Alliance || 1 || ✔️ mature

01 | Eleven

Rule number one; Do what you love and love what you do.

"Fuck!"

The bullet hisses as it flies past my face, the object skimming my cheekbone, my eyes widen and a chorus of mumbled swears leave my lips, but I push the near-miss to the side. Breathing in harshly from exertion, sweat beading along my hairline.

I shoot a glance over my shoulder, fingers flexing around my weapon as another shot goes off, bullet aimed for me. Hissing, I throw myself to the floor, knees groaning in pained objection as I land behind the stone pillar, the object blocking me from sight. I quickly fix myself into a crouch.

My chest moves with every breath, heart pounding in my ears as silence reigns supreme.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

My eyes squeeze tightly, the cut above my brow stings at the movement, blood blooming.

Wincing, my eyes snap open, glaring at my glossy reflection in the tiled wall across from me. The blood smear stark against the cream tiles, the only sign of grime on the polished hue.

The scuffle of feet ensues, and I take the moment to glance around the side of the stone, dark eyes analysing, searching.

The cold handle of my daggers warm under my grip, my fingers flexing around the twin weapons. I breath out roughly, feeling the blood from the cut slip down my cheekbone. I wipe it away with the back of my hand as my eyes flicker to the right, narrowing.

A bullet fires past my hiding spot, indenting itself in the tiled wall behind me. I flatten myself against the pillar as the wall behind my explodes with more bullets, fragments of the ceramic scatter to the wind, shards dropping to the ground in dagger like points, the tinkling sound grating on my senses.

Deep breath in.

My head falls back into the pillar behind me for all of a second, the harsh ridges of the carving digging into my shoulder blades like claws as I slowly breathe out. I rest a hand below me, fingers flexing on the floor as I slowly twist in my crouch.

I push myself from the floor, running through the museum.

My body weaves between the circular pillars and marble statues, a parade of bullets trailing me. I dance between the obstacles, skidding to a stop behind a large sculpture, hand skimming the rough marble, leaving blood behind.

I glance down at the blood coating my hands and the scattering of wounds on my knuckles before glancing up at the glass panel I was shoved through, cringing at the knowledge I'll have to pick the glass from the wounds when I'm done.

Note to self, just because a glass panel looks thick, that does not mean it is and you will not bounce off it when shoved.

Tendrils of white-blonde hair escape from my ponytail, landing delicately against my cheeks. I push a piece behind my ear as I glance around the side of the statue.

Eyes watch me back, their painted irises unmoving as my own skim past their framed homes.

Shocked.

Scared.

Sensual.

The artists of the paintings flit through my mind as I look at them, my appreciation for the craft growing. If it were any other day, I would stop and admire them further.

Perhaps a tour after I've washed the blood off.

I dismiss the thought just as something flashes in my peripheral.