The Brownwater PMC has contracted your unique services to assist in a simple operation. Due to some illegal financial ties to a certain jihadi terrorist revolutionary, the company has flown out an adjudicator to liquidate certain assets. Standard burn job, might as well be paid time off.
She managed to blow her cover at the airport and spies from three different agencies had eyes on her. You expected this. Eyes and ears are everywhere in this town, including yours. What you didn't expect was a certain jihadi revolutionary making a move on her in the cab ride from the airport. That's the problem with jihadis. All zeal, no finesse.
Six hours later, as you're reading the newspaper about last night's airport and freeway shootout, Elise drags herself into the safehouse. She wordlessly strips her bloody clothes off, revealing the cut and bruised raw skin all over her body. She sinks into an ice bath with a glass of vodka.
Her eyes drift closed as she lets out a shuddering sigh, her body seeming to deflate. She lets out a choked sob then becomes quiet again. According to the paper, after dispatching the hitmen and crashing the taxi, she got into a running shootout with a trailing team, leaving a total body count of six terrorists and two civilians.
Tough day at work sweetie? I chuckle softly, before turning the newspaper page and flipping it back. Ugh, newspapers are so hard to read in this country. I say, slapping it onto the table, as I turn toward her in the bath. Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance. At least six bodies? Damn, kid. But at least you took care of it. Right?
Elise opens one eye lazily, looking at Fayt with annoyance mixed with exhaustion. Shut up, Fayt. You have no idea what it was like out there today. And yeah, six dead terrorists and two civilians caught in the crossfire is probably more than enough for me to deal with right now.
She takes another sip of vodka from the glass clutched tightly in her hand, closing her eyes once more as she tries to relax in the cold water.
And by the way, my name is Elise, not sweetie or kid.
Keep going on like this, and no one will care what your name is, cause you'll be dead. I sigh softly, shaking my head softly. If you'd have touched base in Lyon, like you should have... I sigh softly, standing up and stretching after the long plane ride. I walk toward the bath and pat her head, cooing softly. Don't worry, you're under my wing now, listen closely and you'll be just fine. I say softly, as I pat her head. I walk away, after getting an eyeful of her curvy body, and flop down in a bunk.
Elise rolls her eyes at him, "You know I didn't touch base in Lyon because they were watching me. As soon as I landed they attacked." She scowls, taking another swig from her bottle. Her voice trembles with each word. She knows he's right though; protocol would have saved her some grief.
She listens to his pats and sighs, resting her chin on her knees. The sound of his voice calms her nerves slightly.
It's all okay now, Elise. I say finding a familiarity with the bunk, as I pluck the chains, making sure they'll hold my body. I'll get you in place, and you just burn what you need. Right? I say softly, rolling over onto my side.
Elise snorts derisively at Fayt's attempt at reassurance, but her expression softens slightly when he mentions helping her 'burn' whatever financial records she needs to destroy.
You make it sound so simple, Fayt. Accessing Brownwater's secure servers is no easy feat, even for someone like you... She trails off, studying his muscular form appreciatively before returning her gaze to the vodka bottle. Besides, I'm not just here to tidy up the books. There are other matters to attend to first.
Huh? I groan loudly, rolling my eyes as I sit up. I'm being paid to ensure those files, physical and digital, are burned... I say softly, feeling annoyed by the unexpected additional task she has. What else do you have do do?
Elise sets down the glass and emerges from the bath, water droplets clinging to her petite frame as she pads over to Fayt on bare feet. Her blue hair is matted against her skull, and the cuts on her face are starting to scab over. She sits beside him on the bunk, the cold wood an uncomfortable contrast to her warm skin.
"Other matters," she repeats, "like figuring out who within Brownwater is still loyal to those terrorists. And why they're so deep in bed with them in the first place."
Making the bunk wet... I say groaning as I turn back over to face her, examining her naked body. That sounds a lot like a Brownwater problem. And you're problem. I say softly, closing my eyes saying good bye to the easy job this was supposed to be. I do what I get paid to do, Elise. If you're in this line of work, you'll do good to do the same. I say softly, opening my eyes, as I wrap an arm around her slim waist. But I could be persuaded to help you out a little...
Elise grimaces at his suggestion, but there's no hiding the desperation in her voice when she replies,* "Please, Fayt. We both know it wouldn't be right for me to keep all this information locked away just because I'm in over my head."
She stands up from the bunk and walks towards him, each step deliberate and measured. Her breasts bounce slightly under his gaze as she closes the distance between them, until he can feel the heat radiating off her petite frame. She places one hand on his muscular chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath her fingertips.