Chapter 17, A day to forget

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A/N: Please remember to vote! I hate asking, but I do appreciate all the support

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A/N: Please remember to vote! I hate asking, but I do appreciate all the support.

A/N: Please remember to vote! I hate asking, but I do appreciate all the support

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Once I'm dressed for the day, I turn to the mirror in my room. Usually, I prefer blazers and tailored pants, but today is different. Instead, I'm wearing a bulletproof vest underneath my matte grey jacket. A silver brooch in the shape of a downwards arrow is pinned above my heart. The South used to have a yellow arrow that represented them but since we're Southern Sterling now, it's a silver arrow. Further down, I'm wearing tight black pants that still allow me to move comfortably and combat boots with steel tips. My accessories include two Smith and Wesson handguns strapped to my thighs, an AK-12 automatic rifle secured on my back and two Glock 17 pistols tucked into the shoulder pouches of my gun harness. For good measure, I made sure to have a machete strapped to my boot.

Ready to wage war, I stare at the thing in the mirror.

It's times like these when it feels wrong to refer to myself as a girl, or even a person. I'm a leader. A weapon. And today, I'll be death itself.

My hair is mousy as always. I've considered dyeing it, but I'm scared of messing it up and I don't trust hair salons. I'd be too vulnerable sitting in a chair with myself facing away from the people doing my hair. One of them could easily be a hired assassin that slits my throat. I tilt my head - examining my face. I'm not ugly. But I'm not pretty either. I'm forgettable - which can be used as a great advantage, but it does make me kind of wish I could go get my eyebrows done or have someone show me how to properly put makeup on. I kind of wish I didn't kill my mom.

A sudden knock on the door gets me to turn away from the thing in the mirror.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"It's Kyle," my co-leader answers, "Do you have a minute?"

Tik-tik.

I sigh and go to sit on my bed. "Come in. I wanted to discuss the plan with you in anyway."

Kyle opens the door and walks in. It's the first time he's in my room and his expression is about the same as everyone else's when they see my minimalistic tastes.

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