"You are a tough woman, yeah? Please, please hold on for me, Saint..."
"You're not getting rid of me so easily, silly..." She barely managed to speak, blood spewing out of her mouth as she smiled at the masked man. "It's okay. I'll be... Just fine."...
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Ana De Armas. V. "Saint" - 11/13/1994.
"COME ON, SAINT, you know a lot about medicine, you're multilingual, you fight like Van Damme, so why don't you participate in this?" Marina exclaimed, her Russian accent strong. The woman in front of her sighed, clutching the rifle that hung around her torso.
"Why can't you understand, Marina?" Saint took a few steps forward, now standing directly in front of Marina, her eyes blank. "I wasn't supposed to be transferred to any force in the next four months. I've had enough of this man's bullshit, and I could definitely benefit from some therapy if we want to continue going on missions."
Saint's voice was hoarse from the hours she had spent standing up for herself. She liked Laswell, she really did, but the woman did not treat her fairly in the office, instead siding with Shepherd on the issue, which enraged the girl.
On top of that, Marina was pressuring her to go on the mission because, you see, she thinks it'll be fun. Marina was undoubtedly a tough soldier, but did she ever take shit seriously? No. Everything was a game to her, and it would get her into a lot of trouble one day.
Saint recalls slamming her portfolio against the general's table, how crushed she felt when she realized there was no point in resisting - the man wouldn't let her back out of the mission. She wasn't even told which force she was about to join.
"Lt., you must be ready by 5 a.m. The next time you try to argue with me, I'm not going to let it slide."
His obnoxious croaky voice rang in her head, and Saint could swear that it took everything she had not to punch him in the face right then and there.
"It's up to you, rodnaya (dear), but I would be delighted to have you with us on this mission," Marina said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. "You are a very, very talented warrior, I hope you know that." She smiled at the shorter woman before slowly walking away.
Saint remained motionless, her eyes blurred as she stared at her combat boots, fingers tracing patterns on her weapon's leathered belt. Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she knew she had to go. She wanted Shepherd to pay for his actions, though, and she knew deep down that she'd be the one to overcome him one day.
—
Saint rested on her neatly tucked sheets, staring at the ceiling above, as dawn approached. Her heart was heavy as she pondered the coming days. She couldn't help but suspect that something bad was waiting for her in them. She moved her gaze to the wall-mounted watch.
It was time to leave, and she knew that as soon as she stepped out of her apartment, she'd have to put on an act, pretending she wasn't nervous, because that's her reputation. Saint sat up on the bed, rubbing her eyes before droopily standing up. She exhaled sharply, looking to her right only to see her reflection glaring back at her. She wished people would consider how she felt, more.
Saint made her way to the front door and, after taking one last look at her apartment and wondering if faith would be benevolent enough to allow her come back home, she departed, immediately noticing a black SUV waiting ahead.
