>>5542940You morosely poke at the remainder of your octopus, having lost your appetite in its totality.
Great going, asshole.
All you needed to do was keep your damned trap shut and get out of your own way.
And not only did you have some kind of breakdown, you dumped all that shit on Marina.
She didn’t deserve that, few people do. Wish there was some way to make it up to her, but you won’t fault her for not wanting to be in a room with you again.
As you stew at your table, you notice something that gets your hackles up.
It’s not just one thing, more like a culmination of little details.
A wayward sniff of propellant.
A slight ticking.
A sound of a safety being switched off.
On pure paranoid instinct, you dive from your table into the comparative safety of a nearby booth.
Seconds later, an explosion tears through the wall directly facing your table, ripping open a gaping entrance to the street.
In the aftermath of the blast, you keep having thoughts of Iraq and how you’ve managed to get pinned down once again.
When you regain your bearings, you become acutely aware of several guns pointed in your face by a contingent of olive-drab mercenaries. Must be at least a dozen, potentially more. Double vision might be fucking with your ability to analyze.
At least, you assume that they’re mercenaries. Not like they’re handing out business cards.
One of the mercs studies your face, and speaks into his helmet mic.
“Package secured. Securing for exfiltration.”
