Deviant (A m/f omegaverse tale)

A Chance Encounter

What would undeniably save their planet from future destruction came at a cost. There were those who would gladly accept such conditions, just as there were ones who vehemently denied such ideals. But it mattered not, because while it was presented as a choice, freedom was the very last thing the Imperion had in mind. But they were smart, and so they named other enemies for the people to target, ones who weren't protected by alien spacecrafts and seemingly impossible weapons; the government. For it was their representation that turned on them without much thought, and if rumors were correct, with little more than bribery as fuel. And when it became apparent that the invasion itself wasn't up for debate while the people in power maintained their seats, well... Civil War was the next option...

Lost in thought, Deviant was startled from her position when her ear piece began to crackle. A grimace twisted over delicate features, pert nose wrinkling in displeasure as she adjusted herself back into the precise location she'd been not seconds ago. The smallest alteration could be the difference between clipping her targets heart and sending her shot careening into the crowd, where there were tons of innocent bystanders. She'd just corrected herself to the exact inch when a smooth voice echoed through the tiny slip of tech nestled into her ear, and couldn't stop the smirk that tugged over her satin pink lips as words rolled out.

"Deviant, this is DaddyJazzy on location. Update." It had been years, and she'd never tire of that voice.

Jasmine, or Jazz unless one wanted to be throat punched by a rather bony set of knuckles, had rescued Deviant from the patched up remains of her apartment, after she'd spent weeks fighting off scavengers, and she'd just completed her third day without food. Deviant would've left to hunt for something mildly edible, braved the bloodlusting masses just to get an expired candy bar or some tasteless ramen, but days ago a local gang had come calling at her doorstep, after she'd shot up one of their dumbass seekers for trying to break in and steal her shit. They'd surrounded her second story loft, parked outside with their poorly soldered bikes and stupidly lifted trucks, and taunted her from what they thought to be a safe range. Except, when one was raised by a Marine and a retired army medic, they didn't exactly lack knowledge of deadly weapons. In fact, due to certain circumstances, her dad had been out of town when shit hit the fan, and had brought his gun safe over for her to watch, meaning she had a perfect arsenal to weather the storm. Her favorite by far had been an older sniper, named One-Eyed Betty, and as the thugs sat and waited, she inched her bedroom window open, posted up, and picked three out in the span of less than a minute. From there, the strangers had wisely relocated to places where she couldn't safely take aim. Cue Jazzy flying in a Harley that screamed loud enough to wake the dead, with her long blonde hair waving in the breeze, like some damn vengeful Valkyrie. Of course, after Jazz and her band of misfits had taken out the scum, Deviant had nearly shot the amazonian woman in the face, but she offered her an alternative that couldn't be refused. Protection for becoming their arms specialist.

"DaddyJazzy," Her melodic voice cracked as she battled back a snicker. They didn't get to chose their codenames, and sometimes, jokes just stuck well, "This is Deviant, confirming position. Target locked, awaiting further instruction." With her stomach snug to the floor and her too-large breasts shoved up uncomfortably, she took a few calming breaths, holding her position steady. As the static of an oncoming message rang through her right ear, a thrill of excitement dragged down her spine. Not usually one for violence, Deviant had developed a taste for ending corrupt lives in her time spent trying to survive in the New American Wasteland, when friends would turn on each other just for a warm bath and a full belly. It wasn't exactly so cut throat in the northern hub of Dallas, or Imperion City Double Three, as it had been renamed, but still. One could settle into the mockery of what was once a democratic society, under their new overlords, and take advantage of the luxuries that were forsaken for freedom outside the giant metal walls, but they would never forget the flavor of betrayal

"Deviant, this is DaddyJazzy, ordering the hit." And just like that, permission to end a life was granted. A single sea foam green eye stared down the insanely priced lenses of her scope, and she felt a pang of disappointment that she'd be dismantling such a deadly beauty and leaving it all behind. That didn't stop her from taking the shot though, and she did it instinctively, less than five seconds passing between the time kickback was absorbed by her stand and the momentarily prone figure of the vile senator was bodily dragged backwards. Deviant waited long enough to drop back down to earth, to watch as that wretched suit blossomed with blood and the fearful crowds ran screaming, not a single concerned spectator bolting to assist the fallen man. Not that it would help anyways, he was already dead.