agent [ reader x zussman ]

• v •

The sweet and oh-so-familiar sound of machine gun fire in the distance stirs you awake in the early morning, just before the sun crests above the rooftops of the rubbled buildings around you. Today was to be a long day, and possibly one of the most important days of the beginnings of your career.

You hadn't made the journey from England for no reason, nor did you come just to fight alongside the American troops. While on the exterior, you could be mistaken for any soldier. However, you have to remind yourself why you're really here: you are to gather intel and report back to Major Crowley.

Currently, the French town of Marigny is packed to the brim with German soldiers of all ranks, from the lowest cannon fodder to the high ranking commanders. They've been hunkered down for a long while in this little town, surely there is some intel hiding somewhere. Whether or not you can find it, or if it useful or not if you do find it, is a completely different story.

You interlace your fingers and stretch your arms out in front of you, flipping your palms away from your chest. Your neck and shoulders ache, your lower spine popping with ache. Sleeping against a wall on the cold ground isn't exactly ideal sleeping arrangements. You go to get up off the ground but you cringe as pain shoots through your leg, reminding you to redress the gash in your thigh.

You swipe the wound clean with iodine and press a new bandage onto the surface. You tape the edges, making sure the glue adheres to your skin. You pull your pant leg back down and stand up, the wound feeling much cleaner.

Gathering your things up into your bag, you take a quick look around the room to make sure you haven't left anything behind, as clearly you won't be returning to your single-night abode. You spot Daniels passed out in the wooden chair he had been sitting in the night before. Zussman is still sitting on the ground, his rifle against his shoulder, muzzle up, and his helmet slid down his nose and across his eyes.

With all your things in your bag, you quietly walk down the stairs as to not wake anyone. You're up early, the first few glints of morning barely cresting the rooftops and the last painting of stars still littering the dawn sky.

Stepping out into the main yard, you shiver, and pull your jacket closed across your chest. Even though it is late July, the damp morning air still bites at your cheeks and turns your fingertips icy. You take a sip from your canteen before cleaning off your hands with the rest of the contents. There's a working well in the village, perfect for fresh water.

You head over to where you had spotted the well the day prior and stop when you spot a small bird, a tiny brown feathered creature with a brilliant red underside, perched on the edge of the stone of the well. In front of the bird is Stiles, his camera held up in front of his eye, taking pictures of the bird in the early sunrise.

"You're up early." You note quietly as to not scare the bird away. Stiles hardly moves or acknowledges that you're there. Rather, he takes the picture, the flash lighting up the bird's silhouette. The clicking of the camera and the blinding flash startles the bird, the little wings spreading as it takes off into the air.

Stiles looks down at the photo slowly printing out of the camera before looking up and responding. "Aiello's snoring kept me up." He excuses with a chuckle, waiting for the film to develop in his hands. The image of the little bird begins to show up, the colour of the photograph not doing justice to its beautiful and fiery chest. "European robin. Beautiful creature, great for the camera." Stiles explains, handing you the picture so you can see it more closely.

Upon examination, the image is clear and crisp, despite the ill lighting and the fidgeting of the small bird. "You're quite good with a camera." You compliment. "These are like the birds that nest outside of my apartment. They leave every once in a while, but always return." You recollect, gently handing the photo back over to Stiles, careful to not touch the glossy surface with your fingertips.