Kingsman: The Whiskey Rebellion

Chapter Six

Whiskey and I eventually got back to the Romanov Facility at around midnight after being at the ball for a couple hours. I regretted being back in a normal reality, but I guess being with Whiskey made it better. His presence soothed me and made me feel safe in this dangerous world, which is the best thing that could happen while on this dangerous mission.

After he helped me out of my ball gown, I changed into more comfortable clothes. In this case, it was denim jeans, a black button-down shirt, and gray slippers. I also put on a black-and-gold Timex watch that I received from my grandfather on my seventeenth birthday. It's a treasure that I had with me for a long time, and I intend on keeping it for the rest of my life.

"So what do you think Balor's gonna do next?" I asked, stepping out of the bathroom and back into the main area of the suite.

"Hard tellin'," he responded as he stared blankly ahead. "He's unpredictable, and he's dangerous. Especially considering that he's the one who orders at least five executions a day. If not, more."

I rested my hand underneath my chin, thinking about any theory as to what Balor could be or would be capable of doing. Whiskey was right. Balor was unpredictable, and it was frightening to think about. The things this devilish, disgraced creature could do was absolutely appalling. If I think that what he does in private is frightening, who knows what could happen if he gets his hands on Whiskey and I.

And if Balor ever puts his hands on Whiskey, he'll regret ever being born.

"So we wait until he pounces again. That's our best move, right?"

Whiskey shrugged and turned on the television. "It's the best thing we can do at this point. If we engage him at the wrong time, then Balor can go runnin', and that means we have to start all over again in catching him."

"And if he runs, then we might not see him ever again," I added.

Whiskey held up his hand, signaling me to quiet down. "Well, it looks like we might get our chance," he said as he turned up the volume on the television.

Then there it was. A frightening news report that I never thought I'd ever see. It was like something out of a nightmare.

Hundreds of people are dead after a violent terrorist attack erupted at a town square in Kurgan, Russia today. Authorities are saying that the Hellhound Corps, led by Balor Devlin, is the guilty party responsible for this heinous crime.

I will never forget those words. Those bone-chilling words. These were words that no one should have to hear. They're the kind of words that should only be used to inflict aggressive heartbreak onto someone deserving of such. And not just the normal, emotional kind of heartbreak, no. I also mean the kind where your heart is physically crushed because of someone stabbing a knife right through it. It pains you, and those words sure as hell pained me even though I wasn't involved.

"Shit," I said in a hushed tone. "That's horrible. You think Balor's trying to send us a message?"

"Oh, he definitely is. I've been doing this a long time and know when a terrorist is sending a rebellion group a message," Whiskey answered.

I then got a crazy idea. A crazy, stupid idea. I should have never said the words that came out of my mouth.

"Then, we should go after him."

"No, sugar. We can't go after him yet," Whiskey disagreed. "We don't know he was actually there at the scene of the attack."

"But he had to be nearby in a hidden place in order to orchestrate this," I said back. "It's nearly impossible to be in a whole 'nother town over and successfully organize this tragedy."