[REWRITING] SHOOT TO THRILL ✷ May Parker

01. bang, bang

01. bang, bang
(🕸🧷🎒🤟🏼🕷)
a brooklyn shipyard
ext. night

     GAVIN ADJUSTED THE SCOPE ON his glasses, the shadowy shipyard coming into focus. He was in an awkward spot: belly down on the roof of a shipping container, a maze of rusted metal and abandoned machinery below him. He didn't move, his whole body stock still and just tense. It was almost like there was a floodlight shining right on him—a million little bullet holes piercing his skin.

He knew what it was like to be torn into, but not in a clean way—he'd been ripped.

The darkness that blanketed him had a mind of his own. A few hours into the stakeout, it really started to creep up on him. It wanted him to remember things—everything bad and bloody.

Luckily, Gavin was skilled in the art of forgetting.

A sharp clang came from somewhere to his right. He held his breath in his chest; waiting. Gavin's hand moved to his earpiece, his voice nothing but a strained whisper. "Hill—tell me that was you."

"Sorry," Maria Hill's voice crackled back. "Looks like you've got company. I count two heat signatures. Something's jamming the satellite. Just sit tight, and we can get someone down there." There was a small pause. "If they can keep us in the dark like this, they mean serious business."

     "And whatever they're handling's gotta be heavy duty too," Gavin mused. "We can't wait, though. I'm not letting two months of work go by like that. What's worse is we still don't know who we're dealing with."

     "Which makes them dangerous."

     "Mmhm..." Gavin slid quietly down the side of the container, boots crunching in the dirt.

     "And, you're already goin' after them?" Maria sighed.

     "Yep."

     "Alone?"

"Yep," he repeated, slinking along the metal wall. He reached under his jacket to the small of his back, fingers closing around the grip of his pistol. "Just a little recon—I won't engage." Gavin touched the side of his glasses, switching to infrared. He crept along, holding the pistol up to his cheek. "I'm not getting anything. Are you sure there were two?"

     "Yeah. I just—shit. They were just there. Carver, don't start poking around. Something's not right."

"You're tellin' me," Gavin mumbled, sneaking a glance around a tower of crates. He allowed himself a small smile. "Aw—jeez, you aren't worried about me, are you? That's real sweet."

     "I mean it. Get out of there, seriously—there could be more of them."

     There was a sharp clang, like before, accompanied with low voices. Gavin crouched low to the ground, hand steadying the pistol. He admired Maria's stubbornness—one of her more trademark qualities—but only up until a point. Gavin would and could play the good little soldier, nodding along with a careful, directed obedience—when he wanted to.