No Regrets Chapter 1 (Danger Prone 2)
The striking similarity of Andy's past and Damian's will probably arouse some questions. They will probably be answered in the later installments.
A secluded mind like Scarlet's often went unnoticed, emotions sheltered behind years of regret and solitude. Despite how much she wanted to believe, how much she wanted to tell herself she didn't need other people nor wish to be acquainted with them, she could still not deny the fact that she always felt alone and longed for some one-anyone-to be around; even if it was someone she hated. Her father knew she was a bad seed from the start, watching her destroy the environment around her, going to larger scales as she grew older and older. She always hated her family. Her father, her mother, her nine year old cousin, but she soon came to realize how much she needed them; how worthless and full of despair she was without someone by her side. She was fourteen at the time her family was killed.
No car accident, no murders, and no suicides. She had set fire to her own house just to watch it burn, just to watch her family suffer, observing them as they screamed for help. Before she had left, she had taken a picture with her, to remember the times in her life when she actually felt loved. Her desire to kill had nearly driven her to the brink of insanity when someone had found her on the streets and took her in, teaching her how to control her anger and use it to help suppress gang violence. At fifteen years of age, she had started her career as a vigilante; it hadn't taken her long to get used to wielding a gun, although her lack of experience and self-control had caused her to shoot her own guardian at times. It was on the day of her sixteenth birthday her life had taken on an entirely new path. One where she would find her true meaning.
Scarlet drew her gun and stepped inside the warehouse. She knew her target was in here; it was like any other assignment. She knew what she was doing. It was entirely empty. She edged forward, remembering to take cover even when it didn't seem like anyone was around. Better safe than sorry. One of the first things she had learned. She took another step forward and-a bullet slammed into the ground, nearly tearing a hole in her foot. Her head snapped up to see a man on the second floor operating a deployable sniper rifle. She was about to raise her gun when she found herself surrounded, men converging from all sides. Swearing briefly, she fired at the circuit box, shorting out the lights. It was as black as pitch and bullets went off in rapid succession. She stepped around a fork lift and crawled under a small space created at the bottom of a wooden crate in front of her. It was one of the first times she'd every panicked in her entire life, keeping her back pressed against the wall of the crate, hoping she wouldn't die.
The boss was furious, his entire warehouse enveloped in darkness. "I really need to get some goddamn flares sometime," he growled, drawing his own weapon.
The lights flickered. Scarlet drew back further, her eyes darting around the small wooden space. They'd find her eventually. She could only hope for the best as she controlled her breathing, careful not to give away her position. For every assignment, she hand carved the name of her target. The name engraved on the bullet she was now holding in her hand read BOSS. She supposed she'd never be able to use it. What a shame.
She saw a head appear from the opening at the other end of the crate. She raised her gun. "Give me some fucking privacy." She pulled the trigger, killing him instantly. She emerged from the crate, firing as fast as her finger could pull the trigger. A rain of bullets tore up her body, sending her falling to the floor in a bloody heap. It only took a couple of seconds for her to black out completely.
A stuttering light woke her, pain spreading throughout her entire body as she tried to get up. No such luck. She couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember what had happened the previous day nor the day before that. She couldn't even remember her own name. She rubbed her eyes, the world around her clearing up drastically.
She stared into the smiling face of an elderly man; he must've been around fifty to sixty years old. "Who are you?" The man simply extended his hand. She hesitated. Who was this man? What happened? Sighing, she took his hand as he helped her up. She repeated her question. "You don't remember me?" he asked, severe concern in his voice. Apparently he was shocked to hear those words coming out of her mouth. "I'm your father, Andy!" Her head was pounding; she tried to impede her headache but it would not cease. "Andy? I'm...Andy?"
The man nodded. "That's right. You got into an accident. You can't remember things clearly because you've had an accident. Car." She tried to remember what had happened but that only increased the severity of her migraine. "And...you're...my father?" The man nodded again. "Yes, but you can call me boss. You've always called me boss." A bright image flashed through Andy's mind. A bullet. A bullet with a word engraved into it. BOSS. She took a deep breath. "Boss...I-I think someone wants to hurt you. I saw your name. It was on the surface of a-" The man shushed her. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me." Her father embraced her, Andy accepting the hug warmly. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so nice.
The boss sat up straight again and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them. "Look-there's something very important you have to do. Something for your father." Boss placed a gun in her hand. Somehow, she recognized it as a modified Beretta 92FS. She had no idea why she would know something like that but accepted the gun. "What's this for?" The boss laughed. "What's it for? That's like asking me what shoes are for." Good point, Andy thought. "You want me to kill someone? With this?" The boss nodded. "Yes. You've done it plenty of times before. I'll give you a card. It has all the information about the target that you will need. Don't ask questions, just do as I say. Okay?" Andy nodded, pocketing the weapon. The boss pulled it out of her pocket and gave her holster. "No, no, no. This is where the gun belongs. Don't lose it. While you're off, daddy's got some things to do. Come back when you're done. Oh, and actually; don't call me boss. Sir will be fine." Andy nodded. "Sir."
No car accident, no murders, and no suicides. She had set fire to her own house just to watch it burn, just to watch her family suffer, observing them as they screamed for help. Before she had left, she had taken a picture with her, to remember the times in her life when she actually felt loved. Her desire to kill had nearly driven her to the brink of insanity when someone had found her on the streets and took her in, teaching her how to control her anger and use it to help suppress gang violence. At fifteen years of age, she had started her career as a vigilante; it hadn't taken her long to get used to wielding a gun, although her lack of experience and self-control had caused her to shoot her own guardian at times. It was on the day of her sixteenth birthday her life had taken on an entirely new path. One where she would find her true meaning.
Scarlet drew her gun and stepped inside the warehouse. She knew her target was in here; it was like any other assignment. She knew what she was doing. It was entirely empty. She edged forward, remembering to take cover even when it didn't seem like anyone was around. Better safe than sorry. One of the first things she had learned. She took another step forward and-a bullet slammed into the ground, nearly tearing a hole in her foot. Her head snapped up to see a man on the second floor operating a deployable sniper rifle. She was about to raise her gun when she found herself surrounded, men converging from all sides. Swearing briefly, she fired at the circuit box, shorting out the lights. It was as black as pitch and bullets went off in rapid succession. She stepped around a fork lift and crawled under a small space created at the bottom of a wooden crate in front of her. It was one of the first times she'd every panicked in her entire life, keeping her back pressed against the wall of the crate, hoping she wouldn't die.
The boss was furious, his entire warehouse enveloped in darkness. "I really need to get some goddamn flares sometime," he growled, drawing his own weapon.
The lights flickered. Scarlet drew back further, her eyes darting around the small wooden space. They'd find her eventually. She could only hope for the best as she controlled her breathing, careful not to give away her position. For every assignment, she hand carved the name of her target. The name engraved on the bullet she was now holding in her hand read BOSS. She supposed she'd never be able to use it. What a shame.
She saw a head appear from the opening at the other end of the crate. She raised her gun. "Give me some fucking privacy." She pulled the trigger, killing him instantly. She emerged from the crate, firing as fast as her finger could pull the trigger. A rain of bullets tore up her body, sending her falling to the floor in a bloody heap. It only took a couple of seconds for her to black out completely.
A stuttering light woke her, pain spreading throughout her entire body as she tried to get up. No such luck. She couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember what had happened the previous day nor the day before that. She couldn't even remember her own name. She rubbed her eyes, the world around her clearing up drastically.
She stared into the smiling face of an elderly man; he must've been around fifty to sixty years old. "Who are you?" The man simply extended his hand. She hesitated. Who was this man? What happened? Sighing, she took his hand as he helped her up. She repeated her question. "You don't remember me?" he asked, severe concern in his voice. Apparently he was shocked to hear those words coming out of her mouth. "I'm your father, Andy!" Her head was pounding; she tried to impede her headache but it would not cease. "Andy? I'm...Andy?"
The man nodded. "That's right. You got into an accident. You can't remember things clearly because you've had an accident. Car." She tried to remember what had happened but that only increased the severity of her migraine. "And...you're...my father?" The man nodded again. "Yes, but you can call me boss. You've always called me boss." A bright image flashed through Andy's mind. A bullet. A bullet with a word engraved into it. BOSS. She took a deep breath. "Boss...I-I think someone wants to hurt you. I saw your name. It was on the surface of a-" The man shushed her. "It's alright. You don't have to tell me." Her father embraced her, Andy accepting the hug warmly. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so nice.
The boss sat up straight again and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them. "Look-there's something very important you have to do. Something for your father." Boss placed a gun in her hand. Somehow, she recognized it as a modified Beretta 92FS. She had no idea why she would know something like that but accepted the gun. "What's this for?" The boss laughed. "What's it for? That's like asking me what shoes are for." Good point, Andy thought. "You want me to kill someone? With this?" The boss nodded. "Yes. You've done it plenty of times before. I'll give you a card. It has all the information about the target that you will need. Don't ask questions, just do as I say. Okay?" Andy nodded, pocketing the weapon. The boss pulled it out of her pocket and gave her holster. "No, no, no. This is where the gun belongs. Don't lose it. While you're off, daddy's got some things to do. Come back when you're done. Oh, and actually; don't call me boss. Sir will be fine." Andy nodded. "Sir."
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