The Secret Service [KINGSMAN]

vii. SKYDIVING

SEVEN.
SKYDIVING

Bex was starting to think that Merlin was either clinically insane or a sadist. His challenges had gotten increasingly difficult and ridiculous as the weeks passed, but jumping out of an airplane with barely any training topped them all.

Bex adjusted the straps around her shoulders, tracing the buckles holding her in tightly. The eight remaining candidates were seated in two rows facing each other, four on each bench on either side of the aircraft. Almost every face was twisted up with nerves and terror under the glinting glass of their helmets except for Charlie, who's ever-present smirk made it look like he was just passing gas. Or maybe he was reveling in the misery and horror of his companions. Knowing the extent of his douchiness and incontinence, either was a safe bet.

Bex clenched her teeth as the plane suddenly shot down. Her bones practically rattled in her skin with the force of every pocket of turbulence the airplane hit, although the she used the word airplane lightly. It was less of real aircraft and more of a collection of scrap metal, held together with a couple rusty bolts, pixie dust, and the five thousandth prayer Roxy was muttering under her breath.

As the tiny plane gained altitude, the air got heavier, and Bex could feel it pressing against the thick fabric of her HALO suit. The pressure in the cabin mounted, along with the pressure on her hand. More specifically, the death grip that Roxy had ensared her fingers in. Bex tried to flex them in a weak attempt to restart the flow of blood to her extremities, but Roxy's hold only tightened.

She was leaned back against the bench they sat on, but her whole body was rigid. Her face was pale under her helmet, eyes squeezed shut and mouth moving in a silent prayer. Bex might've thought she was dead if it weren't for the vice of a grip her poor numb hand was trapped in.

Bex shifted uncomfortably. "So, Roxy," she tried awkwardly. "H-How are you? Doing all right?"

Roxy didn't open her eyes, but her nostrils flared. "I'm great," she hissed.

"Well, if you're feeling a little, er, apprehensive or whatever, you could try looking out the window. It's a nice view. The weather up here is, um...fantastic."

"Yes, Bex, what an incredible idea. I'm thousands of feet up in the air in a tiny metal death trap, about to throw myself out of a motherfucking airplane, which is really nothing, just, you know, my worst fear. But maybe I'll stop my crushing panic for a second to enjoy the scenery. I'm sure that will fix everything and I will no longer feel sheer terror at the prospect of heights! Have I mentioned that I am terrified of heights? Like, shit your pants terrified? Because I am! And right now I am about four and a half seconds away from going into total cardiac arrest. But sure, Bex, the weather is fan-tas-tic."