(Trigger warnings: mentions of death, guns)
The first time I died, there wasn't a lot of fanfare about it.
"Eat lead, scumbags!"
It took the only other person at my house a full day to notice her one-year-old was missing, then ten minutes to decide I was dead. My aunt told me the story when I was older, how it had taken her all of half an hour of asking around to find me. I was in a crate that had somehow made its way to the Voicecatcher bazaar, in a discount jewelry stall. She returned me to my mother, and that was that.
Death. Interesting, isn't it? The only constant in life. It's always there. Like a sword hanging above your head. If you make one wrong move, it falls. Maybe it's a wraith. Clinging to your soul instead of your breath. Waiting for you to slip up and let it in.
It's surrounded me ever since I was born on the Isle of the Lost. I grew up in the central south, Ursula's turf, property of the Voicecatcher. In that place, you can't walk 5 meters without seeing a corpse.
Sounds morbid, but I'm used to it. If you're willing to listen, you'll get useful advice. If there's dead people in an alley, you know to dodge that one. Dead rats near some trash means it's probably not the best food source.
In a battle. To avoid death is an effective strategy when fighting.
It was the second time I died that shit hit the fan. 11 years later.
"Out of the way!"
Everything began the same. I disappeared. But now, someone cared.
Well, lots of people, if you count the ones who kidnapped me. And the one who caused it all.
Mal.
That's right folks, you heard me. The perfect, edgy, compassionate, soon-to-be queen of Auradon. The one who everyone loves and thinks is such an inspiration. I hate her more than anything.
She is great at what she does. I've met no one superior to her at being a sadistic, reckless moron. She is so conniving that she does whatever she wants, yet somehow she makes everyone think she's the purple-haired Messiah of 'The Auradon Ideal of Goodness' or some bullshit.
If you told me you know one person better at that than Mal, I'd hire them on the spot. My social skills aren't great. That's probably the reason this is getting excessive.
"Get your head in the game!"
Back to the whole kidnapping thing.
I'll be honest, it sucks. I won't pretend my life was perfect before, but at least I had a constant place to sleep. And friends who cared if I stumbled off the streets with too many burns, bruises, and cuts to walk straight.
Hey, my life isn't all awful...
Damn. I was hoping I'd come up with something to finish that sentence. And "VK Day" is coming up soon. Which only makes my job that much harder.
Oh. Yeah, I forgot that I've explained very little here. Told you my people skills are bad.
However, dealing with people is a major part of my job. Well, by "job", I mean "things I'm forced to do by my powerful captors". And yes, I mean "dealing with people" in the darkest way possible. However, according to almost everyone, being great at killing people does not qualify as people skills.
"Iraia, what are you doing?"
Oh, right. I'm on a job right now.
"Stop shouting so much, Pyre!" I whisper harshly.
The ginger rolls their eyes, "You're barely doing anything at all! Usually you enjoy this stuff!"
"What, crawling through cold, wet, cramped ventilation shafts with you breathing down my neck?"
"Yes, obviously. Everyone enjoys that," Pyre drawls, rolling their eyes again, "I mean the sneaking around and working from the shadows. Since you're too talented for the real dirty work."
"You are way too loud for these jobs," I mutter.
Me and Pyre are what they call Shadow-Slayers. We're supposed to be as inconspicuous as possible and perform practically any jobs required of us.
"Oh, and you're just a paragon of stoic silence."
"Can you possibly not make snide comments for five minutes?" I grumble as I rip the screws off the vent.
"Oh, of course. You know, as soon as you stop being a stuck-up, absent-minded pain in my ass."
"I'm a pain in your ass?"
"Duck," I shift out of the way just in time as they toss a grenade over my shoulder.
"Fire in the hole," Pyre smiles as I turn to glare at them.
I take a deep breath as I secure the grate as best I can and keep crawling.
"How's your terrible life of captivity treating you?"
"What?" I ask.
They scoff, "Oh, please. You had your 'my life is terrible and I'm brooding' face on."
"I have a brooding face? That you recognize?"
"Of course you have a brooding face. Have you met yourself?"
I pause, "I guess."
"And yeah, I recognize it. You might have forgotten, but we've known each other for years."
"I didn't forget."
"Sure. Now hurry up."
"Right," I pop the grate off as silently as possible, then lean down through the gap. I fire my handgun and hit all three security workers square in the chest before they can even notice what's going on.
I grin. That should be worth at least an extra piece of bread in my rations tonight.
"Aren't you the marksman," Pyre grins sarcastically.
I sigh, "We better get going. Clay and Kritana will expect us out of here soon."
Clay and Kritana. Two of our best snipers, and the two other members of Operative Team 16. Both of them could shoot a running squirrel through the eyes from twenty feet away.
To say that me and my team have a weird relationship would be an understatement. After years of working together, I still can't figure out if we actually care about each other or not. Sure, we'll save each other if we're in danger, but we're just doing our jobs.
And 'jobs' equals the only way to achieve basic means of survival.
Everything in our lives is centered around missions. Going on missions, giving reports on missions, getting however much food and basic hygiene we earned on said missions, and then training for more missions. Keeping the rest of your team alive gets you at least one meal a day.
I place the grate off to the side and swing into the large, now silent room.
"I thought Amara was with us." Pyre says as they drop next to me.
"They decided we could handle this one on our own," I respond as we pop open crates and load up our duffel bags.
Most of the Shadow-Slayers work in teams, but there are a few, like Amara, who fly solo and assist other teams on any difficult missions.
However, this retrieval was turning out to be even simpler than we'd expected.
I can hear rapid gunshots in quick succession outside the building.
"Oh, there it is. Those brain-washed zombies are getting picked off like bugs."
"Yeah," I swing my bag over my shoulder, "That's everything, right?"
"Pretty sure. I'll do one more sweep, you can head out."
"You fine to get out of here on your own?"
They stick up their middle finger as they walk away, and I roll my eyes. I jump back up to the vent and roll into the shaft, swinging the duffel in front of me so I don't crush it. I place my bag on my back as I make my way through the vents and back outside.
About halfway there, I hear a loud crash and an even louder 'Shit!' from behind me. And there's Pyre.
A small smile creeps across my face as I continue towards the now-visible opening in the far wall. Finally, I swing my legs through the open grate and work my way down the brick wall before jumping across the narrow street to the roof of the next building. It only takes me a few minutes to get to the next block and to the top floor of this week's abandoned building.
"Took you long enough," Clay greets as he packs up his sniper.
Clay. One of the more emotionless hitters. Although, I guess most snipers have to be. He's terrifyingly skinny, almost too lightly built to shoot a gun. I'm fairly sure he's never smiled once in his life.
Kritana barely glances at me as she asks, "Where's Pyre?"
Kritana has a practically permanent scowl etched into her face, with premature wrinkles around her chilling, glacier blue eyes. She wants revenge on the entire world for being so awful. She'll stab someone to death with a smile on her face and is one of the most aggressive people I've ever met.
"On their way. They wanted to do an extra sweep," I reply, glancing down to the street, "You got them all?"
"Every single one," Clay says, "Poor bastards never knew what hit 'em."
"What did you grab?" Kritana questions.
I open the duffel bag, "Mostly painkillers. Some vaccines, a few bottles of fever medication. I think Pyre got some guns, probably just for the security people."
"Not that they need them anymore," Kritana grins, "Man, these guys were bastards. They were peddling actual medicine."
"Yeah, we barely get people this bad anymore," Pyre says, stepping into the room.
"Did you find anything else?" I ask.
"Nope. Nothing else worth taking, at least. I lit the place right before I left."
"Great. We're ahead of schedule. Let's head back," Clay commands.
I can't help but stare for a few seconds as flames engulf the building. It's only a matter of time before the whole thing collapses in on itself. I tear my eyes away and follow the rest of my team. Just another day on the Isle of the Lost.