Code Name: Untraceable

Chapter Three: Playlist of the Damned

(Frankie's POV)

I knew they'd be there.

Government-grade messes in black. Thunderbolts. Or whatever Val's calling them this week. Same faces. Same tactics. Still think subtlety is optional.

Which meant, obviously, I had to put on a show.

So I queued up the loudest, dumbest, most viscerally aggressive track I had-
"Bodies" by Drowning Pool.

Classic.

"Let the bodies hit the floor..."

Boom. Entrance made. Enemies gone. Point proven. You're welcome.

I remember the way they looked at me-half stunned, half scared, half dumbstruck. That's too many halves but trust me, math broke in that hallway. The brown haired one-Bob, I think?-looked like he'd just seen God in combat boots.

I didn't say anything. Didn't need to. I never do.

Just a raised brow, a ghost of a smirk, and I was gone.

That's the trick. Show up. Save the day. Steal the kill count. Vanish.

Make them question it.

Make Val question it.

Because if Val doesn't know where I am, she can't kill me again. And if she does figure it out... well. I'm a better shot now.

Today's mission was just as fun. I clocked the Thunderbolts on that roof before they even realized the convoy was bait. Poor planning on Val's part, really. It's like she wants me to embarrass her.

I dropped in, stole the Stark-core, and got out before anyone could say "hey, that girl's not on the team."

Spoiler: I'm not.

I've got my own agenda. My own missions. My own rules.

But I watch them. Every time.

Because something in me-something buried deep under all the training and blood and survival instincts-wants to know how this ends.

And if they'll ever turn around...
and follow me.