“Here,” the file smacks down in front of me, I open it slowly, “ Is all the information we have collected on the gang and their activity over the past year.”
My eyes scan over the page as Brooks paces before us, “You know,” he says “that this mission will be the infiltration of the largest gang in the United States, the killing of a man who has as much power as the president and he only wants more. What you do not know however, is that this mission has two parts- but we’ll get to that later.”
Alexander’s presence made me feel as if there was an elephant laying on my chest.
“First off,” Brooks cleared his throat, snapping a picture to the whiteboard on the wall with a magnet, “this is your target- his name is Matthew Grant, the new leader after his father was shot and killed by one of our agents last summer.”
He was young, surprisingly so- he couldn’t have been much older than Alexander and I. He was sitting straight with his chin up, light facial hair on his cheeks and chin, his smile barely there and was most likely forced. I looked over to Brooks, a deep strain sunk into my heart because I didn’t want to be the one to kill the boy with chocolate brown hair and charming gray eyes.
“Why?” I demand flatly, trying my hardest to not sound bothered but failing so shamefully. I almost wish he could hear the hardness in my voice so he would be able to tell that every part of this mission was something I didn’t believe in. If he did notice, it didn’t show, but i wouldn’t really expect it to. Brooks turned and put another picture on the board, ignoring me completely. This one of a large building, a warehouse presumably.
“The plan is as such- You both have a meeting with the gang members who recruit the rookies, you’ll both get in, find ou...
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...ne nothing wrong in my eyes.
There was blood everywhere. Two bodies lay back there, wounds gushing. One of their hands had twitched and the little girl screamed louder, like even her screams would be enough to wake the dead.
I continued to run, my breathing controlled. My left foot hit the pavement awkwardly, but I carried on. The gun in my hand shook as they were tainted with the sin of the murder that had occurred here.
“Congrats you two,” Eric breathed, a stupid smile on his face,”Welcome to the skulls, the head honcho wants to actually meet you both in the morning, get some rest and meet me here in the morning, six o’clock,” he says and then leaves us to walk back to our apartment, stained with the memory of what we had just done, haunted by the screams of many, but mostly the young girl who had just lost a parent; a young girl who reminded me so much of myself.
“So…” His harsh voice started, sizing me up thoroughly. “You’re the institution’s golden boy eh, some mid-twenty something greenhorn coming in and telling us how to do our jobs without a single day of patrol under his belt!” “Twenty-two actually sir.” I replied blankly.
Smith: I guess my advice to them would be to either convince them or get out. They're going to be toast if they don't.
His mouth spread open slowly and his chest rose as he breathed in a deep, lazy yawn. He stretched his thin arms high above him, and smiled as he felt his muscles tense. He fisted his hands and rubbed them over his eyes to help unglue his lids stuck shut. His eyes received handfuls of dirt and the boy blinked wildly to cleanse them out.
In the past 30 years, two “Rebellions” have taken place between the Métis and the Government of Canada. I strongly believe that the terminology used to describe the Red River “Rebellion” and North West “Rebellion” is misused and should be modified to correctly represent these events. Due to the nature of these events, the more accurate term to use would be “resistance” as the Métis were strictly defending their rights as human beings. A rebellion is defined as an effort by many people to change the government or leader of a country through the use of violence. A resistance however, is the refusal to accept or comply with something; the attempt to prevent something by action or argument. The Métis were not in pursuit of changing the government; they simply wanted a voice in Confederation. The use of the term “rebellion” delivers the wrong impressions of the Métis. Their use of violence was not an act of destruction but of defense. It is for the following reasons that I believe the term “”rebellion” should be corrected to “resistance”.
I heard a blood-curdling scream and I jumped. I felt silent tears running down my heavily scarred face, but they weren’t out of sadness. Mostly. They were a mixture of pain and fear. I ran into the eerie, blood-splattered room and screamed as I felt cold fingers grab my neck.
“We have a total of 39 people. The other bases are a total of 33 people. We will have a 3 squads going out. Squad 1 will have Dr. Simmons and 10 men from the other base. They will be infiltrating the book storage to case a distraction, and remember you goal is to cause a distraction and get out. Professor West and 10 men will infiltrate the homebase with squad 2, including me, Montag and 10 men. Reverend Padover, Harris and Faber, you guys will be our eyes, ears and communication.
“Listen up gentleman!” The head of the detective agency prepares to make an announcement, hopefully about some new information on the case. He points at me.
"It's surprising don't you think." the man said looking to his younger counterpart, "Well me and Alexander think so that's for sure." he said with a chuckle before looking specifically at Natalie. "It doesn't take a detective to realise that they do not belong here. I don't know were they got 4000 dollars from probably stole it from some aristocrat carrying too much money." He then moved a little bit closer toward were Natalie sat offering his hand to her. "Henry Craven, we should sit down and have a chat sometime I was very excited when I saw your name on the guest list." The young man said with a obviously forced gentle smile to
Marley followed her up some creaky stairs to a bedroom; Indie knocked on the door then opened it. Marley gasped audibly as an old woman stared at her from the corner of the room. The old woman was missing her right eye and her face was severely burnt, blood was dripping down her face onto her already stained
Bang! Crack! Screech! Pop! These are the sounds that interrupted me from playing with my cousin. My mind raced to see what exactly had happened. I run out of the house and to the courtyard. My cousins want me to come back in, they said zombies were walking the streets and that the government sent troops to kill them. I denied it, so I ran out to the street to see what happened. My heart pounded and my stomach grew anxious as the aroma of bacon and engine oil filled the air. As I grew closer to the scene, men shed blood from their eyes alike the woman. As I walked closer and cut through the crowd, a cold and simple wind had ripped the thoughts out of my head. It was a grieving mother over her son's body. His body fresh and mutilated from the crash. Shattered ribs and guts exposed. His head had exploded and his
The girl let out a blood curdling cry that was silenced by the brown, sleek Remington 870 that Zaylee secured on her shoulder. Zaylee walked past the red sea of dismembered bodies that stacked on to each other in the hallway. She continued to walk through the bodies until she heard a banging sound coming from the janitor’s closet. Zaylee stopped and observed the patriotic scenery of blood
“Yeah, if it ain't half bad,” the shooter responded after a glance. “Trouble is you end up with those government-overthrow types. I'm at my worst pretending to be Marxist. It doesn't lead anywhere interesting. You’re almost always high and start to get things wrong because you’ve lost the ability to handle a lot of fragmented detail.”
“Let’s find out,” Abeeku answered. I hid my camera in my jacket while it was till shooting, so I wouldn’t give the guys there a reason to shoot me. I snuck into one of the rooms, and took my camera out of my jacket to document the room. The only thing I the room was a dirty bed with drugs scattered on it. “I hope my daughter hasn’t gotten herself into this.”
Crouching down towards the body I turned her around so that she was lying on her back. Her throat was slashed and her face unrecognisable. There were no distinct facial features that could be identified except the pale blue eyes full of fear that pierced my soul. Her white blouse was soaked in blood, the strong metallic odour seeping into my nostrils. Scanning her figure, I examined the pockets of her black business trousers and laid her purse and mobile phone on the floor beside me.
OUCH! My leg crippled with pain. I tried to shuffle my way to the window, but it was excruciating. As my senses kicked back in, I felt pains shooting up and down my body. Peering down at my hands I screamed. My hands were covered in cold, congealed blood.