Call-sign: Miracle

C~2: Profess A Meet

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

~Theodore Roosevelt

"Wake up."

"I said wake up!"

Gasping, my eyes snap back open to an insulated ceiling, wood, and all. My shoulders are pulled back, bound around the back of the chair, around my legs tapped.

I feel my chest heave up and down as light shines above, which reminds me of the sun. My hair is pulled on before I can crane my neck straight to have my forehead meet a gun's barrel.

The one holding it causes me to rasp, "Professor." my voice hoarse from lack of liquid. Lowering my own gun, I see fully he sat in another chair across from me smirking, "Cassiveid Scott Crossfield Santio."

Glancing over, I see he has my wallet "Age 27, graduate of the FBI academy, decorated roll of Captain Santio given to you by the United Air-Force, Call-sign: Miracle ." he lists.

Holding the gun up in a more relaxed position, he asks, "Miracle? Why do people call you that?"

Shrugging, I answer, "Only those who I give Call-signs myself can call me that...you not being one of them."

He's gonna shoot me unless he's sure he has to. Looking past him, I see another man unconscious, tied to another chair while the man from before was lying on the ground, bound as well.

Walker sighs. "I'll call you whatever the fuck I want!" he shouts cocking the gun. "Tell me, how does a girl like you with FBI training, Air-Force training, wind up in a situation like this?"

Shaking my head, I keep myself calm "I was decorated by the Air-Force never said I trained with them."

"Where were you trained then?"

"Is this a conversation?"

"Do you want to keep breathing?" he threatens, pointing the gun straight this time. I can't help but gulp; I've trained with being at the other end of a rifle, the one pointing it.

"My daddy taught me," I say.

At this, he straightens up almost mockingly while he begins to laugh. "Oh, your daddy taught you? You actually spent time with your daddy! He loved planes, so he teaches you how to fly?"

There it was his first mistake.

"My great grandaddy taught his son, then he taught his son, and then he taught his daughter," I say, locking eyes with Walker before slowly switching topics. "Hollis Walker Jr."

He smiles, relaxing more "So you have heard of me outside of teaching?"

Shaking my head, I lick my lips. "No, but I've seen your daddy's books line some shelves. Of course, I ain't ever pick one up, but man have I heard great reviews of his work-"

"Watch your tongue!"

"Is it true he wrote ten books-"

"Shut up!"

"But this ain't about you out doing him with writing-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!!!!" he screams, standing.

"No, this is about what he did to you!!!" I shout. He grabs my shirt, yanking me up. "SHUT UP!!!" screaming this, he shoves me to the ground into the back wall where one of the wood bars snaps.

Feet shuffle back behind the wall; someone else was here. Walker looks at me for signs of struggle. Rolling my head, I let it fall against my shoulder with hazy eyes.