V i p e r || J. Seresin

A Dumbass

Mojave Desert, California

Like many summer days in southern California the sun beats down on the pavement outside the hanger where an older plane lies still. The door to the hanger cracked open where the sun mocks a muscled woman working on her two thousand eight chevrolet camaro. Touching up underneath her red car with a black racing stripe, sweat drips down her focused features.

Her naturally long brown hair is pulled into a loose braid draping over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes don't leave the mess underneath her car as her hands continue to pack on grease. Sliding from underneath her beauty she grabs hold of a dry towel wiping her hands.

Walking over to the sink in her humble abode nearest to her partners work space she washes her face washing away the grease and sweat. She glances back into the structure leaning against the door frame with her arms folded in front of her. A small smile spreads across her face as she watches a man she's very comfortable with work on his airplane.

She walks over to his work space admiring all the many photos he has put up over his lifetime but mainly one in particular. Her smile falls while looking at the man with a mustache and dirty blonde hair. She sighs heavily.

The man walks behind her wrapping an arm around her shoulders making her shrug. His green eyes pierce hers as his tall figure towers over her. He gestures kindly behind him to which the woman follows silently. The two pulled off a tarp uncovering an old kawasaki motorcycle. With a smile the two pile onto the bike adding the girl's classic sunglasses to shade her eyes and head out.

Getting closer to the base the girl takes in the sign in front of them reading: Forbidden Zone Authorization to Use Deadly Force. She chuckles to herself reading the sign as they enter through the gates.

Devyn's POV:

Entering the hanger the two of us climb off the bike and walk up to a group of men. "Hey," the man beside me says with a smile, "what is it? What?"

A taller man with darker skin folds his arms in front of him with a frown plastered on his face. A look of disbelief, more like. "We've been ordered to stand down, descrap the program. They say we fell short, the threshold is mach ten."

I shake my head at the news. I say, "Mach ten is supposed to be in two months. Todays test point is mach nine."

"Well, that's not good enough."

The man beside me raises a brow. "Says who?"

"Admiral Cain," a skinny white boy with nerdy glasses proclaims.

"The drone ranger, he wants our budget for his own man program."

"He's on his way to kill the test and shut us down personally."

Everyone looks to the guy next to me, including myself. We all dreadfully wait for an answer. His eyes circle the floor and the length of the plane thinking about the process he has made as he thinks thoughtfully, biting the inside of his lip. At last he perks up, letting out a small sigh with a shit eating grin. "Well he isn't here yet." I quirk a brow at him. "He wants mach ten? Let's give him the mach ten."

I smile at the thought. Everyone walks their separate ways preparing for the flight that's about to happen. In the meantime I follow my green eyed twin around watching as he is preparing to fly solo. He does short training exercises for breathing while also getting in gear.

We're walking out onto the main floor where he will sit in the Dark Star. "Let me inform you again. The deal is for the mach ten. Not ten point one, not ten point two. mach ten. This should keep the program alive." Hondo, as I learned his name a while back, looks at him. "I don't like that look, Mav."