𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽

1. Bad Things in the Night Time

He looked through the scope, aiming at the car. It was right there. The target was right there.

He adjusted his grip on the weapon a bit, "Target locked. Team Sparrow is ready. Shall I launch? Waiting for your confirmation."

Scratchy static.

"Is the perimeter clear of the civilians? I need verbal confirmation." Veera refused to let the car out of his sight, staring at it as if that could make it combust on its own. He heard some whispering at the end of their line and clenched his jaw in anticipation.

"East, West, North all clear," The voice shook slightly, something Veera did not miss. Veera furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. What was wrong? He'd gotten this far, and it all led up to this.

"Is the Southern perimeter clear?"

Several beats of silence. He loosened his finger from the trigger, flexing it. Then, his commander's voice, instead of the other man's.

"South point clear. You can launch at the count of three."

"OK, sir,"

"1,"

Veera placed his finger on the trigger once again, lining up his target.

"2,"

One gentle press, and—

"3,"

Boom.

Veera sat up in bed, gasping for air. After blocking the memories out for months, just one dream could bring it all back. He ran a hand through his sweat-filled noir locks, chest heaving. It was still dark, the Chennai sky matching his mood. He leaned over, checking the time. 3:34 AM. He took one last deep breath and carried himself out of bed, making his way to the bathroom. He peeled off his sweaty clothes, throwing them on the floor. There would have been a time when he'd have a designated basket to put his dirty clothes in, in a vain attempt at cleanliness, but not anymore. Those days were gone. That Veera died a long time ago.

He turned the knob for the shower, putting it on the coldest setting. He was so used to his ways as an ex-RAW agent that it was hard to transition back or even remember that long ago time when he used to be human. It was a part of him. Cold showers. Lukewarm rations of food. Waking up at 4:00 AM sharp. Constantly looking over his shoulder. Being the ultimate definition of a soldier. And then, the only thing he lived for, defended and risked his life for, was gone. He didn't know who he was without that rank title before his name.

But he did know that he was cold. The freezing water immediately woke him up, his muscles tensing before relaxing as they went numb, the familiar feeling comforting him somewhat. He rested a hand on the wall, letting his hair get soaked. He pondered if he should bother with the scentless, colorless, life-less soap, then eventually decided for it. He threw about a tablespoon of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner into his hair, barely bothering to massage it in. As he washed it out he closed his eyes, trying to remember the man he was before RAW. A happy-go-lucky young man? A cocky player? A shy nerd? A chivalrous gentleman? It had been a while.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and using another to dry his hair. As he stepped back into the bedroom, his phone started ringing. He let out an annoyed sigh, picking it up. It was an old, old, boss of his, from before he joined RAW. He was an OK guy, but very irritating in that entitled, weird, Indian father-in-law sort of way. Veera did not want to pick up that phone, but he'd promised himself he'd try to put himself out there. Building a life after the military was hard, but after doing what he had done, it was even harder.