Chapter 6: Pocrescophobia
A bit of explanation, if you haven't understood already, that lady is another member of Team 1. Her name is Elle Libeau, and from what I've heard, she used to be an entertainer in Paris who moved to the states for a larger audience. After that horrible, horrible mistake, her whole relevance dropped and the government contacted her for her talents. You see, her shows were all martial arts-based, so you can bet your ass that she's pretty darn capable of killing people really really well. Well enough to kill me in about half a second without saying anything. She's also a contortionist, so any kind of punch or kick you throw at her just causes her joints to bend the other way, basically neutralizing the attack. Sure, knives and guns count, but that's still fucking annoying. The fact that there's another Team 1 Specialist that's gone rogue is even more of a problem now. If those three are going off killing other Specialists, who's to say the fourth one isn't in cahoots with them as well?
Another thing: how the FUCK am I supposed to get out of this endless loop? I've finally taken a bit to actually calm myself down and try to think about the situation logically, but I just can't put my finger on it. Desmond is covering the ramen place, so Team 6 is already fucked, Elle is stalking the pharmacy which is probably not even the only place she can be since no one else was there but me, the last member is out there somewhere so even if we get away, there's no saying we'll survive them, and Cyrus is on standby if anything goes wrong which is an instant death for anything going against him. Agh, shit.
I furrow my eyebrows and ruffle my hair. I'm the only one who knows about all of this, so I'm sure I can ensure my safety. Is the only way out of this to leave everyone else to die? I look over at Drake, who seemed to be lost in thought just staring straight at the back of our boss' seat. At least I don't have to worry about this guy. He's basically indestructible. He catches my gaze and waves over to me. Who knew this guy could be such a goof? I wave back and avert my eyes out the window again. Actually... I really didn't try out talking to Cyrus, did I? Guess I never really thought of it since i hate his guts. If I'm gonna die fifty more times to that virgin fuck, I might as well try a more normal approach. The first instinct to solve a problem being to kill is pretty bad, huh? Whatever. It works in every case I've come by. Except this one at least, but that's because Cyrus has a literal superpower. Still think that's bullshit by the way.
Let's try that again.
Backtracking, there's the car ride, getting to the place, ordering the food, super scary cyborg man attacks, boner pins him to the ground, scary gamer attacks.
"Vivian! My girl! How's it going? Something wrong? You seem pretty tense there." Cyrus says with a smile, his hands in his pockets and his unblinking eyes interlocked with my own.
"Eh, just got a headache from my last hire." I click my tongue and eye Pavul, who seemed to be confused with my lack of action. Listen, like, I get that I'm y'know, naturally violent, but you don't have to be so obvious about it.
"So, uh. Mind telling me what this is all about? Not everyday your cyborg freak of a teammate goes out of his way to attack another team." Desmond stares at me with a frustrated look, to which I reply with by sticking my tongue out at him. Fuck that guy.
"You know, the classic, 'too good for this job' kind of thing. That's how you would word it, right?" The leader of Team 1 says with a toothy grin. The one thing I hate about this guy is his creepy ass smiles. I dunno how else to describe it other than that green fuck from those Christmas stories. Forgot what its name was but its that kind of smile that goes from ear to ear.
"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but you're definitely not someone who can just accuse me of how I talk, got that, fucker?"
"Whoa, whoa! No need for such hostility! I'm just trying to strike up some conversation! I came to get the big guy back. Then after he's all fixed and up to tip top shape, we'll get back to slaughtering the rest of the Specialists. We'll leave you guys alone though. I quite like you." He leans over and picks up Desmond by slinging his arms over his shoulders and carrying the guy like a backpack. After that, he just, walks away. Nothing else said and no other actions done. Another black SUV pulls up into the parking lot and picks both of them up.
I whisper under my breath. "Well I sure as hell don't like you." I relax and sloppily lay myself on the ground, Pavul's shadow protecting my eyes from the sun and the only sounds being the sparks igniting from Desmond's torn-off prosthetic legs and the distant whirring of police sirens. I let out a sigh.
"Wulf?" Pavul questions.
"Can we fucking leave?" I interject and close my eyes. And thank fucking god we did.
Sure is an anticlimactic end to this whole day, but after dying more than 13 times in one day, I think I deserve something quiet like that, cuz fuuuuuck. The worst part is that I'm not gonna get paid for any of that.
...
I hate my life. My ass can't go home because of course, the people that attacked us being Specialists put our supervisor's shit-stained panties in a twist. All of us, including Team 6 were called to this huge meeting room and we all had to explain our encounter with Team 1. The even worse part about it is that we're all required to live at our barracks for the time being until the whole rogue Specialist situation is dealt with. Still, I can't really get too mad at that. If they knew we were going to that ramen place, there's no saying that they can't find us at our homes. Adding to that, since we're so "special," our living quarters and areas are pretty darn nice. It feels like living in a space ship. Not so much as the inside of the Millennium Falcon, but kind of like the inside of a star destroyer... Damn, I sound like a nerd right now.
Getting settled in my living space, I instantly go take a shower. And no, I won't be describing anything right before, during, or right after I shower, you freakazoids. It was a really nice bath though. A cold shower after sweating my ass off is just so fuckin' nice. Thankfully, there wasn't a whole lot of blood to wash off either, but there's still that one white shirt I have to throw in the laundry.
I step out of the shower and look at the mirror. Worst part about having a wolf cut is that you have to style it after every time you shower. But I don't plan on doing too much after other than going to the shooting range, so I don't have to do anything with it. While I comb my hair back, I do notice that, while I don't mean this in the narcissistic way even though it seems that way, holy balls, I'm hot as fuck. Okay, I know that sounds only narcissistic, but wow, this job has done wonders for me. I'll admit it, I was pretty chubby in college, but that was because I knew if I hit the gym I would have too much power, and damn am I right. I still don't feel like wearing stuff like crop tops though. Showing my stomach just doesn't feel right even if I'm a little chiseled down there.
As I'm gawking at myself in the mirror, I hear the sound of a door open outside, followed by the sudden turn of the handle of the bathroom door. I scream and reach for my pistol as the door opens. I fire three times before realizing who it was. Chrissy stood at the door completely unfazed with three bullet holes in the wall behind her.
"Whoa! What was that all about Good thing you're a bad shot, but do you really carry your weapon with you to the bathroom?" She raises an eyebrow, still for some reason not even fazed at how she completely just walked in unannounced.
"Maybe I wouldn't bring it if people like you stopped barging in randomly! Have you ever tried not being so weird?!" I scratch the side of my head with the sights of my pistol. This is why I hate living in the barracks. Everyone in a higher position in your team has access to your room. Well guess fucking what? I'm the new guy, so everyone can walk in here as they please! No privacy at all! Good thing Pavul doesn't come in without letting me know beforehand and knocking first, and Drake doesn't even come up to me in the first place. What is he supposed to do after all? Talk? But Chrissy? Oh, Chrissy. This bitch. This bitch walks in however she pleases! Every single fuckin' time I'm forced to stay in my room at the barracks, she just goes in my room! From what I know, she only goes into my room! She's so fucking weird too! The woman is always so bubbly and shit. Doesn't change the fact that almost all of her arms are doing something. Her top right is texting something on her phone, her top left is squeezing one of those hand grip things, and her lower right is using its thumb to crack her knuckles.
"I don't have your number, so how else am I supposed to talk to you?" Chrissy pouts and tilts her head like a dog getting scolded.
"By knocking, dipshit. Ever heard of it? I bet the only time you've heard it is in the phrase 'getting knocked up,' you whore. Very different by the way." I sneer as I grab a towel on the rack and begin drying my hair.
Chrissy's stance shifts slightly. Not too much to ruin what she was occupied with, but enough that it's noticeable. Oops. Did I hit a nerve?
"Oh, come on now! No need to get so angry! No harm no foul, right? Just hurry up so we can head to the shooting range. There's a new thing I want to try!" Chrissy steps out of thee way of the door to let me step out. Guess it was a false alarm. I've never really seen Chrissy get mad or... any other emotion other than "goofball." She does have a good point though. I did almost shoot her though. Her fault by the way. I forgot we decided to go to the shooting range together though. I mentioned I was going there after I was done settling in, so she just sort of invited herself. What am I supposed to do? Deny her? She's Chrissy. Denying that bitch only encourages that bitch.
"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a sec. I didn't even put my shorts on yet, fuck." I grumble as I pull up my bottom and grab my pistols and their holsters which were right next to the sink.
The place we're heading to isn't actually too far away from our sleeping quarters. Sure, it's a bit of a walk, but we all need one sometimes. I'm talking to those fat fucks in the mobility scooters. Listen, I'm all for body positivity, but I draw the line at body negativity. AKA, getting to the point where you can't walk. Like, don't you find it embarrassing that a toddler can do something you can't? It's not even that hard to stay fit too. Hell, I did it. I don't get the purpose of mobility scooters. All they do is encourage people who need exercise to not exercise. At least make them a bike and not a scooter.
Anyways, we get to the shooting range in like 5 minutes or so and it's completely empty. Another benefit of being a Specialist is that we get our own resource buildings that are separate from the common areas of the military base. Forgot to mention we're at one of those by the way. It feels more like a college campus if anything though if that helps, but whatever. I'm getting sidetracked.
We walk inside and Chrissy speed-walks over to one of the lockers in a room separate from the firing area and comes out with a long, black sniper rifle. I mean hella long by the way. That thing is like a foot taller than me! Which isn't saying much since I'm 5'4" or something, but that's still pretty huge for a gun.
"Fuck is that?" I suddenly blurt out as I watch her set up the firearm in one of those closed off booths that face a couple of targets down the shooting range.
"It's my baby, that's what it is! It's a Shaher anti-material rifle. It's made for penetrating through tanks and other vehicles, but I just translate that to hurting even more when used on people."
Chrissy props up the stand and uses her lower left hand to stabilize the gun while her right hand teases the trigger. Her upper right arm rolls out a 5-or-something-inch bullet from its box and pulls back the chamber with her upper left arm to load it in. Here it comes. While I might find Chrissy to be an absolute cock sucker, narcissistic, stuck up, privileged bitch, I can't deny that she's an amazing shot.
After her slow start, Chrissy instantly starts firing. Her first shot hit the human-shaped target's head, the sound of the gun and the bullet making contact reverberated around the room. DAMN THAT'S LOUD! I stumble to grab a pair of ear muffs but not before Chrissy nearly instantly reload right after. Remember what I said before? She can take one of these absolute manifestations of the American spirit and basically rapid fire it. I quickly shut my eyes and push the ear muffs even more into my head but they're unable to fully drown out the sound. Shot after shot, Chrissy continued to fire until she came to a sudden stop. I open my eyes and peer past the booth she was in to see the target absolutely shattered into a million pieces. She fired around 15 shots in 4 seconds. If you're a target of us, you better fucking pray that Chrissy isn't the one behind the gun. Cuz she'll blow your head off before you have a chance to ask for mercy.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone