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“That was really dumb of Jackson,” Marr snorted, humorlessly. Like most, he didn’t find amusement in the inevitable losses, but some-
“Ha, fucker had it coming for being so slow, wish I could’ve seen his face!” Palmen laughed.
Adamov rolled his eyes. Yeah, some. Like this guy. He’d made peace with it a long time ago, that there would be some weirdos in the Agency – couldn’t claim for sure he was normal himself, he had decided to take this job, after all – but it was still annoying to see.
He turned to Renner, who walked beside him while checking his gear absentmindedly. “You were the nearest to Jackson’s location, right? Did you see how it went down?”
Renner shrugged, frowning. “We’d both had our hands full, I’d be dead too if I paid him much attention.” Then he twisted his mouth, clearly unhappy with what he was gonna say next: “Think he wasn’t fast enough though, like Palmen said.”
“That’s right,” Palmen cackled, “felt like shooting him myself last mission when I saw how fucking slow he was. ’M surprised he lasted as long as he did.”
They reached the door leading to the showers, one of the few in the underground barracks. Palmen rushed in, still laughing, slamming the door behind him. Well, almost. Renner’s hand sprang up, his palm hitting the door before it could close completely. He sure wasn’t sluggish.
“You ever feel like Palmen’s gonna kill you, just to show he’s better?” Mitch asked in a murmur.
Renner’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything, just pushed the door open again. Adamov looked at Marr and grimaced. He had no idea either.
“What do you think of the new intel?” Adamov asked over the same thing that he’d been eating here for weeks now, only graciously called “food”. From the side of the mess hall where their table was situated, he could see the other mercs talk a little more animatedly than usually – as it always was when it looked like something big was about to go down.
“It’s still not confirmed, is it?” Renner asked, sitting opposite him and somehow eating the lunch without a spared thought. Adamov wished he could do the same.
“Dunno, man, seems legit, even the commander mentioned it,” Adamov shrugged.
“Gunderson himself?” Marr whistled. “That raises the chances by a damn lot, right?”
Adamov pointed a fork at him. “So, Louvre. Ready to soak up some culture, boys?”
Renner grinned. “Oh yeah, bet I’m gonna love the paintings there.”
“Mona Lisa can’t wait to meet me,” Marr waggled his eyebrows.
“Still more than you can say ‘bout any real chicks then,” Palmen jeered, throwing his tray on the table with a clang and dropping down into the last free seat. “That’s gonna be so much fun! Museum guards! Ha! They’ll never see me coming!”
“Just like all the real life chicks,” Marr mumbled and Renner snorted into his drink.
Palman snarled. “You watch your back out there, Marr, no-one knows which museum guard can make a lucky shot.”
Adamov forced himself to eat before he said something to set Palmen off. Maybe Marr wasn’t just paranoid.
“Five minutes ‘till take off, where’s Renner?” Adamov shouted at the last stragglers.
“Can’t have gone yet, his gear’s still here,” Marr called. That was true, all still there, just the gas mask missing. Was it faulty and he went to change it at the last moment? Renner was usually so careful about his gear though.
“Who gives a fuck,” Palmen marched past them towards the garages. “Gunderson will spank him for being tardy, that might be fun at least!”
Adamov and Marr traded a brief look – it was gonna suck for Renner, if Gunderson just didn’t shoot him outright – but if they waited any longer, they’d just get dragged down with him. In the end, it was every man for himself. Renner better catch up.
They took off.
Adamov prowled noiselessly the polished wooden floors, the green haze tinted red through the lenses of his hood. They had cleared the main areas, but there were a few smaller rooms that required their attention. The gas was thinner there, some guards might’ve survived.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another merc rush to the doors he was himself aiming for. Palmen, his gait was unmistakable. And he’d been enjoying mowing down the guards, as he’d claimed he would.
Adamov also remembered Marr’s still body two rooms over, the gas too thick there for any guard around there to survive in.
Palmen gave him a jaunty salute, as if this was a fucking race, and crossed the threshold.
His body tipped back and fell, his head rolling to the opposite wall.
A strange glowing disc, that had just cut through Palmen’s throat like a hot knife through butter, made a loop in the air and returned into the room it had come from.
What the fuck.
This couldn’t be part of the defense system, could it? This was a museum, not fucking Fort Knox. Adamov crept forward, stopped by the door frame and listened.
Steps, soft, so very soft. He swept into the room, gun first, ready to fire. But the man in the plain shirt and pants surprised him enough to hesitate. “Renner?”
The golden disc flew from Renner’s hand towards Adamov’s neck.