Chapter Text
Shadow 4-1 didn't sign up for this.
Graves had given orders in that confident way he always did and for a moment it had worked. She and her comrades nodded in agreement, grabbed their gear, and marched into Las Almas guns blazing. They had been told that they were looking for Task Force 141. That the team was no longer to be trusted, it was kill on sight. Same for any of the cartels, narcos, or crooked cops they ran across.
Fair enough, she supposed.
It was much like any other operation they'd conducted. At least...it was until she watched Shadow 3-2 shoot an innocent woman in the face.
4-1 lowered her gun. She watched through her blood spattered visor as the remains of the woman's entire head languidly dripped down the corner of the garage. Blood viciously squirted up and out from the stump of the now corpse's neck.
The woman's teenage son wailed from his knees nearby, his hands zip-tied behind his back. The boy tried to throw himself at his mother, but Shadow 3-1 leveled the barrel of his M4 to the boy's temple first. He didn't even have time to whimper before the smell of ozone and hot iron pierced through the damp air. The boy fell over, one eye wide in shock, the other half of his face completely missing. He gurgled and spurted and writhed. His one good eye rolled around and twitched in his bloody eye socket. 3-1 put a final round into the boy's neck. He didn't move again.
4-1 dropped her rifle from her palms. The weapon dangled from its support strap around her shoulder. She took no time in pulling it over her head and shrugging it off. The firearm clattered to her feet and into the wet splatters of maroon that littered the cracked floor.
"I didn't sign up for this." 4-1 weakly stated aloud.
Shadow 3-2 and 3-1 looked at her behind their visors. Their tall frames seemingly loomed over her as they stood between her and the exit. The white headlights from the transport vehicles parked outside filtered through the raindrops pattering against the cobblestone. It cast both men's front sides in an eerie shade.
"I didn't sign up for this." 4-1 replied again, voice hardening in contempt. "These are innocents."
3-2 scoffed, "These are narcos."
"Remember who signs your paycheck, 4-1," 3-1 agreed.
"I don't give a fuck who signs my check!" She snarled back, trying to push past her fellow soldiers. "And these aren't narcos! This is wrong and you fucking know it."
3-1 let his rifle drop to his hip and grabbed her by the bicep. He tugged hard to keep her in place while 3-2 followed his lead. 4-1 tried desperately to buck against their hold. She even tried to use her smaller stature to her advantage and sweep 3-2's leg out from under him. It didn't take long for them to use their brute strength to subdue her and get her on her stomach. 3-2 chuckled, seemingly enjoying putting his knee in her lower back as he ziptied her wrists together. 3-1 let go of her, satisfied that 3-2 had her fully pinned, then plucked his walkie out of his utility belt.
"Don't you fucking dare!" She spat, squirming against the damp concrete like a worm. The movement seemed to excite 3-2 more. He leaned over 4-1's back and put all of his upper body weight against her helmet, cracking the visor but pinning her neck and shoulders. She kicked her shins furtively but he took no time in removing his knee from her back just to shift it lower to sit on the crook of her thighs. She could no longer squirm as 3-1 called for Graves over the comms.
Shadow 4-1 felt like a deer being grabbed by the antlers. She felt like a prize to be shown off by her proud hunters.
Graves might have well been the game warden...the judge, jury, and executioner too.
-
"Well well well, what do we have here?" Graves drawled out.
He ducked his head under the slightly closed garage door and observed the sight before him. From the moment she'd entered his company, 4-1 couldn't stand his shifty eyes. Graves circled away from the bodies of the innocents and stepped a mere inch away from the crown of her head.
"Insubordination, sir. She tried to go AWOL." 3-1 barked out, his voice no longer crackly with thinly veiled excitement.
4-1 spat at Graves through the cracks of her visor, a little bit of her spittle catching the toe of his standard issue boots.
"Fuck you! This is wrong!" She yelled out, squirming and fighting against 3-2 again. This time he slammed his palm down against the helmet, forcing her head to whiplash into the concrete.
"I'm not going to kill innocent people!" 4-1 managed out through gritted teeth.
Graves was seemingly unbothered by her behavior. In fact, he got down on one knee in front of her and smiled. 4-1 nearly blanched at the reaction.
"Take off 'er helmet." He said airily.
She felt 3-2 stiffen against her back, seemingly just as intimidated by the commander's ease, but did as he was told. As he tore the helmet off he hooked his fingers into 4-1's balaclava, taking it with it. It was a strange sort of relief and nakedness to have the cool, balmy breeze over her sweaty neck. She heard the clank of the helmet and flop of the mask as they were tossed somewhere behind her.
"I'll hand it to ya, girly." Graves chuckled. "You've got some big cajones to talk to me like that, that's for damn sure."
4-1 glared up at him with contempt, lips pressed together in a thin line.
Graves pounced with the ease of a snake. He grasped at 4-1's bun and tugged upward with enough force to make her crane her entire neck up at him. She squealed in pain and tried to pull her head away but his grip was much too strong. Some of her baby hairs came loose and curled around her hairline.
"Here's how this is gonna go, alright?" He said, inching his face down closer towards hers. She was hissing in pain through her teeth but that didn't stop his shifty eyes from taking in every inch of her discomfort. A slight smirk curled up the corner of his lips.
"3-1 and 3-2 are gonna put you in transport truck three. And then you and I are gonna have a private conversation." Graves breathed. 4-1 could practically taste the sour, old coffee on his breath. "And after this whole ordeal is over I'm gonna get a quaint lil' prison cell ready just for you."
"Fuck you!" She yelled, spitting up at him. "Fuck you you fucking piece of shit!"
A little bit of saliva hit Graves' chin. He roughly wiped it away with the back of his hand. 4-1 expected a blow, a backhand or punch, but nothing came. She just kept struggling despite the wicked glint in the commander's eye. He laughed mirthlessly and stood upright, gesturing to his two men to move her.
"When you boys got her tied good and tight to those rails you let me know."