Black Equation - The Gifted Ones

Number Ten

He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself to Atom. Maybe, it was more of a pep talk to make himself believe he could pull this off. After all, he managed to survive from that cliff stunt he pulled – though that was an entirely different situation. Entering a room full of Creed agents seemed much more dangerous. He wasn't entirely convinced that he could make it out of that den of beasts alive, but hey, he could dream. He just wished he brought Rael with him, but he couldn't leave Faye by herself.

"But you're just my sidekick," Atom whined. "Sidekicks don’t get to fight the boss."

"Uh-huh. That's why you need to help me." Krad handed him a silver phone. "You will tell me what they're thinking. Warn me if I'm about to step on a landmine. You can do that much."

"But –”

"My life will depend on you. I trust you, Atom. Can you trust me in return?"

Atom looked like he was about to cry. He knew how deadly the playing field was. Krad was alone and UnGifted. He was the most vulnerable player among them. "Is she really that important? She doesn’t remember you. Are you really gonna risk your life for her?"

Krad didn't answer. He simply smiled before stepping out of the car they rented not an hour ago. There was really no need to voice it out. Atom could hear him all too clearly, and the sadness of it all made him hate Faye Summers all the more.

It was her tears that distracted him. The bullet should have never found its mark, but it did, and it was too late. His love was crying. He was dying – he couldn't dry those damn tears away.

"Why?" he asked softly. He looked like he had more to say, but held in it for her benefit.

"Goodbye, my love."

"Where did I go wrong?" the man whispered as thick blood trickled down his unshaved chin. His pale blue eyes slowly shut as he fell onto his knees, knocking down the figurine on top of the side table. His hands were red from touching the gaping wound on his muscular chest.

"You've been wrong from the very beginning, Robert," the outlandishly slender blond agent smiled sadly. She pressed the gun on his hand and inserted his forefinger onto the trigger.

"You are mine, Daryl. I will not let Luke have you."

"I am not yours," the blond spoke in an almost sad manner. "I am never yours. You've let your emotions rule you. That, is your worst mistake. I guess it's mine as well."

Hayden snorted when the actress posing as Agent Daryl Swan stooped down to kiss the man she just shot. Disgusted, she threw the bag of popcorns on her hands against the flat plasma TV of her hotel room. "This is bloody horrible!" she yelled with a very pronounce Southern accent. "How come these people never portray us right? Look, look! He was shot in the heart! The heart! He should be dead, not talking!"

"Ease up, sweet cheeks," the former Agent 02 commented with a thoughtful expression, his gloved hand picking at the tiny pieces of popcorn strewn near his feet. After collecting them on one hand, he tossed them effortlessly into the empty popcorn bag.

"It's unreal!" she whined. "And she's not wearing gloves. She didn't even wipe the gun clean of her fingerprints. The CIA or FBI or even the NYPD can track her. And her heels! Who wear heels while she's on the run? It’s ridiculous!"

Unlike her, ex-02 was watching the TV series with a bored gaze. "It's drama. What do you expect?"

"A little bit of common sense would do," she muttered to herself, knowing full well that the three men inside her suite would hear her with perfect clarity. "For someone coughing out blood, Robert sure doesn't appear to have problem breathing."