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T13: Cleona
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 10:07:28 +0000 UTCHeart pounding, Cleona heard the whine of bullets in the air around her, the hiss-crack of ricochets. She could hear the others yelling at her to get back, hear Jenny’s shrill screams, the snap-pop of gunshots aimed at her.
“Fuck!” she turned at bay, firing one-handed, trying to cover her own withdrawal. ‘Swearing is the last refuge of the inarticulate,’ her father had chided her once, but she had no other words right now: Terror and panic had an icy grip on her mind and all she could think of was everyone was shooting at her and she had no cover to hide behind.
“Come on Cleo!” called Micah, her voice shrill with fear, as if she was the one people were trying to kill. “Get back!”
Cleona turned and started to run, panting, heels clacking on the hard concrete slabs. She only made it three steps before something hot shoved her in the small of the back and she felt her guts tear. She screamed, high and tight with panic and pain as her feet went from under her and her body tumbled helplessly down onto the path. She struck the ground hard, feet kicking up, hands and bare knees grazing on the unyielding surface.
“Fuck!” she screamed again, and this time the sound was strangled and desperate, half choked by agony and awful fear and despair. Her father hadn’t approved of her career choice any more than he approved of swearing: She’d told him she was working for an Agency, which was true enough, and he’d assumed she’d meant modelling.
Modelling would have been a better choice.
Comments
Beerman
You continue to amaze us with these high-fashion mercs and their defeats. I love 'em!
