. Tonks trains Mafalda for her new and dangerous mission — spying on Narcissa Malfoy. Read from the beginning at FFN|AO3!

[a-drifting-mannequin]

Cowboy on the field!

Summary: One stupid thing leads to another. No matter how smart the BLU Spy might be, curiosity will always be humanity's worst curse and blessing.

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

"Mon cher, may I ask a question?" Pierre asked suddenly. His arms snaked around the engineer's waist, feeling the scars here and there left from the Respawn machine not being able to heal everything.

Jack hummed in response, his eyes were more focused on reading his technical manual before but now the spy has his full attention.

Unsurprising to anyone, it was near midnight and the spy was just lucky enough to sneak in undetected. With the flawless victory that the RED team had secured earlier today, it wouldn't be a surprise that they ended up celebrating a little. Some stuck around longer than Pierre anticipated, but they were eventually advised to go rest soon by the RED Spy.

Jack was kind enough to not trap Pierre outside his room again like last time. Although it wasn't intentional, the BLU Spy still felt frustrated with the engineer's forgetful nature. Jack took more than an hour to get Pierre to forgive him that day. Even during battle ghe next day, the poor engineer still apologize everytime he spot the spy.

"Why do you always have that cable hooked onto your belt?" Spy popped he question, a look of curiosity on his face. "You don't need it for any of your buildings, anyways."

Admittedly, even the Texan doesn't know why he carried that cable around for. It just felt right having it there. Jack sat there silently, unable to form a proper answer to give his lover, his hands slowly lowering his book down. His silence didn't go unnoticed though, as a small chuckle left Pierre as he bury his face into the crook of Jack' neck.

"Mon dieu, you don't even know yourself, do you?" Pierre chuckled light heartedly. He could practically feel the engineer dying of embarrassment at the moment.

"Quiet down, will ya? Mah teammate might hear ya." Jack tried his best to not appear like an idiot in front of the BLU Spy, but he unfortunately failed.

The laughing spy eventually calmed down, snuggling closer to the engineer and leaving small kisses on his neck. Jack snorted and put his book down on his night stand. He laid down and turned to face the spy, kissing his on the cheek and watching a small smile form on his lips.

"G'night, sweetpea." Jack said, a hand trailing along the scar on the spy's neck.

The stitches didn't healed entirely and sometimes needed re-stitching just to make sure his head doesn't fall off again. Jack had Pierre go through Respawn multiple times, but the scar remained stiffly on his neck, refusing to leave.

At some point, Jack broke down in frustration and dread, feeling guilty for everything that his Medic had done to the French. It took Pierre about a week or two to get the Texan to stop bringing up the problem.

"Try finding a use for the cable, will you?" Pierre requested, a hand coming up and holding Jack's.

A small, intrigued smile formed on the Texan's lips. With a subtle nod, Pierre kissed Jack's forehead goodnight before falling victim to incredible tiredness and stress.

•••••

Smoke and gunpowder filled the air, heavily weighing down lungs that aren't adapted to the harsh conditions. The sun beamed down mercilessly, burning skins that aren't thick enough to handle the heat.

Jack wiped a sweat off his brow, mustering up yet another call to tell his teammates that a building is going up. Unsurprisingly, it was a dispenser that had been built, and Scout just happened to be nearby to pick up some ammos before running off.

Badwater Basin, despite its name containing water, was a dry and nearly deserted land. It would be entirely deserted if it wasn't for the mercenaries running around in red and blue uniforms, trying desperately to land hit on their enemy who just happened to be each other.

Jack rested against his sentry, labored breaths escaped his lips as he watched his team trying their best to stop the cart. Of course, he could've just ran over and help them, but the RED Engineer has to be on constant lookout for any members needing any of his buildings which could take a lot out of him.

Just as Jack let out a sigh, his PDA started buzzing and beeping rapidly in his pocket. This shocked him a bit and Jack tried his best to get the PDA out without dropping it. At this point, it's not surprising that one of his sentry just got sapped by his lover, but it still has his full attention.

Picking up his forgotten toolbox on the ground, Jack ran as fast as he could over to where his sentry was supposedly sapped. It did took him a while to get there, but when he laid his eyes on his sapped sentry, the BLU Spy was leaning on it. A teasing smile on his face as he blowed smoke out from his nose. He seemed almost relaxed.

"Sorry, laborer, I didn't mean to through a wrench into your plans." Pierre chuckled, a foot tapped impatiently and waited for the engineer's next move.

Of course, Jack isn't as furious but mocking is something else. If it's from friends then he'll try his best to take it half-heartedly, if it's from his lover then its's game on.

"I'm gonna lay you out!" The RED Engineer shouted, a wide smile on his face as he chased after the spy with a shot gun in hand.

Unfortunately, Pierre was smart enough to cloak and slip away without notice. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, his smile slowly falling off his face. It was almost obvious that the spy would cloak himself but not this quick into the chase.

Jack sighed, a different kind of smile appeared on his face as he made his way back to his sentry. However, as soon as he reached his little sentry nest, speakers blared with the round's finishing announcement.

Today was again RED's lucky day, the cart almost made it too the last point but there wasn't enough time for BLU to even do any damage. His team's Demo and Soldier were arms in arms, dancing around with wide smiles on their faces. Pyro stood clapping their hand neatly beside a Scout that was groaning heavily on a dispenser.

"Ah, Engineer, zhere you are." Medic said, his arms were crossed behind his back as he leaned down a little to match Jack's height. This gone unnoticed to Jack, even if the RED Spy was eyeing the Medic weird.

"Ve vere planning to go and raid the BLU's spawn, but ve couldn't find them." Medic explained while sounding awfully chipper. Jack listened on without question, just waiting for Medic to finish so he could go and find Pierre.

Scout eventually got off the dispenser and head over to to Pyro, whispering something into their ear before both ran off to somewhere. Sniper didn't bother stopping them, but he followed close behind just to ensure RED Spy that they won't get into trouble.

When Jack turned his attention to the others, Heavy was talking to Demo and Soldier and seemingly looking like he was scolding them. Before Heavy could finish whatever he was saying though, Soldier interrupts him and started pointing fingers at Demo. The Scottish didn't take this lightly as he punched Soldier in the face, breaking his nose.

Medic turned around due to the commotion and grimaced at the sight of Demo and Soldier fighting. No matter how well they get along, there will be at least two or three fights between them each month.

"Ach, not again." Medic sighed in disappointment, a hand came up and rubbed at his temple. "Anyvay, you can go and find any BLU members that you vant to kill before we're sent back, I'll need to deal vizh zhese dummkopfs first."

With a grunt, Medic stalked off towards the two who are fighting while shouting something in German. Jack slipped off without being notice, desperate to go and find Pierre.

It didn't take the Texan long though, as he rounded t

the corner and found the spy smoking near his own spawn. The spy didn't seem to notice the engineer sneaking up on him. Jack presumed that his mind wa wandering again.

The request from last night caught up to him. Somehow, thinking about it makes him feel weird inside.

As swiftly as he could, Jack removed the cable from his belt and tied a precise knot, just tight enough to form a lasso.

"Giddy up!" The Texan shouted, swinging the lasso in the air as he charged towards the spy.

Pierre reacted a bit too late due to the fact that he was thinking of something else and got lasso by the excited engineer. The BLU Spy fell backwards, kicking up some sand and dust as he nearly hit his head on the hard ground.

Without another second to adjust his standing position, Jack pulled the lasso hard and Pierre was inevitably falling towards the Texan.

"Christ, Jack, don't you dare sneak up kn me again!" Pierre shouted, an angry and slightly terrified look on his face told Jack everything he needed to know.

"Sorry, darlin'." Jack apologized and untied Pierre from the lasso. "Didn't mean ta spook so hard."

The French let out a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at the Texan. A minute or two went pass thay just includes the two standing together and being awfully silent. Jack started to worry that his little antics might have angered Pierre a tad too much, the thought of losing him again clouded his mind.

"Pfft-"

"Huh?" Jack looked up and evidently, a smiling and giggling spy was seen.

Pierre covered his mouth with one hand while the other slowly lowered itself on Jack's shoulder. His eyes scrunched up with an unbelievablly wide smile on his face.

"Oh, mon ami! Is that what you use your cable for?" Pierre laughed, occasionally coughing to get some air for himself.

Jack could basically feel a little smile tugging at the sight of how happy his lover is. Even if he didn't intent for the cable to become a lasso, the engineet still felt like he should make that official. He must ask the Administrator first, though.

"It wasn't mah first intention! Now stop laughin' at me." Jack explained, letting himself relax and enjoy the cheerful atmosphere that he accidentally created.

Pierre leaned heavily against Jack, his laughing fit hasn't subside yet and still he tried to pepper the engineer with small kisses. Jack understood his lover's intention but tried to stop him from doing so. If he keeps laughing like that, he might end up breathless and possibly tired.

"Private!" A very familiar voice shouted out to the two laughing couple, startling Jack violently.

He instinctively reached towards Pierre and hold onto his coat. The BLU Spy pulled out his revolver and pointed in the direction of the voice. It's not surprising to see that it was the BLU Soldier who called out to them, but the thought about being caught was still new and terrifying to the couple.

The BLU Soldier flinched a bit as the revolver was pointed at him, not from the enemy but his own teammate. His arms immediately stuck to his side, his helmet swayed a little with how hard he flinched.

"I am here to ask about the RED Demoman!" Soldier shouted, his voice rang through Jack's ears and a high pitched ring presented itself uncomfortably inside.

Pierre lowered the gun and glanced at his lover, who was still clinging on his coat. Jack looked up at Pierre, even behind the goggles he still tried to give him a skeptical look.

"Sure, he's over there, I guess." Jack said, pointing to a different direction that guaranteed that BLU Soldier would be far away enough from them.

With a stiff salute, BLU Soldier marched off into the direction that Jack pointed.

"Maybe we should pick out somewhere more private when on the field." Pierre suggested, leaving a small kiss on Jack's eyelid.

"Yeah, you're probably right." The engineer chuckled. "Be prepared to wrestle with a cowboy next round."

It was light hearted and maybe he wouldn't even do the same thing again, but Pierre had high hoped to see his lover in action again.

He fell for a fool, and now he's foolishly in love. How ironic.

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

This was really hard to write cause I barely have any inspiration :'D

@gingerale13

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 1

(Ch. 25) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: Just a girl stretching her wings.

WARNINGS: The usual espionage stuff, Lewis Nixon's functional alcoholism lol

A/N: Sorry y'all, Ik it's been a hot minute!! I've been Going Thru It™ again lol, as one does, but I'm back again momentarily! We'll see how long this lasts

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 1st, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix was always uneasy when it stormed but especially at night.

The downpour battering the rooftop overhead, the howling wind and deafening thunder, the pattering droplets pelting the tree leaves outside in the darkness, all of it was to the enemy's advantage. 

It could mask the sound of approaching footsteps, swallow the screams of any victim, even disguise gunshots.

If an attack was coming, it was bound to come during a storm.

So naturally, when she thought she heard a rattling coming from the back door, Alix stopped her pacing and dropped into a crouch, her usual dagger in one hand and a throwing knife in the other as she crept behind a small, sturdy end table and waited.

The moment the door creaked open, the spy sprung from her hiding place as her training kicked in. Forcing the intruder to the nearest wall, a knife pressed against his throat before he could blink, Alix was about to remove his hood with her other hand just as he spoke with a voice still somehow as languid and droll as a Sunday morning:

"Oh good, you're still sharp."

The OSS assassin instantly took a step back and sheathed her knife.

"Goddammit, Nix," she groaned, releasing a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

"You scared me half to death. How’s Joe doing?” 

“Well hello to you too,” her case officer deadpanned as he tossed back his hood and began to unbutton his coat, clearly somewhat miffed.

"Don't worry, I'm fine, you only almost skewered me is all." 

“Yeah, sorry about that," Alix commented over her shoulder as she checked the door lock. "Anyway, how are my boys? How's Joe and Skip and-"

But turning around, she was in an empty room again. With a roll of her eyes, the spy weaved her way back from the hall and into the living room where Captain Nixon was making himself comfortable--albeit dramatically-- in his usual armchair, a thick folder in his hands. 

"So, what's the dope?" Alix piped up brightly and her handler barked out a laugh. 

"Well Liebgott seems to've designated himself protector of the pack, by the look of things. Wherever they go, he goes too. I don’t know if you asked him to do that or…?” 

“I didn’t,” Alix replied as she struggled to wrap her head around why Joe would even bother. 

“Well regardless, I come bearing gifts," he announced, leaning forward to plop the folder onto the coffee table, sending a cloud of dust billowing towards the ceiling. 

“If that's another after-action report, vaffanculo," Alix remarked, taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

"I've already typed up at least ten of them for you today, Nix, and my hands are cramping. You want it done, do it yourself." 

"Oh c’mon, relax," Nixon scoffed, taking a swig from his flask and lowering his voice to an exaggerated stage-whisper dripping with sarcasm. 

“What is it, Runt, ‘that time of the month’ or something?”

 

“Just finished actually, not that you care,” Alix bit back and her handler visibly recoiled. 

“Didn’t need to know that,” the thirty-something replied, making a face reminiscent of Gio's when the family doctor had given him castor oil for his stomach troubles.

He'd looked about as green in the gills as the Captain did now and Alix rolled her eyes with a snicker.

Men could be so juvenile. 

“Then don’t ask, Nix."

“Well it’s not another AAR, alright,” Nixon said airily with a lazy, one-handed mock-bow.

“So you’re welcome.” 

“I don’t recall ever receiving a Thank-You for typing all your shit in the first place," Alix pointed out, stretching her legs lazily as she lounged on the couch. 

“Well–" 

He took another long gulp of his whiskey before continuing,

"You see, Runt, the great thing about being an authority figure is--"

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks," the spy remarked with a roll of her eyes before cutting straight to the point, leaning forward in her cushioned seat so she could better scrutinize her handler.

"So level with me, Nix: Why're you here? You wouldn't be bringing me a folder that big for no reason and if it's not AAR's...?" 

Alix trailed off, some of her long raven tresses escaping from her ponytail as she shook her head.

Gesturing with his flask and sending small droplets of whiskey sloshing onto the moth-eaten throw rug, Captain Nixon motioned wordlessly for her to open the folder.

Obliging, Alix neatly lifted the folder's cover and was momentarily stunned. 

Inside was a mountain of paperwork, topped by a red passport with Cyrillic lettering embossed on the front of it, a permanent propiska or residency permit from Moscow as well as additional travel papers. 

"So," Nixon asked, barely containing a satisfied chuckle like a proud parent watching their child open Christmas presents.

"How's your Russian sounding, Runt?" 

"Probably better than yours," Alix quipped easily as she lit up a cigarette, still waiting for Nixon to elaborate. 

Her case officer cracked a grin at her joke. 

“Good because you’re going to need it. You've got an assignment."

"In Russia?" Alix was aghast and instantly dropped the folder back onto the coffee table as though it was a hot coal but Nixon barked out another laugh. 

"Not unless you have a death wish."

With that, he took another swig of his whiskey before continuing amiably, 

"No, your newest assignment is going to be much closer to home. How does Paris sound?" 

"Paris?! That's swell!" Alix whooped, swinging her legs off the shoddy sofa and sending her book clattering to the floor in her elation.

"Thought you might like that," Nixon chuckled. "You've read up on Major Kieffer, right?" 

Alix cocked an eyebrow. 

"You mean Hans Josef Kieffer? The head of the Parisian Sicher…Sicher…"

"Sicherheitsdienst," Nixon added helpfully. 

Alix took a grateful stab in the air with her cigarette and replied, "Yeah exactly, that.”

"Looks like somebody read the notes after all," her case officer snarked and the spy rolled her eyes bemusedly. 

"Oh don't act so shocked," she scolded with an expression of mock-reproach. 

"I do pay attention when I type, you know." 

"Could've fooled me" was the sardonic reply and Alix hurled one of the deflated-looking throw pillows at his head, which the older intelligence officer batted away with his free hand. 

Alix took a drag of her cigarette, speaking on the exhale and letting the smoke dissipate with her words. 

"So you going to fill me in on the op, Nix, or do I have to do everything myself?" 

Now it was Nixon's turn to roll his eyes. 

"You can read, can't you?" he remarked dryly but Alix crossed her arms doggedly. 

"You know as well as I do that nothing important goes on paper, Nix." 

"You got that from me, you little shit," he grumbled, taking a final drink before screwing the cap of his flask shut with a slight rattle, muttering something about using his own words against him.

Once the dark-haired man had retrieved a handful of caramels from his rations to snack on, the time had finally come to divulge much-needed information.

"Alright, so here’s the dope," he began, popping a candy in his mouth before steepling his fingers like one of her mother’s gossipy friends at tea.

"Kieffer's birthday is in 3 days and being a public official, it's kind of a big deal so his cronies are throwing him some glitzy gala or whatever to celebrate, some sort of masquerade shindig, you know the type."

The captain took a brief pause to gnaw through his second caramel before continuing,

"By the sound of it, it’s going to be a real Who’s Who of upper-crust Krauts so of course Donovan being Donovan, he got you– Well, ‘Tanya’– an invitation.” 

Crumpling up the wrappers in his fist, Nixon gestured vaguely, 

"You put on a mask, you dance, you take out some Krauts on the fringes while no one's looking, conduct an interrogation or two...Piece of cake, really."

Alix narrowed her eyes, her mind racing with suspicion. This sounded too easy. 

“So what’s the catch?" she burst out. There's always a catch." 

"See, this is why I wanted you to just read through the folder," Nixon remarked through a mouthful of his third caramel block.

"If I wanted the third degree, I'd go back to HQ."

"Stop stalling," Alix pressed, beginning to bounce her knee with such anxious vigor that she could hear the floorboards creaking their complaints. "What's the bad news?" 

"You can read about it later," her case officer replied cryptically as he finished chewing.

"The Gestapo have an APB out for you so the first order of business is disguise. Everybody-- and I mean Everybody from the SD to the Milice-- is looking for you. Krauts are sick of you flitting away."

He lit up a cigarette, the worry lines creasing his forehead making him appear almost twice his actual age.

"One million Francs to the man, woman, or child apparently, who brings in Der Schwarze Schmetterling– The Black Butterfly." 

The Gestapo wanted her badly enough to give her a nickname? 

Alix wasn't sure whether to be flattered or horrified. 

“And with Le Fantôme making it his personal mission to hunt you down, your cover needs to be rock-solid. No one’s ever seen him face-to-face but he's still somehow gotten hundreds of Allied agents arrested!"

“Then how do we even know he exists?” the spy retorted skeptically. “Sounds like agitprop to me.” 

“Guy's all over Kraut radio. Unfortunately, he’s very real–" 

Her case officer took a strong puff of his cigarette as though attempting to summon some strength from the smoke. 

“And he’ll be at Kieffer’s birthday shindig somewhere, you can bet on it."

"Well, that's just great." Alix remarked facetiously. "Eight different agents in the program and they chose the one with the bounty on her head to go in solo. This oughta be a real cakewalk." 

"Hey!” Her case officer's voice rose with indignation and he sat forward immediately, brotherly concern written all over his face. 

“Who said anything about you going in alone? You really think I'd abandon you in a goddamn pit of vipers?"  

"Maybe I'm a discard" was Alix's automatic reply but the unexpected scrunching of his brows instantly made her regret it. 

“Well you’re not," her case officer snapped, hands gripping the chair’s arms, but Alix could still detect the faint pang of hurt in his tone at her mistrust. 

After all, Captain Nixon had visited her weekly. 

He had kept her updated on the outside world, brought her playing cards from Don so they could play Go Fish and even broke up the monotony by bringing her newspapers when he could grab one.

Even typing his AAR's, she realized, had its purpose: to keep her busy and in the know.

Yes, he'd made a joke out of the task, his perpetual smugness never wavering, but it had a purpose after all.

He had been playing a role, helping her to stay informed without even realizing it, through the guise of simply being too lazy to do it himself.

She must have grown on him some after all.

Alix knew she should probably apologize for doubting him but the memory of him scaring her half to death earlier quickly changed her mind.

No, fuck that, she thought wryly. It'd be a cold day in Hell before she'd apologize to Lewis Nixon.

"So who's my partner?" she asked instead.

"Fresh meat," was the dismissive reply as he reached for the folder. "Now--"

He began rifling through its contents, the rumbling undercurrent of laughter in his voice telling her that her doubts were water under the bridge.

"--if you're done being a pain in my ass--"

Without even a second's hesitation, he plucked a packet from near the bottom of the stack and tossed it over for her to catch before sitting back in his chair with his usual cryptic smirk.

"-- We can get down to business.” 

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 6 | spy!Bucky

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Lori was spinning around the room, singing with a mischievous grin on her face, "Aunt is a nasty girl, yeah, she's a nasty girl," mimicking the moves from a viral dance she must have seen online.

You rolled your eyes, wincing slightly as Bucky gently cleaned and treated the wound on your arm. He glanced at Lori with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Meanwhile, Henry, sitting nearby with a puzzled look, watched Lori's performance unfold. "What on earth is she doing?" he asked, clearly baffled by her antics.

"She's making fun of me," you replied, sighing as you glanced over at your niece. Lori continued her exaggerated dance, clearly enjoying herself.

Bucky, focused on wrapping the bandage around your arm, muttered, "She's not nasty." His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of tension in his eyes.

Lori suddenly stopped dancing and sprinted over to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Tell me more about your ex!" she demanded, her curiosity getting the better of her.

You noticed Bucky’s hands falter for a moment as he tied the bandage a little tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. "He's not my ex," you corrected, your tone firm but tinged with frustration.

Lori giggled, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Yeah... right..." she drawled, drawing out the word as she smirked knowingly.

You shook your head, exasperated. Your niece, always with her head in the clouds, had now latched onto the idea of some dramatic romance after discovering that you had encountered someone from your past.

And that someone was the very reason you were sitting here now, with fresh bandages and a sore arm. Lori’s song and dance were just her way of processing the excitement of what she imagined to be a grand love story, not realizing the pain and complexity it actually brought.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

24 hours ago

"What you said is pointless because we don't have the data," you replied, frustration lacing your tone.

Henry shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that might be true, but I know where they hide it."

A groan escaped your lips, and you brought a hand to cover your face. "I hate where this is going."

"Why?" Lori asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

Bucky leaned forward, his expression serious. "You want us to steal it," he stated flatly, already seeing the direction Henry was headed.

Henry chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Steal is such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as... liberating the truth. Recovering what's rightfully ours."

You shot him a skeptical look. "Liberating the truth? That sounds like something straight out of a heist movie."

Lori’s eyes widened with excitement. "A heist? Oh, this is so cool! Can I help? Please, let me help!"

Bucky gave her a wary glance. "This isn’t a game, Lori. It’s dangerous."

Lori bounced on her toes, her enthusiasm undiminished. "I know, but I want to be part of it! I can do it, I promise! You said I was a good actress, remember? I could be the distraction or, like, the tech whiz or something! Whatever you need!"

Henry grinned, clearly amused by her enthusiasm. "See? The girl’s got the right attitude! Nobody would suspect someone like her to be involved in espionage."

You sighed but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Alright, alright. If Lori wants in, then we’ll find a role for her. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Henry."

Lori clapped her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! This is going to be awesome! I can’t wait!"

Henry clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get to work. We have some planning to do."

At Charity Event

The grand lobby of the company was abuzz with activity. Children laughed and played, their faces painted with bright colors. The "Make It Together" charity event, hosted by the company’s CEO, had drawn a large crowd.

Both of you are planning to steal data from a CEO known for holding everyone’s dirty secrets. This CEO also loves to host charity events at his company to enhance his public image and boost his business.

Dressed as a happy family, you and Bucky played the part of doting parents, while Lori, full of youthful enthusiasm, easily fit the role of your daughter. Henry, blending in with the crowd, kept a vigilant eye on the situation.

Henry knew about the vault because he had been there when the CEO proudly showcased it and placed the secret data inside.

As you and Bucky moved toward the restricted areas, you leaned in close, whispering urgently, “If things go south, remember—no matter what happens, save Lori first. She’s the priority.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t think—”

You cut him off, your voice firm but laden with emotion. “This is my only request, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “I understand. But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too.”

As you and Lori approached the vault with Henry’s directions, Bucky positioned himself by the entrance, watching for any sign of trouble. You worked swiftly with the digital key cracker, trying to stay calm despite the tension.

Inside the Vault

The vault door opened with a soft click, revealing rows of safety deposit boxes and data drives. Lori, playing her role perfectly, had successfully distracted the guard, allowing you and Bucky to enter unnoticed.

“Got it,” you whispered, retrieving the data drive from its place on the shelf. “Let’s get out.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite double agent.”

You froze, hearing that familiar voice filled with spite. Standing in front of you was Romeo, your former colleague. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes locked on you with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

“Romeo,” you said, trying to remain composed. “What are you doing here?”

Romeo’s smirk was a blend of flirtatiousness and anger. “I didn’t expect to see you here, especially not with him."

Bucky stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. ��We don’t have time for this.”

Romeo’s gaze flicked to Bucky, then back to you. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you chose another. I’m just curious—did you miss me at all, or was it all just part of the job?”

You kept your tone even, but the past echoed in your words. “It was always part of the job, Romeo. Nothing more.”

Romeo's eyes flashed with a mix of fury and betrayal. He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with contempt. “Of all people, you choose to work with him? The most wanted fugitive and the worst traitor?” His tone was laced with disbelief as he gestured toward Bucky with a sharp, accusing finger.

Bucky stepped in, his voice firm. “Well, she chose me.”

The words hit Romeo hard. His face contorted with anger. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re just going to flaunt it in my face? How charming. I always knew you had a talent for stealing—both hearts and secrets.”

Lori, watching from a distance, could hardly believe the scene unfolding before her. She stayed silent, her eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. This is a LOVE TRIANGLE!

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Romeo. This isn’t about us anymore.”

Romeo’s anger flared. “I guess some things never change. You always had a knack for making everything personal.”

Before you could react, Romeo lunged, reaching for the data drive. Bucky moved to intercept him, but Romeo’s partner appeared, grabbing your arm and twisting it painfully.

“Gotcha,” the partner sneered.

You struggled free, delivering a swift kick to his side. The fight erupted in full force as Bucky and Romeo grappled, exchanging blows. You managed to push back your attacker, but Romeo drew a knife, aiming it directly at Lori.

Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of her, taking the hit to your side. Bucky’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N!”

You gritted your teeth, trying to stay upright. “Get Lori out of here!”

Bucky fought off Romeo and his partner with renewed determination, eventually knocking Romeo out cold. He helped you toward the exit, Lori’s worried face visible in the doorway.

Henry, who had been monitoring from outside, was already pulling up in the getaway car. “Get in!” he shouted.

Bucky helped you into the back seat, and Lori followed closely. The car sped away from the building, leaving the chaos behind.

As the adrenaline began to wane, Bucky pressed a hand to your wound, his face a mask of concern. “Hold on, we’re almost clear.”

Lori, her face pale but determined, asked quietly, “Aunt, are you okay?”

You managed a weak smile despite the pain. “I’m fine, Lori. Just a scratch.”

Henry glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Was it worth it?”

You held up the data drive, the evidence of the CEO’s wrongdoings. “We got what we needed.”

Henry grinned, relieved. “Then let’s get out of here before more agents show up.”

The car sped into the night, leaving the confrontation and the chaos of the charity event behind. You leaned back in your seat, clutching the drive tightly. Despite the pain and the narrow escape, you knew you had accomplished your mission.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Present Time

Lori was still buzzing with excitement, peppering you with questions about Romeo. Bucky, visibly agitated, clenched his jaw and avoided eye contact, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Henry was in the other room, trying to uncripted the drive. He took a drag from his cigar but suddenly erupted into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. The sound echoed through the room, making him look vulnerable.

Lori quickly sprang into action, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to Henry with a concerned expression. “Here, drink this,” she said softly.

Henry accepted the glass with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Lori watched him closely, her concern deepening. “How long have you been sick?”

Henry looked up, surprised by her insight. “How did you know?”

Lori pointed at the medicine in his bag, her voice carrying a tone of familiarity. “I used to help my mother take care of my father when he was sick. I remember most of the names of the medicines he used.”

Henry was impressed by her knowledge. His gaze softened, though his eyes still held a trace of sadness. “I just found out,” he admitted. “My life is now just counting days.” The doctor didn’t tell him, but he knew. That’s why he doesn’t want to die miserably in the nursing home.

Lori’s expression reflected a deep empathy, recognizing the bitterness in his words that mirrored her own father’s struggles. She glanced at the cigar and whiskey near Henry, then met his eyes with a gentle resolve.

“Do what you love while you still can,” she said quietly.

Henry chuckled, a bitter but appreciative smile playing on his lips. “I will.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

As Bucky finished treating your wound, the dim light from the room cast soft shadows across his face. He looked up, his expression serious yet tender.

“You’re in the danger zone, James. Why did you try to find me?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

Bucky’s gaze locked with yours, filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. “I realized that knowing I can’t be with you forever is haunting me.”

You studied him, feeling the weight of his words. The room seemed to shrink around you, making the moment feel intensely intimate.

Bucky continued, his voice hushed but resolute. “I know I’m a bad person. I’ve lived my life constantly looking over my shoulder. If I die tomorrow, at least I need you to know how I feel. I don’t want to leave this world with regrets.”

You felt a lump in your throat, a mix of frustration and tenderness. “You’re a fool, Bucky.”

He let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I know.”

“That’s why I liked you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, carrying an unspoken promise.

Bucky’s smile grew, and he reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve always liked you too. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. You could see the vulnerability and longing in his gaze, and it mirrored your own feelings.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. “If we make it out of this, let’s promise to take whatever chances we can get. Let’s not waste another moment.”

Your heart raced as you closed the distance between you, sharing a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up over time. The kiss was both tender and passionate, a release of all the feelings that had been pent up for so long.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and Bucky’s eyes were filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s fight for a future where we can be together,” he whispered.

You nodded, your heart full of resolve and affection. “We will.”

As the romantic moment unfolded, a sense of quiet intimacy enveloped you and Bucky. But that peace was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a soft chuckle. Both of you turned, your sighs of frustration mingling with the realization that you were being watched.

There, peeking around the edge of the door, was Lori, her eyes wide with curiosity and amusement. You and Bucky exchanged a knowing glance, recognizing that your private moment had been intruded upon.

"Lori!" you called out, your voice a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

Lori’s face broke into a playful grin, and she quickly darted away, her laughter echoing down the hallway as she ran.

Bucky shook his head with a chuckle, the tension from the moment melting away. You couldn’t help but smile at Lori’s antics, feeling a sense of warmth despite the interruption.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes softening with affection. “Well, at least she’s in good spirits.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[toasttestified]

A much shorter fanfiction than the previous one. Scout and Engineer have a talk, Jeremy ruins Dell’s sentry, and engineer calls him out. Enjoy! 🖤

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Breaking In Was the Easy Part

Shadows kept what shadows veiled.

The security guard’s shoes clapped against shiny, marbled floors. He stopped by one of the tall windows, overlooking the glittering skyline of Rome by night.

He stared outwards. Sniffed. Scratched his butt.

Hiding in the shadows nearby, where this oblivious guard ran risk of glimpsing her from the corner of his eyes, Chloe Grant held her breath. Frozen, still, like a statue, she waited in the dark.

The guard remained oblivious. He continued staring out into the night. He stood there for so long that Grant’s lungs began to ache from holding her breath, and a frustration, welling deep down, started budding into anger.

She had already broken into the building without him noticing. Now, he just needed to get the hell out of her way. Preferably before she needed to gasp for air, or the anger bloomed into fiery rage.

In the drop of a hat, she could have switched his lights off, just like that. The silenced pistol in her toolkit had a bullet with this guy’s name on it. She wasn’t one to snuff out some rent-a-cop if she could avoid it, but he was taking his sweet time.

The temptation to go for the gun rose while the burning in her lungs blossomed alongside her frustration.

Finally, the guard walked on. Disappeared around the next corner of the corridor, descending deeper into the bowels of IntelliTech.

Every shuddering breath hurt as Grant’s lungs flooded with desperately needed oxygen. All her frustration waned as fast as any pain subsided. After all, this guard knew nothing. Probably lived his days and nights, working security here, oblivious to the true nature of IntelliTech.

It was just one of many shell companies used by Celava worldwide. They fronted this IT provider, but all of Spencer’s intelligence pointed to IntelliTech serving as a data hub for the multinational energy corporation.

And this one, single, useless guard—well, he was just doing his job. Not well enough to have noticed the woman who infiltrated the building that night, but doing his job nevertheless.

He’d probably get fired if Grant’s invasion was eventually noticed, but that was very low on her list of concerns.

Once the guard had moved far enough out of earshot, she whispered into her headset.

“Hammy’s gone. What’s it look like out there?”

“Coast is clear,” responded Ruiz via their radio, with a soft crackle of static. “Pretty sure it’s just the one guy on-site.”

“Keep your eyes peeled. I prefer ‘definitely’ over ‘pretty sure’.”

Grant snuck out of the alcove, slipping past one of the ornate alabaster sculptures of Roman deities. She weaved her way past the other divinities, heading in the opposite direction from the security guard who had missed her intrusion.

Much to her relief, most of the building’s rooms and hallways featured clear labels. Big, black print emblazoned on brushed gunmetal plates. She followed their lead, drawing her spiraling path ever closer to the building’s server room.

Minutes ticked as she moved with the quietude of a cat. She kept her eyes peeled for security cameras, shimmying underneath any when their cold, glassy lenses looked the other way.

Ruiz asked via radio, “And you, uh, you don’t think anything’s… off? These guys got a lot of valuable data to keep private here, and security’s a little bit on the sad-sack side, don’tcha think?”

Grant paused, ducking behind a towering potted plant to wait.

To listen.

The guard was long gone, on the opposite side of the building, and unlikely to hear her.

Ruiz wasn’t wrong in his observation. She had thought the same thing.

“Yes and no. I’m guessing there’s some extra bells and whistles we haven’t noticed yet. Some less-than-obvious stuff. All the windows are bullet-proof, and some of these doors are magnetically locked with steel reinforcements. A lot of the premises are labeled, but then there’s some big mystery doors. My guess is, they have something else underneath this building—something that ain’t just plain little ol’ IT, if you catch my drift.”

A long pause.

It felt strange how this liminal space was swallowing all her whispers.

Silence filled the vacuous hallways of IntelliTech.

“You think they’re holding some specimens down there,” Ruiz said.

Grant snuck on. Set her jaw. Through clenched teeth, she replied.

“Almost a one hundred percent chance.”

Another long bout of silence followed from Ruiz. He broke it with a short and ominous remark.

“Switchin’ to point-fifty.”

She paused again, just outside a sealed door, labeled—

SERVER ROOM.

“Jesus. You gonna ready some AA missiles to go with that?”

Grant guided a stolen keycard through a reader next to the door. A red light on the device turned green and the gadget emitted a soft beep, with a loud click-CLANK to follow, as the magnetic seal on the door released, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh.

“Ain’t takin’ no chances tonight. If they got a specimen down there as a watchdog, you just line it up, and I’ll take it down.”

Grant slipped into the server room, where the hum of hundreds of fans filled the air. The whole room vibrated, and the array of server racks, all encased in metal and glass, looked like something straight out of a science fiction flick.

The door automatically slid shut behind her.

She needed access—soon—because all her movements in the building, such as opening these mag-locked doors, were likely being recorded in some sub-system. And registering it to the guy whose card she had stolen.

It had to be a matter of time.

Now locked inside a room where she was permitted to make more noise, she ripped open the zipper on her backpack. Locating the nearest server, she whipped out the device Singh had provided them with for the mission, hooked it up to the system, and booted up the sleek black laptop.

Instead of an operating system’s stock screen to greet her, a sinister-looking and slow-moving loading bar progressed on-display, while the device brute-forced its digital tendrils into IntelliTech’s—or rather, into Celava’s—data hub.

Minutes flew by to the steady whispering hum of computer fans in the room, while Singh’s hacking device worked its magic, and Grant awaited its completion with bated breath.

“How’s it goin’ in there?” crackled Ruiz’s voice via headset, now with heavier static interference. “Security guard’s out on a smoke break. Coast is still clear. If anybody knows what’s up, they ain’t showin’ jack for it.”

Grant shot a glance at the screen.

It had changed already, which she had missed because it looked almost the same: the progress bar now indicated how far the device had gotten in vacuuming up all the data it could access from this data hub.

She didn’t want to envision how expensive the unseeming sleek laptop and its hardware must have been. Then again, Malachi Spencer was footing the bill, and Future Proof’s pockets seemed to run as deep as the Mariana Trench.

“Almost done,” she replied.

79%.

She wished she could scour the data gathered here while she waited.

Grant wondered if Spencer’s suspicion would prove to have been right.

Whether or not Celava was truly funneling personnel and natural resources through the Anomalies, all with a singular and terrifying purpose: to build a colony in the distant past, in some era before the dinosaurs went extinct.

In the here and now, however, Grant only glimpsed a black screen with a white progress bar. Racking up all the data.

93% complete.

Just before her patience could wear thin, a monitor on the wall winked on, flashing brightly with electronic life.

The monitor flickered, yet refused to display any image, staying a darker shade of gray—revealing it had turned on, without casting much light. Speakers behind the device emitted a soft ringtone, like a call or message had just come in.

Then a booming voice spoke to her.

“I am the Operator, and you are very naughty,” spoke a mysterious man’s voice from the monitor’s speakers—with a playfulness to his tone, and a strong British accent. “Cease what you’re doing now, or I’ll be forced to release the hounds. And, fair warning, I do not mean electronic countermeasures.”

She played it smart. Offered no response. Nothing she could be recognized by. Like the ski mask concealing her face, a voice could lead to identification. For now, she preferred to maintain her image as the nondescript cat burglar.

96% complete.

“Not talkative today, hm? You know, the hounds usually make intruders far more chatty. Or, well, screamy. I suspect it will be the latter with you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

He sounded young and mischievous. How much of the threat was empty?

A smirk crept across Grant’s face.

Was this guy for real?

“Hah. Have it your way then. Your screams of terror will probably make for a great feature on our next instructional video. I do love authenticity. Nice never having known ya, I suppose. Ta.”

The monitor deactivated again. The gray glow vanished as its electronic life disappeared.

And nothing else happened.

Asked Ruiz on the radio, “What the hell was that?”

In case anything was being recorded in the server room, Grant stayed quiet. She looked around for bugs, microphones, cameras, anything.

She found nothing.

99%.

A man’s scream reached her, muffled through the mag-locked door into the security room.

Her only way out.

The scream endured, shifting through varying stages of surprise, agony, and horror. It didn’t end as abruptly as it started, instead petering out with indecipherable pleading in Italian, and cutting off after a bout of gurgling noises.

The security guard?

100%.

Keeping her eyes locked on the door, Grant yanked Singh’s device away from the server rack, careless of the cable she blindly ripped out of its socket in the process. She stuffed the sleek laptop into her small backpack and neared the door again.

THUMP.

Something had hit the door, leaving Grant frozen, while her heartbeat raced at a pace of a thousand miles a minute, felt all the way up into her neck, and accompanied by the rushing of blood in her ears.

There was something out there.

Silence. The shuddering breath she dared to take could not have eclipsed any sounds out there, but she felt a presence. The vicinity of something dangerous.

Of something deadly.

There were no other ways out of the server room. The only other door led to a dead end, where Grant frantically looked through, only to find a bunch of clutter in form of cardboard boxes, spare cables, a sink fastened to the wall, and other useless junk.

“Talk to me, Goose,” said Ruiz. “Can’t see anything out here. Guard went back inside, and you’re in a blind spot for me.”

She waited at the mag-locked door. Couldn’t sense any presence there now.

The deadly silence remained.

She swiped the keycard down the mag-lock reader. The device only emitted an obnoxious beep and its red light blinked.

“Uh-uh-uh,” said the Operator from the TV speakers with a mocking, singing tone to it. “I locked down everything. Consider it me doing you a favor, magpie. A sweeper team is on its way to arrest you. They’ll return the hound to its cage before you’re ripped to shreds, and you’ll get to have a nice, lovely chat with a security detail, and then some corrupt police officials, I wager. One day, you might even get a chance to look back at all of this and have a good laugh—that is, from behind prison bars, of course.”

The Operator chuckled with sadistic glee.

Grant’s anger almost gave air to a single swearword, and instead exploded into a strike of her knuckles against the metal door.

The Operator was making perfect sense. Having worked in counter-intelligence herself, she would have run the same kind of ship. Issued the same kind of intimidation and taunts as he was.

She knew better than to succumb to fear, or spiral into inaction, and knew exactly what to try next.

The Operator had responded to her attempt at opening the door with the keycard—he clearly had no eyes on the server room, only on whatever any device was ever telling him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could remotely open and close any mag-locks throughout the building.

She was boxed in now. And she wasn’t going to wait for some sweeper team to capture her.

Thus, Grant acted quickly. Whipped out the tiny toolkit she had brought along for analog intrusion.

She had already been detected, and something was out there—according to the Operator, ready to slash her to ribbons upon contact—so subtlety had just flown out the window. And the poor security guard guy, well, he had probably lost more than his job just now.

Her foldable crowbar snapped into full length after she retrieved it from her kit, and she used it to jimmy open the mag-lock reader.

“You need to get the hell outta there,” said Ruiz, nervous tremors swinging fiercer with every word. “There’s an Apex fuckin’ Predator in those halls. It’s trailing blood all over the place, and I think it’s lookin’ for you. That security guard is toast, and I got no eyes on the AP. It’s too fast, moved into some room. I think it loops around to where you are. Repositioning.”

Metal sheets bent and splintered until she stopped prying at the reader with the crowbar, and ripped off the metal casing. Dexterous, Kevlar-gloved fingers started eviscerating the card reader, splaying out its thin wiring, and trying to make sense of its design.

Closed system. Not anything she could simply override.

Fuck.

The swearword echoed in her brain.

She backtracked into the backroom and pursued plan B.

Her boot crashed down on the ceramic sink with a heavy kick. Upon first impact, a long crack appeared on the wall behind it.

The whole place’s design for doors and locks and computerization was modern—but being situated in the center of Rome, the building must have featured some parts that had never been modernized by its newest owners.

Another kick shattered the sink and water started trickling from a bent pipe.

She grunted and gritted her teeth as she kicked and punched at the wall until she could jam the crowbar right into the growing fissure she was creating, busting her way through the wall.

Her tiny flashlight clicked. She shone its light into the fissure.

Luckily, none of it was solid concrete. Just a bunch of old bricks behind thin plaster and white paint.

“Do you know how to play chess, magpie?” asked the Operator from the adjacent room. “If you’re smart enough—and I truly hope you are—then I’m sure you can play it in the theater of the mind. Or draw on the floor for all I care. I’m sure it’ll buff out, even if you use a permanent marker.”

He didn’t know what she was up to. No eyes on the backroom. No electronics to spy on.

Lucky.

She gritted her teeth again and pulled at the drain pipe in the wall with all her might. The metal squealed, then finally bent before snapping away where it broke. Grant grunted again and yanked a portion of drain pipe from the wall, then used it as a blunt instrument to break through the wall entirely.

She struck and struck away, widening the hole, and hammering the gap. When it found purchase and dug deeper into the fissure, she used it like a cruder crowbar to widen the hole.

The Operator rambled on in his musing, mocking tone. “I’ll even give you the luxury of making the opening move. White pawn on F-7 moves to F-5. You know… a little IT joke on the side?”

There was no way she was going engage.

“Come on, it’s funny!”

Grant continued hammering and striking away, tearing away chunks of red brick and artificial rubble till her black gloves had turned a chalky white, and until the hole had grown wide enough. A different light poured in through a hole on the other side of the fissure.

The ski mask and black attire was soaking up her sweat. She must have lost minutes already. If there was a sweeper team on its way—and she suspected the Operator had been telling the truth—she didn’t have a lot of time left.

Ruiz hadn’t spoken in those minutes. She hoped he had kept his cool, and stayed on position of the eagle’s perch a few buildings away.

She needed the sharpshooter to shoot sharp if it came down to it.

Breathing heavily, she only perceived a deceptive silence from the adjacent room.

Every further attempt at tearing open the wall came easier than the last, with all its integrity having been demolished by her incessant and systematic destruction. Whole bricks clunked down and the rest crumbled, and the drain pipe clanked and clattered when she chucked it aside to climb through the hole, clambering into an open office space.

The Operator was still talking, babbling about Chess moves and other inane tomfoolery, but her own panting, and the noises of fighting her way out of the backroom into the office drowned it all out.

Pressed up against the wall next to the office’s door, she waited again, hoping to hear something—anything—that might reveal the presence of the “hound” the Operator had warned her about.

But… nothing. Not a sound.

This was going to end badly.

She had seen those monstrosities in action before. Silent, agile, fast, and built to kill grown humans in the blink of an eye. Evolved beyond natural evolution, and as Burch had later theorized—maybe designed by genetic engineering.

The Apex Predator was lurking. Hiding. In position to ambush her.

Seconds passed, melting into what felt like an infinity. Time—a luxury—she didn’t have.

Time.

Grant considered retrieving her silenced pistol from her pack, but decided against it. Nine millimeter rounds weren’t going to do much against such a beast.

She opened the office door and crept outside.

Sprays of blood had painted the walls with gruesome splatters. The body of the security guard wasn’t even nearby. Crimson marked where the creature had dragged it along the marbled floors, around the next corner.

Grant scanned every nook and cranny, keeping in mind every single thing that Mischchenko had taught her about predatory wildlife.

Watch for the shadows. Watch for vectors along which an animal can leap. And if it can fly, or climb—such as these Apex Predators could—always look up.

And just as she looked up, following the cue of those teachings, she almost regretted it. Her heart skipped a beat. The gangly, mottled-gray body of the Apex Predator hid just beneath the high ceiling, perched atop one of those statues of a Roman deity.

“Oh no,” said the Operator, pressing out the second word with vicious sarcasm, and his voice now coming from unseen speakers in the hallway. “Quite the pickle you’re in, aren’t you? Wish you would have stayed and played some Chess now, eh?”

Bloodstained claws clicked against the sculpture’s shoulders. A guttural growl from its closed, toothy maw sent shivers down Grant’s spine. It hissed.

The Apex Predator stared at her through its spider-like array of eyes. The brain implant exposed on the top of its skull glowed with a singular red light.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the nearby window, and the Predator’s head whipped around, as it snarled at where the glass cracked.

“Run! Now!” shouted Ruiz via headset.

He had shot the window, and the glass withstood his .50 caliber.

Grant needed not be told twice. She dove into the next alcove behind a statue, and the Predator flew past her. Then she zigzagged the opposite way, towards where the Apex Predator had leapt from in its deadly lunge at her.

The creature screeched—turning into an alien and ear-piercing howl—as its claws scraped against marble, and it skidded along the smooth, blood-splattered floor.

Running for her life, she dove around the next corner, and the Apex Predator followed. She leapt over the dead security guard’s mangled corpse, just in time to hurtle through the next door on her way back out, and slam it shut behind her.

The Predator would have caught her, had it not slammed into that same door with the momentum of a speeding truck, and broken the door’s surrounding frame in the process—everything bent upon impact, metal deformed.

Another blood-curdling shriek pierced the night as the Predator pried its way through the door, tearing through the feeble obstruction in its pursuit of the fleshy human in the Kevlar catsuit.

Grant fled through the building, retracing her steps with little thought, and panic driving her running stride.

Glimpses over her shoulder only accelerated her footsteps and supercharged her terror, as the ferocious mutant quickly closed the distance once it had clawed its way through the door, only to crash into the next one she slammed shut in between them.

“Fuck,” Ruiz shouted. “Move!”

Her boots clanked up the metal stairwell as she fled upstairs to the rooftop from which she had gained entry into the building.

And finally, making her heart sink, Grant’s mad dash ended at the mag-locked door she had opened with the stolen keycard.

The red light on the card reader glowed a menacing red, mirroring the red glow on the Apex Predator’s brain implant.

She was trapped.

“Oh, Magpie,” spoke the Operator. “See, I could open that door for you, and set you free… but then I’d also set our little doggy free, free to roam the city of Rome, and feast upon—well, I’m not actually sure how many people it would rip apart in its rampage before we put it down—”

Metal squealed as the Predator pried the door to the stairwell open. The creature peered up to her and shrieked.

With feral fury.

“I’m sure you’re regretting your life choices now, aren’t you. Well, you can’t blame—”

“Get away from the door,” growled Ruiz on the headset radio.

“No!” shouted Grant. “We can’t let this thing out!”

The Predator stormed up the stairs with leaping bounds, skipping entire floors as it flew up the center of the spiraling stairwell.

“Oh, how very noble of you. I tip my hat, missy!”

“Down!” yelled Ruiz.

He was going to do it, one way or another—

She ducked.

The door exploded. Then it exploded again. Two of Ruiz’s rifle shots had blown football-sized holes through it. Funny how the glass withstood more punishment.

Before any dust could settle, the Predator flew over the stairwell railing and its claws cut deep. Grant’s own blood sprayed, shedding DNA that could be traced—the least of her worries now, as the blood drained from her head, and she lost all feeling in her left arm. An arm and hand that refused to obey when—

She ripped the broken door open, and fled onto the rooftop, into the sea of night, where glittering lights sparkled on Rome’s city skyline. The streets bustled with life—life that was threatened to be ended by the creature right behind her—

Grant fumbled and retrieved the pistol from her pack, just in time for the growling creature to follow onto the rooftop where she had emerged. Its brain implant glowed red like a malevolent, cyclopean eye.

It prowled towards her while the pistol slid perfectly into her grip, and she aimed at the Predator’s head with practiced precision.

It had smelled blood, and it was poised to leap again.

To kill.

The pain in her arm screamed as it hung lifelessly from her side, while she stayed silent and aimed with her right.

She aimed.

To kill.

To pull the trigger, as it leapt.

The bullets she released didn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop it. Probably even hit.

The next thing she knew, the smoking, silenced gun was on the rooftop next to her, and she was holding her side, where claws had left a deep wound, and all the warmth escaped her, pumping wet and slick and deathly.

The Predator crumpled to the ground, and echoes of Ruiz’s dampened shots were so loud that she could still hear them, several rooftops away.

Like the .50 had blown holes through the door, it had turned entire chunks of the Predator into a fine red mist. Killed the damned thing dead outright before it could kill her.

Well, almost.

Almost.

Grant slumped from her knees onto the ground, splayed out and with all strength escaping her like the blood.

Ruiz was talking to her all the while. The Operator, less audible from out there, also continued babbling.

Darkness enshrouded her field of vision until shadow swallowed all. And blinking never dispelled it fully. The starry night blended with the darkness of death.

Breaking in was the easy part. Always was, wasn’t it?

Getting out, unnoticed, unscathed—that was the hard part.

Everything hurt.

Guess this is what dying is like.

Losing consciousness, losing time, she didn’t know how long she took to fade away, in and out, until a silhouette rushed to her rescue, towering over her, and joining the darkness in blotting out the glittering night’s sky.

Not the silhouette of Ruiz, that is, but many figures. Men in black jumpsuits, armored, and armed to the teeth with firearms and batons. They sported ski masks like her own, with eyes covered by night-vision goggles.

A whole strike force of hired guns crowded around her.

They lifted her up. Not a damned thing she could have done about it.

They carried her away. Over the crumpled carcass of the Apex Predator.

All the pain went away, flared up, went away again.

Away.

They carried her away, into a blinding bright light.

[easternpine]

Taking Off, Chapter 2

A Femshep & Parasini BFF, Shakarian, No Reapers AU

As she continued to gripe, the datapad she’d been holding slipped free from her fingers and clattered to the floor. “Shit…” Awkwardly, she tried to squat, but the fabric of her skirt strained against her muscular thighs, and it felt like the garment might rip in two. She stood up again, tugging at the hem. God, she hated these things. The skirt kept riding up, and she found the feeling of free air between her legs unsettling. At least trousers moved with your body; slim skirts were just cages for your legs. She could have sworn the masochist who designed it had looked at their breakfast one day and decided a sausage casing would make for a fantastic piece of fashion. Shepard peered over the reception counter, but there was no one there. Where the hell was Marianne? Why was no one manning the front desk? Attacking from another angle, she contorted at the waist while bending her knees and reached toward the floor, but her thin heels were making balance impossible. Her fingers brushed the edge of the pad and she grunted, struggling to gain purchase on the slippery casing. Just then, she heard the doors slide open. A pair of scuffed combat boots appeared at her feet, each one host to two toes. “Here, let me,” said a distinctly turian voice. Three long digits scooped up the datapad and held it out to her. “Oh…” Shepard’s head shot up. A rangy turian man dressed in a C-Sec uniform was looking down at her with curiosity. His face was a hard-bitten rock gray—typical for a turian—but his eyes were ice blue, a striking but unusual feature she’d never seen in one of his kind. He wore an expensive looking visor over one of his eyes, all but obscuring it. She continued to stare as she regarded the blue markings across his face, and she wondered which colony they were meant to represent. The turian cleared his throat and gestured with the datapad. Quickly, she straightened to standing and smoothed her skirt down at the front with a frantic yank. “Thanks,” she said, taking the datapad back.  “You know, I’ve never understood how you ladies can stand such restrictive clothing,” he said with casually. “Seems awfully impractical. Maybe it’s unfashionable, but I like to be comfortable when I’m working,” Shepard bristled at the stranger’s judgment. Nevermind that she hadn’t exactly chosen the clothes, or that she agreed with his point wholeheartedly, but it was awfully presumptuous—not to mention a bit sexist—for him to make the comment to her face. “I’m sorry,  I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said with a strained smile. “Detective Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec Special Investigations. I’m guessing you’re….” His mandibles fluttered slightly as he narrowed his eyes. “Jane Shepard?” “How did you know?” Shepard stood with her feet apart and crossed her bare, sinewy arms. The turian eyed her up and down. “Just a hunch..."

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