The battlefield is genderless. Everyone had their bottom rammed with problems, societal issues, and tragedies. Prolonged wars tend to affect societies near it, for better or worse. Areas near the border are effectively worse than one far away from it.
Two beauties in disguise are currently deployed near Sempadan, within the bounds of The Republic. They are overlooking a weapon facility that was built by Milium in the Grey Zone. A no man's land created through agreements to make sure both country have a safe buffer between each other. Obviously, nothing should be built in it to make sure the area is sterile from each party's involvement. I guess Milium doesn't see the message, it's clear one must suffocate a hornet nest to tame it.
They have been here since a week ago. Rationing their food and water, making sure they are ready as soon as their remote said so.
"Parma, when was the last time remote gave us an ETA?"
"Twelve hours ago. Before you asked, no we can't contact them. We are going dry, that's the requirement."
"This is boring as hell Parma, I've spent all of my life's question on you. At least talk back to me, give me a topi Parma!"
"I'm concentrating. Once again, comms are read only. Do not reply. You are giving our position for free."
The one on the binos is Parma. She is practicing what's called concealment. Dark green clothes, pattern that breaks straight lines, extra features like common vegetation that she sticks to her own clothes, and staying still for days on end. Just peering into the lives of other people, stalking, thinking, and waiting.
Her battlebuddy on the other hand, Aya is doing what's called taking cover. She is not concealing herself at all, because she can't be seen by anyone. The dense formation of trees and vegetation, made it easy to search for a falling trees which can be used as cover. Meanwhile, their target is located on an open plain, which has a lower elevation than they do.
Aya is washing her eyes with clean water she distilled from yesterday's rain. Her clothes are muddy, her pants form cracks by the dried clay of the forest floor, and everything felt damp and uncomfortable. She had slept the night over, soon it's her turn to take watch. This is far from her most ideal place to be in.
"God I am not paid enough for this shit."
"Stop being selfish, Aya. No one is ever paid enough for anything."
"Actors? Engineers? Those guys on Trade Street?"
"Exceptions, not the rule."
Aya rests on the dead log that's covering her body from prying Milium eyes. There's no insects either, the log she's using is already dead and dry. The animal repellant she brought with her also helped.
"I'd rather be in Roze than here."
"Upcoming next, water is wet." Replied Parma in a condecending tone.
"But you wouldn't be there for pleasure though, I bet. It's all work for you, anywhere and anytime. They can give you a freebie with one of the hot guys and you'd rather be a chauffeur instead."
"That's not true."
"Yeah, you'll still work. As an entertainer that is. Hehehe." Aya lightly slap Parma's butt in jest, which are located near her left hand.
"Stop touching the merchandise ma'am. I want it clean and perfect, when I finally gave it to someone."
"Oh you and your billion Koen assets. The last time someone exist, you don't have it in you to give him a slack. Never expect anyone for you to give these to, then."
It's true, love can bloom even on the battlefield. As these living machines of destruction goes back to their respective homes and hometowns, a desire to leave a legacy starts to grow. Mortality highlights the importance of not being forgotten, hence it blooms. Gardens of pink flowers starts to grow, parallel to the arrival of these peons of war.
Contrary to popular belief, women are no less desperate than any unwedded men. Parma is no different. Following her instinct, she went to blind dates. Aided by the help of randomly selected partners through a black-box algorithm that's spread around the uninet, she found several matches there. She only went to a single date.
His name was Dan. He was a semi-retired magician, specializing in micro-technology and mana efficiency. It happened on a saturday night, at the balcony of a luxurious restaurant, Alexandria. They sat right on the edge of the balcony, the sky was clear, and romances were so thick you can feel it in the air. It was a perfect.
But Parma fumbled and spilled too much spaghetti unto the floor, figuratively speaking. None of their conversation ended well. Both acted nervous around each oher and things did not become better, even after an hour have passed. By the time the main course came, Parma was disgusted by how weird he looked when eating. She noticed that he can't even hold the fork right, it was a dealbreaker for her. What a horrible and socially awkward night, she thought.
"These are not free, and he is below standards."
"Oh bull-"
"Shut up."
"Fuck do you mean shut up, I was jus-"
"Target is out of the building. Check the radio, Aya."
Aya scrambles to find her radio, finally found in the left breast pocket. She turn the knob slowly until a certain static sound is being produced. Parma is doing her best to follow the target which matches the description. Middle age man, grey hair, scar on his left cheek, often with bodyguards, and often wearing luxurious gadgets.
"Parma, is he wearing a lux item right now?"
"Aquamarine X-500, the half centuries anniversary one. How much is that again?"
"Aquamarine? Shit, he really is a big guy. Let's see, you gotta account for imports from our side to theirs, another for high valued item border inspection, the bribes, and a contact from our side. Let's just say around five mill Koen, more or less."
Someone so important should not be here, not when he's near the border. Inspections are rarely done physically, they would rather hire a disposible instead. It could also be both.
Parma is still following his steps. He is walking towards a tactical loon. It's small, precise, and has high acceleration. Perfectly good for any situation when ones try to transport a VIP.
The radio jumps up in amplitude, a crystal clear voice replaces the boring yet important static. A voice of a male, raspy and tired. His breathing pattern went around a messy circle, uncontrollable, uncomfortable. He must have been through a lot of pain to get this message out.
"To all hands, this is ring speaking. Twenty on my position, stat."
A female on the other end of the frequency replied with the same amount of worries as both Aya and Parma. "Ring acknowledge, CP confirmed. We have your position. Twenty need code, reply?"
"Code black, ASAP."
"Say again?"
"Code black, ASAP. Repeat until activation. Code black, ASAP. Repeat until activation." He said it twice, just to make sure Command Post received his message correctly.
Aya is stunned as soon as "Code Black" is being uttered. Her heart sank as she tries to get the coordinates of the man behind the voice, mission codename "Ring".
"Code black? Do you have his point Aya?"
"Yeah, he is located in the basement of the facility. Code black, requesting twenty. There's nothing we can do about it."
"Our mission is to make sure this factory blows up right?" Parma starts to churn her brain for an idea. A plan to maybe rescue "Ring" from the depth of Milium's facility. He must have been successful in planting the bomb, but don't have time or energy to escape.
"Don't get any ideas Parma, please. It's impossible to get out of the facility, not with our number. Also, they'll blow up the bomb soon, we won't have time to get inside."
"Yet we can help him somehow. Clear a pathway out, kill the alarms, or make sure he gets a getaway vic. I ain't watching him die without any effort to save him."
"All we can do is pray Parma."
She gets up from her prone position. After walking through paces of mud and bushes, she proceeded to sit on the motorbike they were using to get here. An old beast, non-hybrid, all mana powered. She keys-in the ignition and starts the bike. A gentle roar of an engine that have gone through a lot of beating. The low end of the frequency is filled only with the hum of the motorbike, breaking the silence that they have long guarded.
"Get on the bike, and let's do something."
"This is stupid Parma, we could die in the process."
"Occupational hazzard. I will leave with or without you."
Aya stands and brushes her body off the mud that's growing on her. She took a deep breath and smells the damp hell of a situation that they are in. It will take at least a minute for them to be at the gates, more after the guards start sounding the alarm. They need to be fast, agile, and aggressive.
First they must at least kill both guards that's taking a patrol near the gates. Next, any active patrol had to be eliminated or skipped by moving as fast as possible inside.
Once inside, they must gain a security code to access the lower level. Along the way, there will be resistance from guards and other soldiers. If they survived all of this and get to the deepest part of the facility, only then they will get access to whatever left of "Finger".
Those are what real "tall orders" look like. They have a motorbike, two standard issue rifles, ten magazines of ammo between both of them, near to no protective gears, and a lot of courage. A legend was in the making, but the process is ardous arduous, to say the least.
Aya is dead. Her bits of flesh and bones were scattered far from the blast zone. The mission was marked as a success with several casualties reported from both Milium and The Republic side. Journalists flock the area soon after the explosion, calling it an aggression against the status quo or a necessary campaign against evil. Both things were true, but it only made the headline for a week, replaced by a celebrity getting caught cheating on his vacation in Roze.
The term "code twenty" was released to the public after The Agency spoke person coined it in an interview. It means "to activate a remote explosion device", commonly used when the operator doesn't have access to it. The situation was cleared and cleaned before it reaches the public, with Finger being renamed to Alpha, a way to immortalized the deceased's codename. His sacrifice is affected morale positively across all strata of civilians. George Roffamaltine, a writer well known for his work about a fictional war between "houses" of kings and queens, decided to work closely with the government, creating a novel adaptation from this anonymous heroic story. His fans doesn't take this kindly, with some wishing him dead because of his often unfinished series of books. He moved on from the uninet debacle, and made an adaptation anyway.
There was no mention of Aya's death privately or publicly, except in the half hour mission debrief Parma just finished yesterday. After losing her only friend, she decided to distract herself. Getting drunk, punching random passersby, and often face planting to the sidewalk. This went for days without rest or sleep.
Her workplace have been trying to contact her after the incident, but her phone is unpowered since her arrival from the mission. She is taking a rest occasionally, inbetwen her public shenanigans, at a speakeasy. Untitled, but served by the one and only, Jackson The Bartender.
He watches over her, making sure she is not hurting herself, nor his other patrons. Although Jackson did serve her several alcoholic drinks, he often water down her drinks, grinds up some vitamins and supplements and spike them with it. She is getting weaker and more skinny as time went on. Without proper care, her time might be numbered not in years, but days.
As it turns out, today might be it. She is being bothered right now by another friend of Jackson. He touched her shoulder, a bottle broke, shards of sharp glass misses Jackson's friend face by a hair. Her hand extends forward, swinging it in frenzy, yet in strange accuracy. She's closing in, her eyes are blood-red, wearing an unkempt hair, revealed after her motion moves the hood out to her back. You know the rest.
Strangely the bell rang twice as she runs out of the bar. A strange fellow starts to follow her. A man with a distinctive mullet, broad shoulder, and mean looking face. Jackson noticed an aura of authority around this fellow, but paid it no mind. He just hoped this strange lady is safe, where ever she went to.
There is a dimly lit park, ten minute walk away from Jackson's Speakeasy. After miraculously avoiding ten cars which nearly crashes into Parma, she finally ran out of juice, slumped on a bench, hitting her head against the edge, and fall down to the wet grassy-muddy-floor. Even after having her face scored with dirt, it is clear as day that she's crying and having a mental breakdown.
"I kyyleed... her..."
She's blaming herself, that's clear. But whether or not it's her fault, is none but she can confirm. A large figure slowly appears from the shadows. He is wearing a dark overcoat, made out of synthetic leather that's resistant to the elements, and threaded by a felt like material. Everything else is made from the same material, except his square glasses, contained in a silver colored plastic frame.
"You need to get a vacation, Parma."
"Nooouhhh... Aiiii... I can NOT!"
"I knew this would happened. I'm sorry to do this child, but you need to bathe and be healthy before you're ready to talk. We haven't gotten any details from you about Aya. Beside her death, that is."
"I... I KYYYYLLLED HEEEEER! Look, my hands! Dirty and bloody!"
From her prone position, she raises both of her hands. It's dirty from the floor, but there's no blood on it. Her imagination have consumed the mind of once great agent. Seeing Parma on the floor, crying like a lost child, damages the image she had before. That's as long as this strange fellow can shut up about it.
"They are dirty, just like you are. So you're gonna bath."
"NO!"
"Please, Parma. Let me help you."
"Fuck you!"
"Alright, I gave you a chance. Pick her up boys."