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Art. Vera is looking at art.
Sunlight hitting the snow, making it glitter and sparkle, hitting the metal walls of the base, making the cold steel shine warmly. Not a cloud in the sky, save for a glorious burst of snow, shooting up into the air and bursting like a firework and raining down on Vera and the others, dusting their visors. Its magnificence is shadowed only by the fire—an explosion of red, yellow, orange—followed by a great gray plume of smoke.
But then one of the most beautiful scenes Vera’s ever seen unfolds before her, and suddenly the snow, the sun, the fire, it’s all hideous. Worthless in comparison.
It starts as a shadow—a silhouette in the billowing clouds of smoke. Ethereal, but growing more corporeal by the second, solidifying to form a human shape. Then, in what feels like slow motion, a figure clad in red and white armor emerges from the smoke.
Sherry.
The white on her armor is glowing orange from the fading fire, and Vera watches, mouth agape, as Sherry lifts her arms, grenade in each hand. Directly above Vera and the others now, Sherry drops the grenades, turns her helmet towards Vera and gives a salute as she continues to fly past.
Vera moves her head to observe Sherry as she makes her descent, and, like clockwork, Sherry lands at the same exact time the flashbangs go off. She would say it’s music to her ears, but she can’t hear anything anymore.
Blinded by light, ears ringing, Vera loses her balance, topples backward and lands on her ass. She feels her weapon fall from her hand, but has no idea if it goes off because the only thing she can hear is her screaming eardrums and the muffled cries of Ezra and Mike.
Vera could try and feel her way to the entrance of the base, could try and retrieve her gun and fire in the direction she thinks Sherry went. She could.
Instead she lets herself fall back, grinning, closing her eyes against the burning white light clouding her vision. She replays the scene she just witnessed over and over—the sun, the snow, the fire, the white, the red—not even flinching when someone grabs her and starts dragging her towards their base. Or, she thinks it’s their base. Vera hasn’t taken the trouble to open her eyes yet.
“Amazing,” she sighs. Her voice sounds funny, muffled.
“Whamph?” Sounds like Ezra?
“Amazing!” she shouts. She can hear herself a little better that time.
“What is?” Ezra. That’s definitely Ezra.
“Everything!” She yells at him.
“That’s great! Hey, can you walk?”
“Nope!” Vera screams.
Ezra doesn’t answer, but Vera is willing to bet he’s mumbling to himself, taking advantage of their inability to hear anything below a shriek.
As Vera slowly finds her bearings, she finally opens her eyes. Ezra propped her up against the couch in the breakroom. Vera blinks and watches Mike pull his helmet off and plop down on a crate next to the table, while Ezra collapses in the far corner. He yanks his helmet off as well, squeezing his eyes shut as he massages his temples.
Both of her teammates’ look like shit (Ezra actually looks a little green, she hopes he doesn’t throw up), and Vera knows she does too. She doesn’t want to take her helmet off just yet, though, doesn’t want the others to see her face. Because she’s pretty sure she’s still got that stupid grin plastered to her face, that she looks far too excited for someone who’s just had two flashbangs explode right next to her.
But she doesn’t care about that, not really.
While the temporary blindness and deafness aren’t what Vera would call fun, she would do it all again— plan an ambush, exit the base only to be ambushed, duck as the snowman in front of their base exploded, and watch as Sherry burst forth from the smoke like a—like a fucking phoenix or something.
Vera would relive this morning every day of her life if she could. The only downside being she’s pretty sure getting hit with flashbangs every day would quickly lead to permanent physical harm.
And that snowman. Vera lets out a breathy laugh. Can’t believe they fell for it. Not that she’ll ever tell Sherry, Terrill and Darryl that.
What did Sherry say last night?
You’ll never see it coming, just you wait, honey.
And Sherry was right, Vera did not see that coming.
A fucking snowman.
When they meet later, Vera is going to give her so much shit.
With a sigh, she pushes herself up so she’s not leaning on the couch and crosses her legs—difficult, but not impossible in armor. Mike and Ezra don’t move.
Vera stares ahead dreamily, imagining it all over and over again like her eyes are the projector and the visor is the screen. Part of her wishes she’d been able to record it so she and Sherry can show their kids one day, but another part of her is glad she didn’t. Pictures or videos would never do it justice.
Besides, pictures and videos can be lost, but her memory? That’ll last much, much longer. Hopefully forever.
Shaking her head, Vera lifts her helmet off her head, wincing at the sudden exposure to the outside world.
“Okay Ohio,” she mutters to herself. “This is it. The big one. She got you good, but you can get her back. You will get her back, because you’re Vera—Agent Ohio of Project Freelancer, and you’re not about to let a snowman get the best of you.”
“What?” Ezra shouts.
“We’re gonna get those assholes back!” Vera shouts.
Ezra groans.
“As long as it doesn’t involve spiders!” Mike calls out.
Vera grins, stands up and, realizing she’s not ready for that just yet, sits down. The gears in her head area already turning—or is that just her ears ringing?
“We’re coming for ya, sweet cheeks,” she says.
“What!?”