V7 Sneak Preview #3

#1

Dinner was lentil soup, served steaming hot in a chipped plastic bowl, and Ronnie almost would have preferred it slopped cold onto a paper plate. She dug in without a “thanks” to the young, tired-but-perky woman who set it in front of her. It didn’t exactly taste like regret, but damn if it wasn’t pretty fucking close.

Every day was exactly the same.

On her way to deposit her dishes in the sink, the little shit that had been eyeing Ronnie from the next table over bumped into her, literally. Didn’t even try to pretend it wasn’t deliberate, and Ronnie made no effort to act like it was an accident on her part either when she elbowed him sharply in the side.

“Fuck off.”

She knew what she was, to guys like this. Scars and muscle, vague trouble, some kind of potential victory. To some useless sack of shit who measured life in conquests, she was just another fight to win for no reason at all.

He turned and sneered at her, hands already curling into fists, but Ronnie was faster, and she’d done this song and dance before. She wasn’t about to wait around for posturing.

When they dragged her off of him, shouting and threatening police, she was satisfied anyway.

So she’d sleep on the street that night. It wasn’t the first time.

“Sergeant Veronica Rai.”

Like flipping a switch - like stepping back in time - Ronnie’s head snapped up, and her posture straightened even as she turned to see who was addressing her.

He was dressed down in civvies, in a t-shirt and cargo pants, but there was no mistaking the way he carried himself or the tattoo on his right arm. 7th Marines, marred by some old scar. Mirror shades obscured his eyes despite the fading evening light, but Ronnie knew he was looking right at her. Comparatively, Ronnie was buried in a ratty sweatshirt and old jeans, her hair only not a mess by merit of being cut short. Her scars were hidden, but they ached with the knowledge that he was seeing through her.

No matter how pissed she got and how much she swore she didn’t care what the world she’d left behind thought of her now, there was still an age-old trickle of shame to be felt, faced with someone like this when she was scoping out the best park bench to spend the night on. For a moment, that obscured the more pressing question of just who the hell this was and how he knew her. She’d have remembered him, and anyway she had been Army, not Marines.

“Yeah? What?” She responded brusquely.

“My name is Steven Wilson. I was hoping for a little chat.” He didn’t bark like she halfway expected him to, instead speaking calmly but succinctly. That was fine. Ronnie didn’t like smalltalk.

She shoved her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, letting one curl around the pen knife that she always kept close by. It was dusk, and the light was fading fast. This guy was big, an unknown, and she could tell at a glance that he was capable of being trouble if he wanted to be.

What the hell did he want?

“How do you know me?” Ronnie asked with a frown instead of saying whether or not she’d be willing to chat right away.

Steven Wilson took a few casual steps towards her, enough to make her tense, but he simply took a seat on the bench she’d been eyeing. He didn’t indicate whether or not she should sit too, and that encouraged her to do so more than if he had. Still, she made sure to keep as much distance between them as she could without it being obvious. Her instincts were conflicted; years of habit told her to stay upright, direct, respectful. The years that followed told her to stay distant and suspicious.

“Ex-Marines. I’m recruiting for an organization doing work in tech and weapons development overseas, and I came across your file. What I saw looked promising.”

“Alright. That doesn’t explain how you managed to track me down or why you’re chasing a homeless vet instead of… anybody else.” Ronnie’s confusion bred irritation, and she didn’t completely manage to keep it out of her voice. There was other shit she could have pointed out. “An organization overseas.” “Weapons and tech.” You couldn’t have been more vague or raised more red flags. Steven Wilson wasn’t exactly going for subtlety.

“Because, Sergeant Rai, you have no other options.” Once again, he didn’t mince words. Ronnie set her jaw and looked away across the darkening park. “You have no family left who want to see you, your safety net ran out years ago, and now you’re here. You gave nearly everything for this country, but you ended up one of the people who fell through the cracks with nothing to show for it.”

She’d thought that so many times, but she’d never had it laid out so plainly.

“I understand what that’s like. I’ve seen it. I’ve close enough to lived it myself. And I liked what I saw in your file, so I’m here to offer you the opportunity.”

“And what’s the catch?” No need to mull it over. He was right. Ronnie had no options, but she had a bit of self-preservation and pride left.

“Once you’re in, you’re in, and you don’t ask too many questions. We’ll take care of you as long as you do the same for us. We need manpower, and you’re capable.”

“And I’ve got nothing left to lose, right?”

Steven Wilson inclined his head towards her the slightest bit. “We both know your circumstances.” That being that they were sitting on her current accommodations.

Well, fuck. It wasn’t like she really needed to think it over. Thing were bad enough that he knew he didn’t even need to try to act inconspicuous, or as though whatever he was recruiting for wasn’t wildly illegal. Trying to play by the rules had gotten Ronnie here.

“Can I consider you convinced?” Steven Wilson asked, at length.

“You can, sir.” Been a hell of a long time since she’d called anyone “sir”. Hell of a long time since anyone had deserved it.

“Glad to hear it, Sergeant Rai.”

“Just Rai is fine, sir.” Veronica was long gone, and Ronnie was reserved for friends she didn’t have anymore. Sergeant was the chapter of her life she might finally be closing. Rai would do.

In the morning, there was no sign either of them had been in the park at all, and there was nobody who bothered to wonder about it when they didn’t see Ronnie again.

Ronnie glanced from the tablet screen that had just been shoved in front of her face up to Josie and then back.

“What the fuck is that?”

“The Jagdkommando Tri-Dagger,” Josie said, pulling the tablet back with a flourish and proceeding to read off the description with what could only be called a shit-eating grin. “‘The Jagdkommando Tri-Dagger: Deadliest knife ever! It takes a team of surgeons to seal the wound! The victim bleeds out in minutes. This is one evil knife.’”

Ronnie took a minute to absorb Josie’s movie announcer voice and look at the picture again. “That’s just a fucking drill bit with a knife handle.”

“It’s so fucking stupid. I want five.”

“It is stupid,” Ronnie agreed. “Add it to the list.”

“Hell yeah, just imagine some kids going at each other with this and the urumi. Battle of the idiots.”

Ronnie snorted.

It couldn’t be called good work, or even necessarily work she could take pride in, but it was work. It was a roof over her head, three hot meals a day, and someone to pass the time with. You didn’t have to believe in a cause, or that there was a cause at all, to appreciate what it gave you.