𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕔𝕒𝕥 | 𝟲 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗

10 | A Claw-ful Reunion

It was late the next evening when the lift dinged, announcing a visitor.

They exchanged glances and simultaneously reached for and unholstered their weapons. They weren't expecting guests, and everyone was either present or accounted for.

Three crept forwards and jerked his head at Two. "Watch my back," he mouthed.

Blake took cover behind a steel support beam, ready to jump out and surprise any unwelcome visitor. This could be her chance to prove her loyalty to them; she couldn't screw up. A stray bullet could shatter the image she had been building up over the last week -Two still didn't like her much, but Seven was slowly warming to her and One, Three, and Five were practically in her back pocket. Winning over three out of six wasn't a bad accomplishment.

The others got into position; all guns ready to fire. One had his finger poised over his phone, ready to magnetise... Something, she assumed, that might help them in an emergency.

The doors dinged and she hid behind the column, waiting for the Ghosts' gunfire so she knew if the visitor was friend or foe.

There was a moment of pause where Blake was very tempted to peer out. She kept her hands firmly clasped around the handle of her gun and held her position.

After what felt like a millennium, someone spoke.

"Four?" Five asked unsurely.

She heard a muttered curse from Three, plus footsteps.

"Here, come and sit down."

"Holy shit, he stinks of fucking booze," One complained.

Blake took a sneak peek from behind the column, but she could only see the back of Four's head over the sofa, unkempt dark blond hair pointing every which way as if he hadn't brushed it in a while.

"You lied," came the slurred accusation towards One. "I found you out. No link to Cir-Tech at all."

"Well, thank you for telling me-"

"You fuckin' knew anyways, didn't ya?"

Blake bit the inside of her cheek, calculating how to get back to her room - the door to which was right in Four's line of view - in the best and fastest way. A drunk and accusatory Four was not a good cocktail mix, especially with guns in the room.

"Five, can you get the sleeping pills from the cupboard?" One asked quietly.

"No!" Four got to his feet and swayed, pointing at One. "No more drugs. I don't want drugs. Or alcohol."

"You've definitely had enough alcohol," Three agreed. "Go to bed, Four. Sleep it off."

"No, no I need to catch... Angelica. The Cat. I let her go. Twice," Four complained, a slight wail catching the last syllable. "I'll catch her for you, and you can interrog-"

Seven placed a heavy hand on Four's shoulder. "No, Four, you're staying here. We have it under control."

"Control? She's out there! Like the backstabbing bitch who took the Kalahari...!"

"Bed, now, you moron," One said. "I don't want to have to treat you like a little kid and get Three to carry you."

Three made a face. "Why me?"

"I'm not going to risk him chucking up all over me!"

Four wrinkled his nose, then, frowning, seemed to realise just who would be doing the throwing up. He swayed a little on his feet. "'Lright, I'm going. But we're talking in the mornin'!" He poked a finger at One who just chuckled and batted him away, urging him good-naturedly to "go to bed, already."