Engie smiles at me as I push the knot up his yellow tie. I scoff quietly and smile back. "What are you so happy about?"
"Mmm, nothin'," he claims with sweetness as I fold his red collar back over. He buttons his cufflinks and sighs while reaching for his jacket. He opted to have our attire complement each other, as revealed from when he asked what color my dress was while at the fort. His tie goes along with my dress, and my shawl mirrors his shirt. Yellow has proven time and time again that it's one of the few colors that look good on darker skin no matter the variation, tacking on that it just so happens to be my favorite.
I look over at Engie's glove. "Engie, could you please take your glove off?"
"Why?"
"We're trying to blend in as much as possible, and I know you won't budge on your goggles," I explain with a gentle tone. I hold my hand out. "Hand it over."
"Oh, but you're wearing gloves, Miss Fredrickson. C'mon now," he counters.
"Because they go with my dress. Engineer, please," I pester. "I'll even take off my own so we're even."
Heavy chuckles and I look over to Medic helping him with his own tie. "Heavy has learned to never go against wishes of lady from sisters. Give up, Engineer."
"Misha is correct," Medic quietly agrees, "Neuro has expressed this same behavior. The will of a woman will be seen through until it is instilled."
He stands frozen, not doing anything. I step up to him and lift his arm up. He balls his hand into a fist, and I pry his fingers up, his hand feeling significantly different from when it was resting on my hip on the jet ski. "Engie. What are you hiding?"
"Nothin'," he says again, trying to block my hands.
"Then take off the glove, dear," I sweetly suggest. He grumbles, and I back off a little. "Is there something wrong with your hand? If there is, then you can keep it on."
He slides it off, revealing the ordinary. "Nope, see, it's perfectly fine."
"Then why--"
"I'm just a bit difficult sometimes, Ma'am." He tosses his glove onto the bed and picks up his jacket, buttoning up over his stomach. I leave my gloves on the bed with his. "You do look rather stunning in your dress, though."
I straighten out his lapel and turn the corners of my lips upward. That same weird feeling in my chest, but he's not asking me to go or do anything with him this time. "And you rather striking in your suit." I pat my hands on his chest. "You'll do great."
It was hard to focus during the planning phase last night. No matter how much I tried to push it away, the face of the man from the brig kept invading my head. Constant. Nonstop. Miss Pauling had gotten rid of both him and the guy that was disguised as Bailey during the night, throwing them overboard with the help of Heavy and Sniper. I pulled the trigger. I didn't fight him, I didn't knock him out, I shot him in the head. We never found out if he worked for the Peytons. If he did, I don't think I'd feel any better, but at least I'd know that it was absolutely necessary to do so.
Miss Pauling enters the room, a purple satin dress fitted to her body and flats. I told her not to wear the shrug, but she did anyway to cover her arms, and she reminds me of an English teacher with how long her coat is over her dress. At least it matches. Her hair is slicked back into a bun, as per usual. "Come on, we've gotta go."
"Wait, wait," Sniper stumbles in after her in a brown suit he borrowed from Spy, coming up to me and holding a medical syringe out. "Take this, Luv."
I stare, inscrutable. "Why are you giving me a needle?"
He emphasizes for me to take it. "Self-defense."
"Where would I even put that?" I open my arms and turn around. "I have no pockets, good sir."
"I gave you a garter belt for a reason, Fredrickson," Miss Pauling adds. I give her an equally expressionless face, disappointment as the base. She lifts one side of her dress to her mid-thigh, a gun strapped to her leg. "I'm almost thankful for all of the useless undergarments women wear, it's like having a purse but discreet."
"Would be giving you a handgun, provided I had one. Snipin' and all that," Sniper apologizes, and I exhale. "At the very least, it's got a cover o'er the sharp part 'ere."
Medic takes it from him to inspect. "What did you put in here, Sniper?"
"Grey Death," he says.
"Heroin," I clarify. The two of them look over to me, curious. "Getting your hands on it wasn't the hardest thing to do when I was a teenager." I know the look they're giving me. "Doesn't mean that I shot any up. I'm not based or anything."
"Yes, I was not implying that, I was just a bit surprised that someone who wasn't Sniper or Miss Pauling knew what it was made of," Medic says. "At any rate, this contains lethal amounts of fentanyl, a powerful sedative used most commonly for large animals. Think elephants and hippopotami. Inhaling just a few particles would be extremely damaging, if not as deadly. In the event you should ever need to use this, just pop off the cap, grab ahold of your target-" he places a hand on my shoulder and holds me still, the cap still over the needle, "forcefully insert in the lungs-" he stops short of poking me in the rib cage, "or the neck-" he taps the plastic covering to the crook of my shoulder. "The neck is preferred. Once you've gotten that far, make sure you empty the contents as much as possible and then make your escape to limit the risk of accepting vapors."
"The thigh is also a great mark, but don't make it your first choice, alright?" Sniper adds. Medic takes my hand, places the tube in my palm, and closes my fingers over it. I express disgust, but still accept, bending over to pick up the bottom of my skirt that rests above my knees. I roll it up and sit down on the edge of Medic's bed to slide the weapon in between the fabric and my thigh. Engie helps me stand back up and holds onto me as I step into my black heels, keeping them off as long as I could as stilettos are notorious for immense pain and torture. They're not too tall, but the four inches they add renders me two inches taller than Engie. Sniper glances at me and then Miss Pauling. She lifts an eyebrow at him before he looks at me. "Ain't that a beaut."
We both stare at each other, and I turn around to act as though I'm still over looking Engie. "Thank you."
Medic and Heavy decided to match suits, Heavy in dark pine green and Medic clad in amber brown. We head out into the hallway, the rest of our team joining us in the corridor. Spy secures his ski mask and checks his watch.
"Bonsoir, looking sharp. Any moment now, they will be leaving their estate. We shall go in and secure the money, Pyro setting up a self-contained fire in one of the cabanas on deck to distract from the murders once the money is safe. Whatever unfolds at that conference of yours rests within your hands. Scout and Soldier will be your back up when the general population of the ship arrives with the juvenile dance the cruise has chosen to prepare. Demoman is providing clean up."
"Make sure you guys do this quietly," Miss Pauling warns, turning to Scout. "Did you hear me? Quietly."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Scout agrees. "Don't worry Miss P, we've got this. By the way, you're looking super sexy in that dr--"
"Don't be late when nine rolls around, we'll need the cover. Everyone go get into place, we'll be in the ballroom. Spy, you already know to check in with me at five so we can relay information before you get the ball rolling," Miss Pauling pulls close the opening to her shrug and nods, no words being exchanged but a unanimous glance amongst our small crowd signifies that we're ready. Engie turns his elbow outward, my hand being higher up his arm than what I expected with our adjusted height difference. My heels clack as we walk to the lobby, passing through to get to the staircase in the other hall of cabins. A pair of men see us walk by, and I slowly pull my hand out from Engie's arm until he pulls me back. Medic and Heavy link arms like we do, Sniper and Miss Pauling keeping their distance from one another.
Sniper obviously doesn't like unnecessary contact, and I understand where Miss Pauling is coming from to not be perceived as with a man. Our two other teammates are delighted as they travel together, their fingers intertwining while holding a contained conversation. There's a warm feeling in my heart from seeing them together. Didn't Medic say he has a wife, though?
Stairs have become an inconvenience. I groan. "I'll just take my shoes off."
"Miss, let me help you," Engie offers, moving a hand to my back. I step onto the landing and hold onto his while I lift my leg. "No, Miss Fredrickson, dear, just let me help up."
"No, no, I got it, it'd just be easier to take them off," I say, reaching for them again.
"Fredrickson, keep your shoes on," Miss Pauling finalizes sternly as her flats tap against the stairs.
"We weren't evolved to wear those specific kinds of footwear, Miss Fredrickson. I do suggest learning through suffering," Medic calls down to me from the top as Heavy and Sniper open the door. Miss Pauling is the last one through, and we make it to the entrance of the ballroom. People of all different kinds of backgrounds mill about and socialize to the best of their ability, despite the many language barriers they are running into. A hostess leads the six of us over to a table that has a small card in the center. TF INDUSTRIES. Medic beckons a server over and takes a glass of champagne from his platter, Miss Pauling following suit. I take one, the rest of our party declining. The German lifts his glass gently and speaks sotto voce. "To our new team member's first contract."
Miss Pauling crosses her arms and swirls her glass. "To not screwing this up." I remain silent and take a nervous sip. Miss Pauling puts the rim to her lips. "Go make nice and try to find out information on the Peytons' whereabouts. The pamphlet says they'll be making an appearance."
"Miss Fredrickson, this way," Engie says. He and I approach a gathering, fitting in once we strike up a conversation with a woman dressed in Kente cloth and another in a sari. "Good evening, ladies."
"सुसंध्या।," the woman in a sari says as she bows. "Namaste. Good evening to you. I am Priyanka Kapoor, a social services worker."
"I am Samia Mensaa, a journalist diplomat from Ashantiland. You may know this land as Ghana now," the African woman introduces herself with a smile. My cheeks feel slightly warm. She's really pretty.
"Mona Fredrickson," I hesitantly start, shakily bowing back. "Good evening. I am a secretary working for Reliable Excavations Demolition."
"TF Industries?" Priyanka asks for confirmation. I nod, and she gives Samia a relieved look. "We are associates. You must be Dell Conagher, sir?"
"Yes, Ma'am, that'd be me," Engie places his hand over the one I still have on the inside of his elbow. His right hand is significantly colder than his left.
Samia runs her fingers along one of her long earrings. "We don't know of each other's objectives, and that is perhaps for the best so we don't confuse each other. If you ever need backup, though, I'd be willing to offer help as a pyro."
"As am I," Priyanka seconds. "I would aid as a spy."
"That'd be appreciated. If you need anything, you'd be talking to me or the lady in purple over there," I inform, pointing to Miss Pauling who sits at the table alone.
"We should not congregate," Priyanka says. "Perhaps we shall meet again another time." She and Samia go their separate ways, and I drink more champagne to try and loosen up a bit. I'm in too deep; I can't escape this job. Already am I meeting mercenaries from other teams with the slight chance that we'll have to coordinate to kill more than two people tonight. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Engie looks up at me.
"Everything alright?" He asks.
"Yeah, don't worry," I claim. He expresses concern but goes on to mingle with me at his side. He gets a few odd looks, and I tack it onto his goggles rather than the person he chose to have at his side. Sniper stays silent in discussions, idling by and picking up on anything he hears. Medic is clearly a social butterfly, talking for both him and Heavy as he seems to be detailing how the two of them met, getting bits of information from everyone in the process to determine if they're a friend or not.
"Mrs. Conagher?" The man Engie is talking to calls my attention and I purse my lips.
"Oh, oh, we're--" I awkwardly chuckle, one of the triplets presented in front of me. I step closer to Engie. "Yes?"
"I was saying that it was nice meeting you two," he reiterates, leaving with who I can assume is his girlfriend who eyes me down as if we both know why we're here.
"Miss, you've been more than a bit absent all day, you sure you're okay?"
I nod, setting my glass down on a server's tray when he offers to take it from me. Microphone feedback squeals and a woman directs us to take a seat at our designated tables. Engie takes my shawl from me, lays it on the back of my chair, and pushes it in for me when I sit down, Heavy giving Medic the same treatment. Miss Pauling sits on my other side, Sniper sitting next to her and Heavy following after.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the MC begins. "Welcome to the fifth annual Progressive Partners conference aboard the Sangria Sanctum. Every single one of our speakers tonight has a distinguished background of merit and accomplishments that include furthering the world's technology and strengthening bonds between nations. This is a night to share ideas and to take home knowledge that your fellow upstanding leaders are willing to share. Please welcome our first speaker from Beijing, China. He has been to North Korea on diplomatic work to smooth over tension. Premier of the People's Republic of China, Li Jie."
Miss Pauling taps my arm and widens her eyes. I stand up with her, quietly excusing ourselves and walking over to the exit to get back to the hall. The sun outside is setting and it's gotten colder without my covering. Miss Pauling pulls me over to a sitting area and seats us on the sofa, Spy uncloaking in the armchair across from us. He looks up from his watch, folding his legs and putting his head in his hand. "Everything is set up. We have run into a bit of an issue, though. A portion of the money is located within the woman's wing of the spa and they evidently have guard dogs that have proven to be able to smell testosterone."
"That's new," Miss Pauling conveys surprise. "Who tested that theory?"
"We were about to send in Scout but an unrelated pervert did that for us. Let me just say that he will more than likely never start a family if he hasn't already."
"These guys also cut off Soldier's hand as a warning, and we were told that they're a bit mad in the head," I remind them of what we're dealing with.
Miss Pauling sucks in her lips. "Even though Pyro's also cut off hands as warnings, the dog is a bit brutal. I'll go investigate."
"Taking care of casualties will maybe take some time, but we will be secured by nine."
"Good. Once all of that is done, I'll give you the okay to start making decisions. Fredrickson, I'm leaving this in your hands," Miss Pauling counts on me, Spy cloaking and pitter-pattering to his objective. Miss Pauling squints at me. "I know that look, Fredrickson. Do not tell me you're giving up."
"I'm not," I argue. "This is stressful, is all."
"I don't care," she aggressively admits. "You wanted this job, you're getting this job. I know I was going easy on you before, but that's not an option here. We can't let this go by just because you had a change of heart. Get it done, Fredrickson. Also, don't tell Heavy about the dog. Trust me, just don't even think about the dog near him."
She leaves me alone with my thoughts in the sitting room. The pressure is settling in. It's crushing my chest and making me feel weaker and weaker with each passing second. The only way we'd be able to complete this op is if one of the other guys do it. It can't be me. I physically can't bring myself to do it. Yes, I feel bad about shooting that man now, but at the time I didn't even feel anything. The shock of realizing I had that ability inside of me numbed the guilt. All of it is too much to bear, and I'm regretting accepting this job for the second time. Engie comes out of the ballroom looking for me, sitting down next to me, and asking me what's wrong. I don't answer. He looks disappointed in my unwillingness to speak my mind to him. He moves closer to me. "C'mon. Tell me."
"Tell you what?" I speak in a quiet volume.
"Remember what I said about slippin'?" He folds his hands in his lap. "Tell me what's wrong." I shake my head. "I'll just pester ya all night if that's what it'll take."
I exhale, knowing that that was a promise. "I shot a man yesterday."
"You're upset over the Peytons?"
"No, I just shot a person. Just a guy. It wasn't clear if he was working for the Peytons, but I just shot him. I killed him. Square in the head and I didn't even notice that I was doing it until he was already gone," I recount, my throat becoming dry and tightening. "And I know I shouldn't feel bad because then it'll get in the way of the job, but I still feel horrible. That's someone's life I took, Dell. I was the direct cause of it."
"It's perfectly fine to feel glum about something like that."
"But it isn't," I sniff, heat rising to my cheeks. My voice gets weaker as I prattle on, getting harder and harder to speak to him clearly. "I'm going to screw up our entire plan should it come down to me to end it. I don't kill people, I only injure them. I don't- I don't kill people. God, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" I laugh and wipe my eyes. "It's the same reason you got shot, right? Just because I didn't want to shoot and kill someone, I almost got you four killed."
He sits quietly as I try to hold back the waterworks and spare him the sorry display. He reaches over and pulls me into a hug. "You're just doing your best, dear." I hug him back, tears threatening to burst if I don't. "There's nothing I can say to make that feeling go away, Mona, but I want to let you know that that's what makes you human. You may think yourself weak, but a couple of ruffians like ourselves needs a beautiful soul like yours around to keep some trace of compassion left in us. Day in and day out of doing things like this takes a toll on ya, darling."
He holds onto me while I take the time to collect myself. "It does, doesn't it?"
"I love having you here, darling. You may not like it too much now, but you might come around later. I hope you do, we haven't had a new face around here in six years, and the last one to join was Scout," Engie chuckles. "Gets old real quick. Well, Pyro technically came two years ago, but he's not much of a ruckus. A kind and caringly lovely little lady like yourself changes the scenery up, though."
I can't help but let out a weak laugh at his unorthodox approach at comforting me. It secures me, even if I only feel about three percent less horrible for what I did or what I'm about to do. That's his whole thing, isn't it? Dropping little words of encouragement through flattery to get me where I need to be. He's kind to me, has been from the start. I hug him tighter, and he quietly chuckles.
"Alright, I love ya, too, Accomplice."
I smile. Love. Doubt still pools in my stomach, but the weight of it lifts if only just a little. A couple walks by, and I straighten myself out by letting go of him. "Thank you, Engie."
He stands up and pulls me up with him putting his arm around my waist to lead me back into the ballroom. "C'mon, let's go get this thing over with."