Agent Spectre

A hushed silence fills the eerie warehouse, in its centre shines one lonely ceiling light under it stand six armed, muscular thieves. Six agents sit in crouched positions scattered around the light, as we blend in with the shadows.    Every now and then their muffled voices break the silence as they try their hardest to remain undetected.   The fabric of my navy-blue janitor overalls rub roughly against my dry skin, causing my legs to itch painfully. I take my cap and put it on backwards to match with my outfit.   “First wave prepare to move in” Our team leader orders through her earpiece, her voice sharp.   “In position and ready” I confirm.   When I tried to oppose my assigned task our leader had sent me a familiar look that told me that I had no choice, ‘This is what you’re good at’ she assured me possibly hinting that my ability of being in the firing line was questionable.   As an agent being called a good decoy is not necessarily a good compliment, when asked to describe it in normal terms often the decoy is referred to as the water boy. During missions every agent is assigned a task, the person to decide who is assigned what is the Point or the leader of the group. Agent six or more commonly known as Spectre due to her incredible strategic skills and her ability to only be seen when she wants to be seen as she blends with the shadows until she is ready, they compare her to a ghost  as one minute she is there and the next she's gone. With every mission she will always run point, everyone in the agency knows that there's no point in trying to suggest or argue against her as if she is on the team she is the boss. "Forty-Three" Spectre says, "Enter" Slowly I stand up and push the  squeaky cleaning cart that sits to my left, I struggle to control it into the scene of  well-dressed men. With headphones covering my ears, I begin to whistle to a tune, making my presence apparent. When all six pairs of eyes fall onto me I stop whistling, with the headphones still covering my ears I shout, "Sorry!" I apologize acting like the music is too loud, "I didn't realize that there would be anyone here!" A man hovering over a table that is covered with a dozen slips of white paper indicates to his man to his right to take off my headphones. Aggressively the man walks over and pulls my headphones down.  "You could've just asked me" I say with irritation. "I hope I am not interrupting this gathering" I look over to the table and then the man closest to it, "But according to my schedule I must be here cleaning this warehouse during this hour" I tell their boss.  "Someone has already come to clean here" Mr Aggressive lies. "Really?" I ask, adjusting my glasses so that Point can have video surveillance of the area, "Who?" "Didn't give us a name" He shrugs off his lie.  "Wave 2, prepare to crash" "It must've been Bob" I suggest, "What color was his hair?" The man closest to the table, who is a wanted weapons smuggler in six countries, grows irritated with my questions as he tries to use his body to shield my wandering eyes.  "Uh Black" The goon guesses.  "Bob has blonde hair" I say slowly as I watch the panic start to set in, for a few moments I let silence sit between us "But then again he often dyes his hair and he has been saying that he would rock black" "Good so can you go?" The smuggler asks with clear irritation. His arms move back, revealing the gun strapped to his waist, as he tries to threaten me. "Is that a gun?" I ask with surprise. "Wave 2 is in place and ready" "No, it's a BB gun" The smuggler, who's name I've clearly forgotten answers sarcastically, "Now get out" He threatens through gritted teeth. "My brother use to have a BB gun" I comment, "But it was taken away when he shot me in the left buttocks, it hurt a lot more than I had expected" His irritation and annoyance takes over, the man pulls out his gun and aims it at my chest, rage burns in his brown eyes. "That's it!" He spits, "If you will not voluntarily leave then I will have to drag your cold, dead body" Without a word I raise my hands with a scared looking face, my lip cowers with fear.  The smuggler grins with victory, "What a cowardice" He insults, "I hope that your father has another son that is more of a man" I hold my breath, ignoring his harsh words as I try not to think of my father's opinions of who he thinks I should be. Just ignore him, he has no idea who you are, I tell myself "Wave 2, enter the arena" Soon six armed agents materialise out of the  quiet shadows of the warehouse, their guns all stand directed towards the chests of each goon. Every agent's face sits with aggression and a fierce desire to shoot.  "It's a setup!" The smuggler realizes, "Kill them!" He desperately instructs as he gathers his pieces of paper with trepidation and hurriedly heads for the door.  I'm handed a mediocre handgun of my own as we confidently surround the band men, knowing that their boss is about to come face to face with ours.  The remaining men stand with guns in their hands, very much aware that they're outnumbered, they all clone each other's look of uncertainty as sweat begins to trickle down a few of their ugly faces.    I shift my attention to the shadows where Spectre steps out into the Smuggler’s path, his surprise takes over his posture as Spectre lands a malicious right hook to his face,   “Forty-three, attention back on the prisoners!”   Apologetically I turn to face the men, my conscious strongly urges me to once again turn to watch the legendary Spectre do what she does best, dominate.   "Guns on the floor!" A compelling voice demands.    From behind us, Spectre embarks from the shadows, whilst dragging an unconscious smuggler on the dirty floor. Blood steadily drools from his bruised face and his now crooked nose. Unwillingly the men slowly put down their guns, with their hands in the air. "Get on your knees, and kiss the floor, I do not want to see any lips leave their position!" Spectre pulls out a phone and dials a number, obligingly the men do as told with fear whilst she talks on the phone, "I need an extraction van for six bogeys"  Seeing now as a good opportunity, Mr Aggressive optimistically pushes himself off the floor and takes his last run towards the closest set of warehouse doors.  Before any of us are able to comprehend that he is trying to escape, Spectre pulls her gun out of its holster and shoots three annoyed bullets into his back, he groans as his pain pushes him back down onto the concrete floor.  "With one GSW" The man continues to groan in pain as he lies on the cold concrete floor, the back of his white buttoned up shirt quickly turns to red  as he struggles to move, possibly due to a potential paralysis from the bullets. Spectre returns the phone into her pocket and turns to the others who are desperately kissing the dirty grey floor. "Anybody else want to play hit and run?" She offers, "Or some target practice?" The men answer in silence, their lips remain glued to the floor, a look of disgust sits on all of their faces. Eventually the van arrives with more armed men, roughly they lead the men to the back of the van, where a chamber sits with a bar on each side to cuff the prisoners to. The GSW is the last that is violently thrown into the back of the van whilst he angrily whines in pain. Spectre turns on her heels to face us, a disapproving look sits on her face, "Agent Seventy Two, your timing was off, Fifty Four, your hands should not shake when pointing a gun at someone, it shows weakness and an inability to shoot a gun" One by one she criticises each one of us, as always she refuses to hold back as she tells each agent her opinion on their future career as an agent. "Twenty-Seven, I do not know who you had to suck to get this job, but I think that the saying you are what you eat, loosely relates to you"  Eventually her cold grey eyes land on mine, "Agent Forty Three, if you ever wanted to disprove the blonde stereotype" She says, "Tonight, you failed your blonde community as you fit that stereotype perfectly" She begins to walk away, “And focus on the mission in the near future and not me” She sends us a dismissive nod before heading towards an ominous vehicle that patiently waits for her. "Agents, report to headquarters for reassigning" "The legendary Spectre everybody" Agent Twenty seven comments with disappointment from behind me, Within the agency there are two agents that are considered legends, Spectre is one of them, known for her lack of fear, emotion and her courage to always take that one step further that nobody else will take, regardless of the bullets pushing her back. In awe I watch her car speed out of the abandoned parking, I turn my back to listen to the complaints when a loud burst of flames erupt from where Spectre's car used to be. In the depths of the flames, the silhouette of the car burns. Loud cries of terror erupt from the flames, I start to run towards the flames, the heat burning against my skin until I am pulled back as the screams turn to ashes.