Wanderer 2.0, Book 1 Of The Wanderer Series

14 • This is How We Are

(A/N: trying a new format. Let me know if you guys prefer it this way or the way I usually format. I've also been using my laptop to write instead of my phone like I've done in the past. Android just isn't creator friendly and the switch from IOS to Android has been one of the main reasons my writing hasn't been as frequent this year. As soon as I can afford it I'm switching back. Let me know if the paragraphs are reader friendly or not. It's harder to judge that with a bigger screen.)

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𝙺𝚢𝚘𝚝𝚘, 𝙹𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚗
𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝙰𝚐𝚘
𝙼𝙴𝚂𝙺𝙰𝙳𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴
𝟷𝟸: 𝟷𝟻 𝙰.𝙼.

Gabriella and I watch from near the riverside as the Kyoto police raid the warehouse where our mark had hidden away a shipment of illegal military grade weaponry. From what Declan has uncovered, Matsumoto Tokimasa had been in the process of selling this to an underground terrorist group in upper Asia before we'd stepped in and ruined it all. It's not an uncommon process. Crime lords help one another like this all the time for the right price.

It's getting late and a misting rain that's lingered for the past two hours has seeped through my clothes to chill me to the bone. It takes a lot of effort to not shiver and cuss in front of the police force we turned everything over to. Gabriella has no such qualms about showing weakness as a woman around so many men. She's holding herself together, glowering out at them as she shivers like a chihuahua. Her hat even sulks under the weight of the rain, adding to the image. Leave it to her to maximize her moods with her surroundings.

My eyes scan the police as they move swiftly to empty the building of the contraband and boxes of paperwork that will likely lead to his downfall. Their flashing lights beam across the wet concrete, nearly blinding me with the glow and making it hard to get a good visual. On their knees to the left of the chaos, are three men with their wrists cuffed behind their backs. One of the cops paces behind them with his rifle in hand. The youngest, no older than twenty, glares hatefully at any cop that gets in his line of sight. The other two are solemn and tight-lipped.

The guy my age turns his sights on us when he fails to get a reaction from the nearby police. His glare intensifies, particularly when we lock eyes. I stare him down, refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction, and keep my face unreadable. His scowl deepens until there's a deep wrinkle between his brows.

There's always a risk of retaliation when we do any sort of field work. Foiling plans well laid usually pisses them off. Often, when I make eye contact with them like this, I can't help but wonder if this is the face that will end me one day in the future - if this is the person who'll look me in the eyes as they pull the trigger and take me out. Will I see that brief flicker of satisfaction and gratifying vengeance before I'm fully gone? Will they grab a bite to eat like nothing ever happened right after while my body rots in a gutter somewhere? Will everything I've accomplished, everything that I am and all that I have touched in my life, end in a mystery likely to never be solved? Will I be just another cold case Youtubers tell their viewers about for years to come - summed up as a face and a name and a few sweet sentiments captured by my loved ones?

"A gentleman would offer a coat or umbrella. These imbeciles wouldn't know chivalry if it shot them in the foot," Gabriella grumbles out with a pout. My lips twitch in amusement as I look away from the younger man and back to the wide-open double doors that go into the warehouse. Radio chatter and impromptu overhead lighting set up by the police force come from within there. One of the men detained had managed to cut off the power supply to the building before we could fully go in and take them down.