Chapter Three

At this point in the drive, Whiskey and I's goal was to find a place that we could both consider a sanctuary. Only a place that we could lay low and stay safe at until we find out Balor's confirmed location. Going after Balor without knowing where he is would most definitely be a long wild goose chase. If me and Whiskey go at this villain without knowing what he's fully capable of or without a clearly defined plan of attack would definitely be considered a suicide mission.

"Here. Turn off this side road up here. This will take us somewhere the enemy radar won't find us," Whiskey said.

"They ain't gonna find us anyway. All we need is a place to recuperate until we find out Balor's confirmed location. Then, we hunt his ass down."

Like Whiskey said, I pulled off the main highway to a backroad, where hopefully, the perfect place for a sanctuary waited for us. I wanted to find a place that lay deep in the woods where other enemies wouldn't be able to discover us. Whiskey and I need to be hidden so we can hunt down Balor's confirmed location without having any of his henchmen interrupt the mission. If that happens, Whiskey, the world, and I…we're completely fucked.

"Whoa, sugar. See that dirt road up there? Turn onto that," Whiskey said, pointing ahead.

"What's so important about a dirt road?"

"Only the sanctuary of ours. That's all," he said.

Whiskey was right. After turning onto the dirt road and driving deep into the woods for about three minutes, we came across the sanctuary in the form of an abandoned wood cabin. I could tell it was abandoned because it was encased with a forest of weeds and rogue trees who grew there, as well. It didn't look like it was the most ideal place to shelter-in-place, but it was a shelter that I could live with. I mean, it was just temporary, so it wasn't like Whiskey and I were staying there forever. This was just our situation until we found out Balor's confirmed location.

"Welcome to our temporary home away from home," Whiskey said proudly.

"Just until Balor's location is confirmed."

After Whiskey and I unloaded all of our essentials from the truck to the sanctuary, I took some time to take in the new surroundings of the cabin. It definitely wasn't a suitable place to live permanently, but it was good enough to stay in for the night at least. There were numerous cracks in the wood-log wall, allowing for the normal breeze to blow through and change our int-

ernal body temperatures. There was also a stone wall nearby as well, so it would definitely make Whiskey and I a lot colder at night. As long as there's a solid roof on my head, I could care less about what I temporarily stay in.

"Well, this is—definitely homey."

"It ain't the most ideal, sugar, but it'll do 'til at least morning," Whiskey answered.

I put my treasured rifle up in a corner, making especially careful that it wasn't going to fall. Sure, I had the safety on, but I wasn't going to take any risks.

"We just need to stay here and lay low until we know where this asshole is," I advised. "Speaking of which, do you have any idea where this guy might be? I might have an idea, but I ain't quite sure."

"I don't know, sugar. He can be anywhere," Whiskey responded. "Why? Where do you think he might be?"

"Chelyabinsk."

"Chelyabinsk? Where the hell is that?" Whiskey inquired loudly.

"Russia. It ain't too far off from the Kazakhstan border."

"Why there?" Whiskey interrogated.

"Think about it. It's in a relatively unknown location. It ain't too far off from the Ural Mountains, and as we know, mountains can sometimes throw off tracking signatures. It's a perf-

ect place for a shelter and headquarters."

Whiskey pondered on this idea for a while. Of course, I told him that I wasn't fully sure of this location. Given that Balor seems like an unpredictable, dangerous, terroristic asshole, it would be a good idea if Whiskey and I waited until the right time to nab him. We can't afford to make mistakes, or else, there could be deadly consequences.

"I'm not totally sure about it, Whiskey. I'm just assuming."

"Well, as long as we don't act on those assumptions until we're fully sure we know what we're doing, it's fine to have them," Whiskey answered in a low tone voice.

"Yeah. We have to be damn sure we know what we're doing. Balor prolly already knows that someone's after him," I warned with caution.

"Yeah, sugar. He thinks the Kingsman is after him, not us. He doesn't think the Statesman is an actual agency."

"Well, he'll be in for a big surprise," I said hopefully.

Whiskey and I were then left sulking inside the log cabin, becoming bored out of our minds. Turns out, there's nothing mildly entertaining you can do while you're waiting for an ass-

hole's location to be confirmed. If we had our minds drawn to something else, then there's no way in hell that we'll be able to learn of the confirmed location. That's a whole 'nother problem in itself.

"So we've concluded that we're waiting until we know the location of this guy before we go after him?" I asked, staring blankly at the wall out of boredom.

"That's right, sugar," Whiskey said in the same tone as me. "Until then, we're sittin' ducks."

For the next hour or two, Whiskey and I waited for the call to come in. He was leaning against the wall, sometimes fighting the urge to slowly pace back and forth. I, however, remained stagnant by sitting on the ground against the adjacent wall and staring blankly into space. What else was there to do other than debating with your internal demons? I definitely had some of those, most of which Whiskey doesn't know about. Let's hope he doesn't find all of them out too soon.

"Rocky! Here it is," Whiskey said, getting a call through his earpiece.

I hopped up with anticipation, turning on the earpiece in my ear. "Finally! It's damn near dawn before we got this call."

"You can't blame the president, sugar. This guy we're hunting is an awfully dangerous and unpredictable one. They have to make damn sure that they know where he is before relaying the information to us. It's a delicate mission to deal with."

As soon as I adjusted the earpiece, Whiskey and I received the news that we were hoping for. "We got some good news, agents," the president started. "We finally confirmed Balor's loca-

tion. He's residing in his villa, which isn't too far from the main headquarters for the Rings of Hellfire, in Chelyabinsk. It's pretty far away, but I'm confident you two could get there with no problem."

"We'll certainly do our best to get there as soon as possible, Mr. President, but it's gonna be quite the hike to Russia," I remarked.

"I understand, but I'm holding nothing but the utmost confidence in you two."

"As soon as we get the open window, we'll jump out of it and get on our way. You can count on that," Whiskey added.

"Good. I trust you, agents. Best of luck."

Now, the mission could be kickstarted again. Whiskey and I were in the middle of packing up our resources so we could move out as soon as possible. All the plans were stopped, however, when the sound of rain falling started to hit the walls. At first, it sounded like a light ta-

pping that sounded quiet. As Whiskey was checking out what the weather was outside, the light rain falling suddenly turned into a full-on downpour with thunder and lightning accompanying it.

"Well, sugar, I don't think we're moving out as planned," he remarked.

"I can tell by the downpour outside," I said back. "Guess we're spending the night here and moving out early tomorrow morning, huh?"

"Looks that way, don't it?" Whiskey seemingly confirmed. "I'll keep watch just in case it lets up."

Well, our plans that were going according to plan got shot in the ass real quick. It's okay, though, because I consider myself adaptable. As an agent, I have to be able to roll with the punches and adapt to any unexpected situation. That's what Agent Whiskey tends to do, so I intend to do it too.

Right after Whiskey turned back around to observe the downpour going on outside, I managed to settle down comfortably and slowly start drifting to sleep. It was considerably hard, however, to fall asleep fully because the "bed" was as hard as a rock and wasn't very comfortable at all. I only made it comfortable because it was all that I had to work with. Though my eyes were closed, I was still conscious enough to hear my surroundings and feel what was going on around me.

"Well, sugar, these conditions are too rough to migrate in, so it'll be best to camp here and move out the next mornin'. Are you sure you're comfortable enough to sleep here?"

There was a slight pause in his voice as he turned around to find me, who was trying to sleep. "I guess you are."

Then, the sound of his boots consistently hitting the wood floor rang through my ears. With a slight pause, the sound emerged again as the steps came closer to me. They stopped after a while, however, which was good because it was a sound that kept preventing me from sleeping. I then encountered the feeling of something soft draping over my entire shivering body. I instantly felt warm after the soft object, which felt like a blanket, settled over top of me. Not only did I feel the warmth of the blanket, but I also felt the warmth of Whiskey's kind and generous soul. The part that cared for others and genuinely wanted the best for them.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! The sun is shinin', and the birds are singin'. Time to move out!" Whiskey exclaimed loudly.

I stirred and slowly sat up, rubbing my tired eyes. It was definitely early enough for me to be stupid tired, that's for sure. Groaning, I rose to my feet rather slowly and started helping Whi-

skey pack up our resources. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Sunrise, sugar. 'Proximately six-thirty, to be specific,'' Whiskey answered.

"Christ! That is way too early."

"I know, sugar, but it's early enough for us to get a headstart on traveling to Balor's location," Whiskey added.

Once we got outside, Whiskey and I started to have a minor yet playful argument about who was going to drive to the airport. I wanted to drive since my confidence was boosted from the highway chase that happened a bit ago, and I wanted control of the radio. But my easy persuasion disintegrated rather quickly when Whiskey chimed in with his side. Let's just say he was very persistent.

"Please, Whiskey. I wanna drive," I whined.

"Sorry, sugar. I'll be takin' the wheel this time."

"But I'm a good driver, I swear," I said, trying to prove my case right, despite it being to no avail.

"I know you are, but you're also good at being my passenger princess. I want you to be the princess and not have to lift a finger as we drive off to catch this bastard, sugar," Whiskey pleaded.

I groaned sarcastically. "Fine. I'll be the passenger princess since you want me to."

We were soon off to the airport, where our flight would be waiting to take us to Chelyabinsk. I assumed we were going on a commercial flight, maybe because I had the spy mindset. The mindset where Whiskey and I would blend into society seamlessly. The drive there was for sure going to be a long one, and Whiskey knew that. He then started a conversation that I dreaded since he forced me to work up the courage to tell him about my deep, dark secrets.

"I never got to ask ya while we were back at your childhood home, sugar, but have you ever done anything crazy in your childhood?" he asked, glancing over to me as he kept one hand on the steering wheel.

I chuckled. "Oh yeah. I sure did. I was a crazy kid."

Whiskey chuckled along with me. "How crazy?"

"Not crazy enough to get myself in trouble, but crazy enough to be dubbed unpredictable. That's for sure–"

"So what kind of crazy shit did you do?" Whiskey questioned.

I chuckled some more and added onto the laughing fit Whiskey and I formed together. "Me and my twin brother—we'd do everything together. Most weekends, we'd go out and go on our little adventures, some of which were pretty crazy," I started. "It made our dad think we were–"

"Fucking nuts," Whiskey laughed.

"Yeah. Exactly that," I answered. "I remember this one time, it was a Saturday afternoon. It was in the summer before our freshman year of college. Me and my twin brother wanted to accomplish a lot of shit before classes started. So this particular day, me and Devin stupidly decided to go to one of those rage rooms. You know, to let some steam out in a positive way. We had these virtual reality goggles on to allow us to get fully immersed in the experience. In this case, we were beating down zombies in a zombie apocalypse."

Whiskey started to smile slightly. "That doesn't sound too crazy."

"It's all fun and games until your brother mistakes you for a zombie and tries to pummel your ass," I commented. "Luckily, I convinced him that this was all a simulation, and none of us got seriously hurt."

At this point, Whiskey started laughing uncontrollably. But impressively enough, he still managed to keep steady on driving the hoop-ty. I had never heard such a laugh emerge out of Whiskey, but it was such a pleasing sound…and it made me want to hear it more often.

"Damn, sugar. That was pretty crazy of ya," he said.

"That's what my daddy said when we told him what happened," I answered back. "Let's just say he was proud that we were basically carbon copies of him and my momma combined."

As the truck tires continued to roll against the gravel backroads, Whiskey's face slowly allowed a wide grin to appear with glistening white teeth. Even though he didn't directly tell me, I definitely could tell that his mind was churning. Churning with thoughts about me. Oh God! What if he's getting second thoughts about me? What if he's mentally listing all the negative traits about me, hoping to use that to my disadvantage in the near future?

What if he thinks I'm so psychotic that it makes me forever undatable?

Sure, I have feelings for Whiskey. I do, I'll admit it! But I don't want my flaws to make me forever dangerous to him.

"I'm sorry, Whiskey. I don't mean to be this abrasive, headstrong, and downright feisty, even. I am a good person, I swear. It's just–" I started, inhaling sharply while successfully holding back tears of regret. "Everything changed for me ever since my–my twin brother died. He and I were so close, and I dreaded the day that I'd have to live a full life while he didn't."

Whiskey remained silent, which scared the hell out of me. "I'm trying to change, Whiskey. I really am. It's just–just hard for me to adjust. It's been hard since I turned eighteen and moved out to go to college. But I swear. I'm trying my best to change. I really am. You gotta believe me," I added.

Still keeping his left hand on the wheel, Whiskey placed his right hand on my left thigh, making sure that his token of affection was noticed. I, being the emotionally vulnerable dumbass that I was, accepted the gesture with silent grace.

"Listen, Blackjack. Nobody is perfect. Everyone's gonna have a flaw in one form or another. I don't care about the flaws you have. As a matter-of-fact, I see those as some of your more powerful traits. You're a great person, Rocky. I've learned that. I like ya just the way you are, and your personality right now is a reason why you're going to turn out to be such a great agent."

I was gobsmacked. I didn't think that Whiskey, a classy cowboy and gentleman, would utter such kind words. Considering that I thought he and I were simply on colleague terms, it changed the whole way I thought of Whiskey. I thought of him as a colleague that I confided in, but now, it's starting to change. Maybe I consider him a friend. A true friend who knows my deepest darkest secrets.

"You'd think I'd make a great agent?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, sugar. Definitely," he exclaimed. "You're persistent, hardworking, ambitious. Plus, you're extremely stubborn. That's needed here at the Statesman. You need to be strong and not buckle under pressure so easily."

"And I do exactly that!" I added.

"Exactly."

Whiskey and I drove off into the road ahead with only one thing on our minds: the mission. The mission that was extremely risky. The mission that we had to undertake because the world's fate depended on us.

* * * * * * * * * *

Eventually, after some time, Whiskey and I had finally arrived at the airport, which was bustling with numerous types of traffic: foot, aircraft, you get the point. There had to be several people there, all doing different things. Either running to a flight, getting off a flight, wrangling unruly children, lovers giving their long, drawn-out goodbyes only to reunite moments later…it seemed like everyone was busy with something. Whiskey and I didn't have time for that shit. If we don't get to Chelyabinsk, then the mission goes to shit. Then, the whole world goes to shit. We don't want that to happen, do we?

I trudged alongside Whiskey, holding all the resources I had with me close to my person. As we got closer to our gate, anxiety started rising in my throat, mainly because of the protocols the airport followed at gate passages. I had a sniper rifle slung over my shoulder, and walking around with that through a busy airport was, of course, a red flag. Before we walked through the gate, I froze in my tracks as Whiskey took only a few steps ahead of me before stopping.

"Come on, sugar," he said, turning back to me.

Still, I remained frozen in place. Frozen because of the fear that I had about airport customs. "But won't I get flagged for carrying my rifle through the gates?"

"Not if you pass yourself off as military personnel," Whiskey said boldly, "and also if you don't get caught."

"We'll most definitely get caught."

"Not if you're going onto a private jet and passing it off as part of a military operation," Whiskey smirked. "Now, come on. We haven't got a minute to waste."

Before I could pass through the gate, I decided to make sure I had everything with me because I knew that at this point in the mission, there was definitely no turning back. As I was zipping up my bags and slinging my rifle over my shoulder again, something out of the corner of my eye diverted my attention. When I looked up to get a closer look, it was a mysterious person. A person that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Though I stared at this person for what seemed like an eternity, I knew nothing about his relation to me. He was a complete stranger in my mind. A stranger dolled up in a prestigious, clean black tuxedo and sunglasses covering his eyes. Something about him made me develop a bad feeling in my gut. He was definitely a stranger that gave me chills, and not the good kind.

"Whiskey, is that jet ready?" I asked, while anxiety rose quickly through my throat.

"It sure is, sugar. Why?"

I kept my eyes glued on the stranger, who was now quickly making his way toward Whiskey and I. "Because that suspicious agent guy is storming toward us, and we need to get our asses outta here right away!"

Whiskey and I then made a mad dash toward the private jet we were taking. We definitely weren't as fast as we usually are, mainly because we had all of our resources in tow. My heart was racing so much that I thought it was going to burst out of my chest and start sprinting itself.

Luckily, Whiskey and I managed to escape onto the jet just before the stranger could catch up to us. He got so close that I was prepared to start a fist-fight with him had he decided to grab my wrist firmly. As the private jet took off, Whiskey and I fastened our seatbelts so that we didn't fall flat on our feet when the plane ascended into the air. I watched as the stranger who tried to capture Whiskey and me at the edge of the gate, cursing at us and beating himself up. I could guess that he was upset that he didn't succeed at capturing us.

"You okay, sugar?" Whiskey asked.

I glanced over at Whiskey, who—despite still catching his breath—still had the consideration to show concern for me.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I said, as I gasped for air, "Just catching my breath, that's all."

"I know. He was just about to get us, too. Let's conclude that he isn't happy about us esc-

aping."

"He definitely isn't," I commented.

Whiskey and I shared a small chuckle about the stranger before switching to a serious tone. We had to figure out who this guy was. Even if there was no name, getting his affiliation or a clear picture of his face would be more than enough for me. My technological genius can take care of the rest.

"You think that guy was part of the Rings of Hellfire, sugar?" Whiskey asked.

I glanced at him and immediately gave my answer. "Oh definitely! This day and age, anything can be true."

"So, at this moment, let's assume that the stranger that chased us works closely with Balor," Whiskey said.

"Yeah. Let's just assume that from this moment onward, the Rings of Hellfire have tabs on us. Once we land, however, we'll get more information about where the hell in Chelyabinsk Balor is located."

"Agreed," Whiskey said simply, "but first, we'll have to blend in with society here so that they can't track us easily."

"That sounds fair. Once we land, we'll do that. We'll see what we can scope out from the locals."

It took a couple more hours to fly to Russia, so I decided that it'd be best to take a quick nap to gain some more energy for this mission. I had to be my best functional self for this risky and extremely dangerous mission. Who knows what could happen if I didn't.

* * * * * * * * * *

I must've accidentally taken a very long nap of nearly twelve hours because when I finally awoke, the jet was already nearing the secret landing hangar in Chelyabinsk. At the time, I was still a bit groggy and confused, trying to regain my sense of the surroundings I had encountered. Everything seems blurry everywhere I look, but I attributed that to my tiredness from waking up. I'm sure it will go away very soon once I get up and move.

"Well, sugar. Welcome to Chelyabinsk," Agent Whiskey said in a relatively positive tone.

I looked out the closest window and glanced down on the city below. Although I envisioned it as grand as Moscow, I quickly found out that I was wrong. Despite the Russian-esque architecture that lined almost every inch of the city, it still looked like any other city; in fact, it looked like a city that one would see in motion-picture films. It was nothing special. Nothing that was truly shocking to glance upon.

"It doesn't look like anything special," I commented.

"Just wait 'til we get down into the city. You'll love the culture there," Whiskey commented back.

After landing, we traveled into the city to scope out any possible information regarding Balor. Anything we could find, Whiskey and I were game for. At this point, anything at all would be extremely helpful. I was wearing anxiety on my shoulders like an additional backpack, mainly because I was scared out of my mind. So scared that someone from this community was going to notice me and Whiskey and rat us out to Russia's government. I was carrying around a sniper rifle and a lot of resources, and it made me and Whiskey look like foreign military officers who were secretly trying to take down the Russian government.

"Alright. Where to first?"

"It has to be somewhere with a whole lotta foot traffic," Whiskey responded. "The more foot traffic there is, the bigger the chance we hear an important piece of information on where this assmunch is located."

"Maybe a town square?" I pondered.

"No, no, no. Too risky. Someone's bound to find out about us. Balor's bound to find out and kill us right there on the spot. But I doubt it. He's hidin' out in his villa, continuing to do Christ knows what behind those damn doors."

"You know this for sure?" I asked hesitantly.

"Sugar, I'm the best damn agent the Statesman has. I've had a whole lotta experience takin' down threats and tracking their moves and motives. Of course, I'm about ninety-five percent sure," Whiskey commented.

"Ninety-five? I'd figure you'd be one-hundred percent sure," I said.

"Not with this guy, Blackjack. He's unpredictable and dangerous. We can't treat him like a low-level drug lord. We have to be careful when dealing with him. If not, he will definitely find us and kill us one way or another."

I could sense Whiskey's fear in his voice when he said that. In all the time I knew him, I thought he was a tough, rough-and-tumble, diamond-in-the-rough kind-of cowboy who's more than capable of easily wooing women and making them fall under his spell. I, however, was not one of these women. I am a lot feistier and more stubborn than all these other girls. Now, I am forced to look at Whiskey in a new light. A romantic light? A friendly light?

No, Rocky. Snap out of it! Don't be a hypocrite and break your own ground rules.

You can't be in love with Whiskey right now. You can't! Not when the mission is just heating up.

"So it has to be somewhere that is low-key but gets enough foot traffic to where we can possibly hear rumors about Balor and where he is," I said, almost somberly in response to Whiskey's apparent fear.

"Exactly," Whiskey said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the right sleeve of his coat and then turning to me. "You in the mood to check out a bar or two while we're here?"

I shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"There's one just up here a bit. Let's go see what we can scope out from there," Whiskey suggested, starting to make his way toward the bar that was within an earshot of the town square.

Even though a small part of me didn't want to go, I managed to silence that internal, shrieking voice and snap back into my normal skin. I willingly followed the boldly confident Whiskey to the bar, which had a big sign that read Биттер Кросс Тапхаус—or Bitter Cross Taphouse— high above the building. As Whiskey and I passed through the doors and into the building, I suddenly felt a sense of dread overwhelm my nerves. I'm not sure why, but something about this place threw me off. Luckily, Whiskey's presence helped reassure me that all the protection I needed was right there with me.

"You good, sugar?" Whiskey whispered into my ear as we entered.

I barely turned my head to acknowledge him. "Yeah. I'm good. Just anxious about being in a new place."

"It'll be fine. Trust me, sugar. I'm right here," he whispered in a low voice, gently placing his hand on my back as a token of security and safety.

As Whiskey and I sat at the bar, I immediately took notice of Whiskey's bold confidence. He was a lot more confident than me, that's for sure. I'm a lot more soft-spoken and quiet, and this had been the case since Devin's murder about a year ago. Before Devin's death, I was outgoing, friendly, considerably docile…

…but after that tragic day, I became sheltered, quiet, and abrasive.

I don't want to be like that. I don't, but it's been hard to change who I am since Devin's murder. Every time I would try to change and move on with life, my era of grieving for Devin would reemerge. Then, I'd be right back to where I started. It was pointless to try and continue on with life when that feeling of grief for Devin always resurfaced.

Whiskey must've noticed my pliant, quiet distress after a few minutes because he then placed his hand on top of my hand, trying to comfort me. "You okay?"

I dared not move a muscle. "Yeah. It's nothing, really. Just grieving."

"Well, if you're grieving, then shouldn't it be a matter to talk about?" Whiskey questioned.

"Not if you're the person who can't seem to let go of your twin brother's death after a year," I shared somberly.

I sighed and then started to share my thoughts and experiences about the aftershocks that came after my dear twin brother's murder.

"Every time I'd talk to anyone about Devin's death, they'd ask how long it's been since he died. Once I'd say how long it's been, they'd start with their bullshit, telling me to let it go. 'It's been at least a couple months. Just let it go already.' Well, I can't! He was my twin brother, my best friend, and those bastards murdered him. I can't exactly let the death of my best friend go. Not when he was taken from us so young in his life. So sorry for not being able to let it go right now, but I'm not ready to forget about that night that should've never happened the way it did. Sorry if I'm not ready to let go of that grief and guilt from that night, even though I still feel like it was my own damn fault! I'm not ready to let that go just yet."

I clenched my fist in anger, managing to manage the rage from boiling to the surface. Whiskey, however, calmed my flared-up nerves just by glancing upon me with his glistening, dark brown eyes. Something about these beautiful diamonds of Whiskey's seemed to calm me down a whole lot. It was like his eyes put a spell on me in order to get my nerves to calm into a tranquil state.

"Like I told ya before, sugar, it was never your fault. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You couldn't control that. And it's okay to grieve for your twin. I ain't gonna judge ya for mourning the loss of someone who was so near and dear to ya. You should know that," he said with sincerity.

"It's gonna take a while to get used to that," I responded.

"I know it is. It's askin' a lot to put your twin brother's death behind ya. But I'm right here to help you with that. I'm always gonna be here if you need somethin' to lean on, to cry on…Hell, if you need somethin' to unleash your anger out on, I'm right here. Anything you need in your time of grieving, I'm here. And I ain't ever leavin' just in case you have memories about your twin floodin' back to ya," Whiskey vowed.

I was silent. Speechless, even. Never did I think that Whiskey would be this caring and supportive of me, since I always thought of him as a no-nonsense, hardworking agent who only sold his full attention to the agency and saving the world.

"Thanks," I simply said, thanking Whiskey for the support that he didn't have to give me.

I couldn't stay in this depressive state for much longer, or else, I'd be vulnerable. Vulnerability is not an option for us on this mission. I had to move on from this in order to carry on with this mission.

"You know, I can't hear anything about Balor," I remarked sadly. "No one's sayin' a word about him."

"They're not going to. He must've instilled enough fear in them to make them afraid of even talking about him," Whiskey mumbled under his breath.

"It's not like we're getting anywhere."

"Come on, sugar. We gotta cheer you up somehow," he said. "Anything you wanna do, I'm game for."

I pondered this proposition for a few seconds. Did he really mean what he said? Anything I wanted, he was okay with? I hadn't put my full trust into him, so I wouldn't know if he was willing to uphold his promise or not. I was still getting used to having him in my company.

"How about a bet?"

"Bet?" he asked in a perplexed tone. "What kind of bet?"

I smiled with overwhelming glee and immediately cheered up. "I'm glad you asked, Whiskey!"

I gestured to the bartender, convincing him to get me a pint of the finest whiskey that Russia had. Although he looked a bit shocked, he obliged, sliding me a pint of Russia's finest whiskey in a big, clear glass.

"What's this?" Whiskey asked.

"Part of the bet," I started, "If I can manage to chug down this pint of whiskey in one sittin', then you have to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. If I don't, well…I'll get a tattoo of your name in a reasonable place."

"Reasonable place?" Whiskey asked, chuckling.

"Arm, leg, calf, shoulder, back…not on anything too inappropriate," I answered.

He smiled crookedly, and I could tell that he was charmed by this intriguing bet. He either thought I was a psychopath or a genius. What was going on inside that beautiful, charming head of his?

"Alright," he chuckled slightly. "Deal."

Whiskey, who lowered his head and made his gaze more serious, and I shook hands firmly to honor the bet. The hand, in question, was coarse and rough, with quite a few calluses running through every part of his hand. Yet, when I grabbed it, I felt a sense of warmth and trust from it. I felt security. Something I hadn't felt in someone for the longest time.

I took the glass in my hand, feeling the cool glass against my skin. I breathed deeply, slowly preparing myself for what was to come.

In…out…in…out…

Then, I started chugging. Even though I had only been twenty-one for only a little while, I was chugging the drink down as if I had been drinking for ages. As the drink washed down my esophagus and deep into my stomach, my throat developed a burning sensation, which was probably from the whiskey. But that feeling didn't bother me because I had managed to chug a whole pint of Russia's hardest and finest whiskey within a twenty-second time limit.

"Done," I said, exhaling and beaming with pride.

Whiskey's eyes widened, as I slammed the empty glass down. "Damn, sugar. How—how—how did you do that so quickly?"

I shrugged. "Whenever there's a challenge that I know I can win, I don't back down. It's that simple."

"So your confidence enhances ya in a way," he says with a crooked smirk.

"Mm, you could say that. Yeah," I responded coolly.

"I guess this means you don't get that tattoo," Whiskey said, being disappointed in a sarcastic way.

"That's the thing, Whiskey," I started, "Since I'm nice, I'll honor both sides of the deal. I'll get the tattoo in the future, but not while we're still on this dangerous mission."

"Then, I'll honor your part of the bet," he finally said with a warm smirk.

As he leaned in close to give me the kiss, I could feel his hot breath blowing softly onto my cheek. Butterflies—hypothetical ones, of course—fluttered around throughout my stomach, causing my stomach to develop a strange feeling. What it was, I'm not sure, but it was a feeling that I could easily tolerate. I know that the kiss was only a reward of mine after the bet, but I still considered it as a token of chemistry between me and Whiskey. The first since our initial meeting.

"You're blushing," he commented.

"Yeah? And?" I asked, "It was the first time someone's kissed me on the cheek like that."

He then leaned in close to whisper into my ear, as a big smile painted itself on my face. It covered my face from cheek to cheek.

"Just wait 'til we're alone, sugar," he whispered in a low, serious tone.

Chills poured down my spine, and I began to have a new feeling. Was I horny? Maybe. No, wait…definitely. I was definitely horny. To suppress this feeling and not let it creep up to the surface, I bit my bottom lip and forced a crooked, little smirk, silently telling Whiskey that what he just did worked. It made me more attracted to him in that spur of a moment.

As I ran my tongue on the inside of my mouth, I heard an awfully familiar noise ring through my ears.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

A phone was vibrating nearby, but where was it coming from? It made me paranoid and anxious the longer it buzzed. I couldn't find the source of the sound, and it caused me to go silently psychopathic.

"Oh, sorry, sugar. Didn't notice this," Whiskey said, picking up his phone. "I'll be right back. I have to take this call from Mr. President himself."

Whiskey went off to take the call from the president, leaving me sitting all alone at the bar. Ah, yes. Vulnerability. Something that I didn't want to be familiar with.

And vulnerability would be the key factor in me being thrusted into a sticky situation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two older men walk up to me, sandwiching me in the middle of the two. Both men were built strongly like trucks, but not as strongly as dump trucks. The first man, who leaned against the counter on my left, had black eyes, black hair, and an intricate tattoo running down his neck. The second guy, who copied the first's mannerisms, was bald but had the same black eyes as the first. Both definitely fit the definition of literary antagonists, and both definitely made me suspicious of them.

"Hey, pretty thing," the first one said, trying to flirt with me, "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

The second man chimed in. "Yeah. A pretty girl like yourself shouldn't be here all alone."

"Sorry, fellas, but I'm not interested in men that give me the antagonistic vibe," I said, brushing them off.

"Come on. Surely, you'll be willing to let us be here with ya," the second guy added.

"No thanks," I said shortly. "I ain't single for y'all."

"Well, where's your fella, then?" the first one asked, getting closer into my personal space and making me more uncomfortable.

I kept my composure and dared myself to not stare these fellas deep into their eyes. "He's takin' a phone call, trying to get things at his work straightened out."

"Where does he work?" the second man pestered, getting closer to me.

I slowly turned my head to stare at him, giving him a look that could be a sign of aggression. "None of your damn business," I responded aggressively.

The two men chuckled, irritating me more than I already was. "Someone's getting irritated," the first cheered, trying to put his hand on my shoulder. "Maybe putting your hair up will do the trick."

I whipped my head around and forcefully brushed his hand off my shoulder. "Keep your hands off me, motherfucker," I commanded, "or I'll shove my foot so far up your ass that you'll have toes for a tongue."

Still, the two men didn't stop. "Damn, girlie. Does your mother feed you with that mouth?" he asked.

I got up from my place at the bar, escaping these two men for the moment. "Don't talk about my momma, and don't you fucking touch me," I said, standing behind them and preparing for a fight by rolling up my sleeves to my elbows.

Daddy would always tell me to stand up for myself, no matter what happened. So much so that he taught me how to defend myself and especially how to throw a couple good haymakers in a tussle. Now, I'd be able to put all those backyard lessons to good use.

"Aw. Look. Little pussy's gonna pick a fight," the second guy said.

Not hesitating, I lunged at the second guy, taking him down almost instantly. I pounded my fist into his face, trying to make him bleed profusely. Evidently, it worked after only a few seconds because he was already bleeding from mainly his nose and mouth. The first man then grabbed me by the waist and pulled me off the second man. I squirmed to try and break free, but it didn't work. So I elbowed him repeatedly in the side of the head until he let me go. As he dropped me to the ground, I could barely pull myself up to my feet.

If the bar wasn't there, then I wouldn't have been able to be upright.

As I just pulled myself up, the first man drew his arm back as if he was getting ready to punch me. Just as he was going in for it, a mysterious rope from out of nowhere appeared and wrapped itself around his wrist. The first man was pulled back with so much force that when he landed, there was a possibility that he broke his tailbone.

I looked over to see where that lasso came from, and I was shook. There was Whiskey at the top of the stairs, gathering up his lasso and staring both of the men down.

"Now, that is not how you treat a lady," he said as he slowly descended the stairs.

He arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stood firmly in his place. "Sugar, why don't ya jump over that counter and enjoy the show? Things are gonna get rowdy in here," he said to me.

I gave Whiskey a salute and jumped over the counter. I was ready to watch a show after checking for any possible injuries. I think I'm fine, but there's no mirror around here to help me make sure of that.

"Since you fellas clearly don't have any manners, let me show you what they are," Whiskey said coolly.

The second man launched himself toward Whiskey, but Whiskey was quick to the draw. He chucked his lasso toward the second man, wrapping it around the man's waist. Whiskey then proceeded to launch him into the bar, as the first man tried his hand at attacking Whiskey to no avail. Meanwhile, I watched as both of the intolerable men were getting floored by Whiskey and his skills with the lasso.

Whiskey must've got bored with using the lasso because he then reached to his back and forcefully pulled out his whip. In heroic fashion, he started battling the two guys one by one, whipping them and making them yelp in pain. It was great to watch. So great that I started to chuckle while I watched Whiskey continue to take the men down. After a while, though, I could tell that Whiskey was getting irritated with both of the men. Not only because they weren't going down, but also because they had made the previous mistake of messing with me.

Using his whip, Whiskey launched the first man out the nearby window, shattering it in the process. The second man was angry and tried to throw a chair at Whiskey in hopes of knocking him out. It didn't work, however, as Whiskey used his whip to grab the chair and launch it at the second man, who was knocked unconscious by the hard, wood structure. Whiskey pressed a button on his whip's handle, and it retracted back into only its handle. He then readjusted the cowboy hat on his head and put the whip back on his belt.

"Oo-ee. I feel like a tornado in a trailer park," he exclaimed as he looked over to me.

I emerged from behind the bar, making my way over to Whiskey. Immediately, he marched over to me and checked me out, in case I had any injuries.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good," I answered, wiping my bottom lip with my thumb.

As I looked down at my thumb, I saw some blood resting on top of it. It was relatively fresh, so it had to have been from a recent injury.

"Oh my. I'm bleedin'."

"Let me see," Whiskey said, using his thumb to examine the cut on my bottom lip.

As he used his thumb to hold down my bottom lip, I kept still, forcing a familiar feeling of desire to creep back down to the depths of my soul. I couldn't let that feeling show itself to Whiskey. Not at this moment. Not now, at least.

"It's a good-sized cut, but it'll heal pretty soon," he said hopefully.

He then grabbed a damp washcloth from the bar—a clean one, of course—and gave it to me.

"Here. Put that on your lip. It should stop bleeding in a few."

I put the washcloth on my bottom lip like he said. Doing this also gave me some time to come up with my next words.

"Thank you," I said, "for saving me like that."

Whiskey, once again, broke out the crooked smile. The crooked smile that never fails to make me blush.

"Of course, sugar. I'm just doing my job," he said.

"Your job?"

"Yeah. The mission, yeah. It's still my job. But the deeper job is protecting you. You're a new agent who's got a lot to live for. Without ya, this mission is gonna go to waste. I can't do it alone. This guy is far too dangerous."

After Whiskey said that, a familiar voice played deep into my ear. I couldn't place the face to the voice, but after a few seconds, I realized that it was Mr. President, who was speaking to me and Whiskey.

"Glad you two had your little moment, but I've got news to share."

I put my hand up to my ear so I could hear the president's voice better. "Give it to us straight, Mr. President. What do you have for us?"

"I've got someone new to help you two behind-the-scenes on this mission. From now on, you two will be working with Ginger Ale," the president briefed. "She'll be giving you two direct pieces of information about Balor as she works tirelessly to dig deeper. I'll still be here to track the threat and work on ways to strengthen our defenses here in the states."

"Welcome, agents Blackjack and Whiskey. I'll be working behind-the-scenes here and gain more information about this threat we're tracking," Ginger briefed. "I'll do my best to get what I can, but getting all of what this guy has done is gonna take a while."

"Oh, we understand that," Whiskey said. "This guy's done a lot of bad things, and if we don't stop him right away, he's gonna turn the whole world into a burnin' piece of toast."

"And I'm here to help you two stop that from happening," Ginger said hopefully.

I turned to Whiskey in hopes of figuring out what we should do next. I was hesitant about choosing what the next move should be because I didn't want to be the reason to cause Balor to go on the run again. Whiskey and I had to be careful in order to prevent this from happening.

"What's our next move?"

"I'm not quite sure, sugar," Whiskey said.

"I've got just the news that I just uncovered, agents!" Ginger started. "It looks like Balor Devlin is holding a masquerade ball tomorrow night. Plenty of elites, benefactors, and allies of Balor are expected to attend. Apparently, it's going to be a pretty big affair."

"So it'll be easy to sneak into," I concluded.

"Exactly," Whiskey commented. "That's our next move, then. Going to the masquerade ball and scopin' out any information about Balor."

"That's correct. As long as you two disguise yourselves as one of the elites, it'll be easy to sneak in," Ginger said.

I kept my eyes on Whiskey as I continued to ask questions about Balor to Ginger. "Speakin' of Balor, any new updates on him?"

"I'm glad you asked, Agent Blackjack," Ginger said, pausing to pull up new information that she had recently uncovered. "I've found that there's a key component for Balor and his plans of global genocide."

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

"It's called The Oracle. It's a set of what he calls 'antidotes' that are used to enhance the power of a mysterious weapon he plans on using. Without these antidotes, Devlin's hopes of accomplishing global-scale genocide are inadvertently dashed."

Whiskey decided to chime into the conversation. "And where might this Oracle be? Do you know?"

"It's somewhere within the Ural Mountains, which isn't too terribly far off from your location now. I'm sending the coordinates to you two now."

I looked around frantically for something to view the coordinates with. Whiskey, however, was a lot more laid-back about it. He nonchalantly pulled out a pair of what looked like high-tech glasses and put them on. Luckily, he noticed that I didn't have anything similar to his glasses, so he pulled out a second pair and handed them to me.

"Here. Put these on," he said.

Like he said, I put the high-tech glasses on gently, carefully looking for the coordinates that Whiskey and I were getting sent. As I looked through the glasses. I saw a set of electronic numbers pop up in the left lens. The coordinates. An odd set of coordinates that showed me and Whiskey where The Oracle was.

"We have to find a place to shelter," Whiskey said, "so we can rest up and not get a bad case of frostbite."

"Yeah. I'd figure," I responded.

"Good luck, agents. I'll be in touch once you arrive at the location," Ginger said, closing out the conversation.

And off Whiskey and I went to find The Oracle and move one step closer to saving the world.

* * * * * * * * * *

I never knew the Ural Mountains were even more beautiful than the pictures showed. As the snow crunched underneath Whiskey and I's feet, I took in the breathtaking surroundings, almost slipping into a daydream state. The sights were so delightful that they made me feel like I was in a movie.

No, Rocky. Don't daydream. Veronica Paige Crawford, you better not daydream. Don't you dare daydream.

The world is depending on you.

Whiskey and I trudged through the snow only for a little while longer before stumbling across—you guessed it—an abandoned log cabin. This time, it has the added bonus of snow on top of it, especially the wooden roof.

"Well, this looks homey," I remarked.

"It ain't ideal, sugar, but it'll do for now," Whiskey added. "It's not like we're spendin' the night here. We're just settin' up camp so we could successfully hunt for this Oracle everyone's talkin' 'bout."

Whiskey and I went inside the cabin, and it did not show the same beauty as the outside world did. Sure, it had the potential to be beautiful, but it definitely wasn't. Wood planks, broken glass, and what looked like old drywall and stone cluttered the ground below and made the ground unsuitable to comfortably lay on. Luckily, we weren't staying here overnight. We're just setting up camp here so we can find The Oracle and get closer to Balor.

"Good news, agents. The Oracle's location has been confirmed. You should be good to move out whenever you're ready," Ginger told us through our earpieces.

"Copy that, Ginger. Thanks for sharing," Whiskey said.

After Whiskey and I made damn sure that we had all the supplies in the sanctuary, I uttered words that I would end up regretting later on.

"What if I go up and get the antidotes?"

Whiskey whipped his head around as he was taking inventory on the supplies. "Are you fuckin' crazy? Do you wanna get yourself killed?" he exclaimed.

"Whiskey, this whole mission is practically suicide in itself!" I exclaimed back.

The atmosphere between us went silent, causing my blood to run cold. I felt as though I struck a nerve in Whiskey. A nerve that I never intended to find nor damage. Great! Did I forever tarnish this relationship I thought I had with Whiskey? I sure hope I didn't. Even though I kept denying the fact that I was in love with Whiskey, I was starting to see certain traits in him that I doubt any other person would notice. I didn't want to tarnish this camaraderie that has the potential of turning into a romantic relationship.

"If I don't go up there and snatch these antidotes from under Balor's nose, then we're fucked, and we could die. If I stay down here and be a lookout, I might miss something, like enemy soldiers, and then, we're fucked and dead," I explained.

"But if you aren't careful, then you could die! I can't risk that, sugar," he shouted, his voice's intensity rising in anger. "My job is not only to neutralize this threat, but to protect you, sugar. If I let you go up there alone, a lot can go wrong. You could be kidnapped, killed, God knows what else. Who knows? Balor could've laid a trap up there, and then, I'd have to bust my ass to get you out of trouble! A lot can go wrong at the drop of a dime, and if you make the wrong decision, that's on me."

I had no choice but to match Whiskey's intensity in the argument. "Why is it on you? I don't need to be babysat, Whiskey. I'm an adult trying to be an agent. I can't exactly be an agent if you're holding me on a fucking tight leash! I think that if I go up there, then I can successfully get the antidotes, and we'll be on our way. Why is that hard for ya to grasp?"

"No. No, I won't let ya, sugar. Not when there's too much risk involved in that," he said, still shouting.

"What choice do we have in taking different positions? We're fucked either way!"

"Don't think like that, sugar. We're not fucked," Whiskey said, slightly calmed down but not fully calmed down.

I could still sense Whiskey's frustration and anger in his voice. I guess I can say that I did indeed strike a nerve.

"I can go up there and get the antidotes, so that we could go on our way after that," he said in a relatively calm tone, despite still being angry. "I just don't want you to go up there and get hurt, or worse, killed."

"But if you go up there, Whiskey, then you're gonna get yourself killed. If these assumptions are as bad as you say they might be, then there's an equal risk you pose when going up there as I pose if I were doin' it. I don't want you to get yourself killed because then, I'll feel guilty."

"Why would you feel guilty? I thought we were just colleagues, sugar," he said.

"Well, lately, I hadn't been feelin' that way. And sorry if I don't want to see you get killed like my twin brother did! I have enough guilt from that terrible night. I don't wanna have any added guilt on top of that. That would break me, Whiskey. If you thought that my twin brother's death would break me down, then you wouldn't know what would happen if I saw you die right in front of me. You'd have no fucking idea!"

Now, I definitely damaged a nerve. How did I know? Whiskey blew up in frustration, being so angry that his face was turning beet red, and a couple veins in his forehead were very much visible. They looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

"No fucking idea? No fucking idea?! Of course, I have a fucking idea! I was married to my perfectly innocent high school sweetheart. She was the love of my life! She was pregnant with my little boy too.! He would've been alive right now if his momma didn't get caught in the crossfire when two meth head morons decided to rob a fucking convenience store! So if you think I don't know pain and guilt, then you're dead wrong, sugar!"

The atmosphere fell silent again. Tears were forming in my eyes as I heard Whiskey's tragic backstory for the first time. I could feel my heart physically shatter for him. Sure, I cared about him, but I didn't think he'd suffer just as much as I did. I guess my confidence and bullheadedness blinded me like that.

God, Rocky! You fucking idiot!

"And I'm sorry if I care about your fuckin' safety because I couldn't do that with my wife and unborn son! It's just that—every time I look at you, I see—I see her. And if you go up there and possibly die getting the antidotes into safe hands, then it'll be like her gettin' fuckin' murdered all over again," Whiskey said somberly, tears welling up in his eyes as the intensity in his voice died down to a more calm tone, "and I don't want that to happen to ya."

Cue more silence and tension between us.

"You see her in me?" I asked, as I continued to fight back tears.

"Of course, I do," he responded, wiping a tear off my cheek with his thumb. "Your personalities are pretty much the same. Headstrong, mature, perceptive…you two were eerily alike."

The atmosphere started to lighten up a bit, but I was still pretty frustrated with myself. Whiskey and I had not gotten anywhere so far with the mission because of this argument. Plus, I didn't know how to tell Whiskey what I was feeling because they were so complicated to deal with.

"But if you cared about me, why don't you let me go?" I asked, my voice rising again and embracing the conflict-seeker side of me.

"Because it's too dangerous, and if you die, it's on me! Why can't you understand that?" Whiskey shouted, as the argument started all over again. "You won't let me go up there, but you still wanna go, despite it being so dangerous. If we don't decide one way or another, it's Genocide Day here on Earth, and Balor will win. I just—I just don't understand what the fuckin' problem is and why you seem to care so much about me stayin' here and being the look—"

"Because I fucking love you, okay!?" I exclaimed.

I could sense the atmosphere changing in tone. Whiskey was stunned silent, and so was I. I had finally confessed to Whiskey these complex feelings I'd been feeling for him, and it was hard for me to admit to it. Now, it was out there that I was in love with Agent Whiskey, but how will he take it? Will he return the favor or abandon me and not care about my feelings whatsoever? Nevertheless, there was definitely a change in the way the both of us saw each other.

"Ever since you rattled off that damn pickup line when we first met in person, I'd been in love. But I denied it at first and set up ground rules because I didn't think I'd be ready for love a year after what happened to my twin. I didn't want to go through another heartbreak like that again. So I kept denying these feelings for a long time and focused on the mission at hand, and ever since I had these feelings for you, I'd been at war with myself. I loved you then, Whiskey, and I love you now. And I pray to God and hope that you return the favor, mainly because—"

Whiskey then grabbed the sides of my face and forcefully and swiftly pulled me into him, subsequently forcing me to be pressed hard against his soft, considerably moist lips. Despite my eyes being closed, I could tell that this moment—this intensely passionate moment between us—had stemmed from frustration that had boiled for a considerable amount of time. I was breathless, having the air that was in my lungs snatched out by Whiskey, who continued to kiss me hard in the heat of the moment.

While he kept one hand at the back of my head and intertwined his fingers into my long brown hair, I slowly ran my hand up and down the side of Whiskey's jawline and kept the other firmly grasped onto his arm. My fingernails dug into his coat, as my grasp tightened on his right tricep. After we parted after several minutes of an intense few moments of intimacy, I still had a feeling lingering within me. A feeling of desire. I wanted him—I wanted Whiskey—badly, but I knew that this mission was more important. I had to set these feelings aside for now. I had to refocus on the mission.

Silence lingered between the two of us, as I was left reeling from what happened moments before. I was speechless. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, no words came rolling out. A few moments went by, and I eventually opened my eyes again to see Whiskey again. This time, however, we saw each other differently. We not only saw each other as agents and colleagues, but as lovers.

I smiled only slightly, carefully and gently nibbling my bottom lip. I wanted Whiskey desperately, but the time constraint on our hands was more important.

"Damn," I quietly uttered. "Didn't know you were that good of a kisser."

Whiskey shrugged. "You don't know anythin', sugar."

I remained silent, trying to remember all that happened moments before this passionate moment went down. Nothing came to mind, for I was distracted by that memorable moment that I proudly call my first kiss.

"What were we fightin' about?" I asked, genuinely forgetting what happened before this all happened.

Whiskey's mind remembered what happened before this all went down, but I assumed that he thought it was better to bury the hatchet we had. That small, miniscule hatchet.

"I'm not sure," he said in a relatively low-toned voice. "My mind's drawin' to a blank."

"Probably best that way, huh?" I responded.

Whiskey and I shared a relatively quiet chuckle to try and ease the awkward tension between us.

"You can go up to that hill and get the antidotes if you want," Whiskey commented. "You're probably much quicker than I am."

As I grabbed my now empty backpack, I smirked at Whiskey. "Hope that doesn't happen while we're alone in a more comfortable place than this."

Whiskey damn near choked on his own laughter, while I laughed on my way out the sanctuary. As my feet crunched against the snow, I knew that my attention and mind had to be put toward getting these antidotes. My mind, however, was weakened, as it kept daydreaming about Whiskey. No matter what I did while I was on my way up the mountain, the thought of Agent Whiskey still remained trapped in my head. Ever since I met him and even what happened just moments ago, I now deny myself the strength to put him out of my head. I want to remember him forever.

After only a few moments, I managed to arrive at the top of the apparently small mountain, finally getting the chance to rest my tired legs. All the hiking, all the physical work…it almost turned my legs to jelly. But I knew that I couldn't give up now. If I don't get these antidotes into safe hands, then all hell will break loose. Hell is already going to break loose since I'm snatching the antidotes, but at least right now, it was only a matter of time before it happened.

"You up there, Blackjack?" Whiskey's voice asked me through my earpiece.

"Yeah. Just got up here. It was a bitch to do it, but I made it," I answered. "Now, I'm trying to figure out how exactly to get these antidotes."

"There should be a computer pad up there, where you enter in a five-digit code to override the system. That five-digit code, according to what Ginger relayed to us, is…six, four, six, nine, six," Whiskey started.

I found the keypad and entered the code, being especially careful not to mess it up. Luckily, I got it the first time. "What next, Whiskey?"

"Did you see a small door or somethin' open?" he asked.

I looked at the tall column at the top of the machine known as The Oracle. "Yeah. There's these small capsules with some sort of liquid in them."

"Okay. You're gonna carefully grab all of them," Whiskey continued. "You don't wanna break 'em."

"I'll try not to," I said, carefully snapping the antidotes out of this peculiar device.

As I was stuffing the last antidote into my backpack, I noticed enemy soldiers that were coming up the other side of the hill. Clad in white winter uniforms and their weapons drawn, they were moving up the hill relatively quickly. Much quicker than I made it up here to the top. In my version of a fight or flight response, I decided to fly and flee the scene. Carefully but swiftly, I slung my antidote-filled backpack over my shoulders and made a break for the sanctuary, hearing the snow crunch beneath my feet quicker than ever before. Even though I almost toppled down the small mountain a couple times, I always kept my footing.

As soon as I came within one-hundred meters of the sanctuary, I saw Whiskey standing in the doorway, waiting for me.

Aw. How cute. He cares about me, I thought, as I tried to distract myself from the threats that were coming.

"Whiskey, get down! They're comin'! Get down now!" I shouted.

He couldn't hear me, despite my loud cries. "What?"

"Get down!" I shouted, tackling Whiskey in order for him to avoid the gunfire.

I tackled Whiskey to the hardwood floor as hard as a linebacker. We both dove behind the walls to avoid the enemy fire, which broke through the glass windows as easily as butter. I could hear the bullets hit against the wood, but luckily, this wood was thick enough that they didn't pass through and hit us. Through all this, however, Whiskey didn't seem too pleased that I floored him with ease.

"You could've made your entrance a hell of a lot smoother," he shouted.

"Fuck you! I just saved your life!" I shouted back, matching the high volume amidst the gunfire.

"Yeah, and your entrance might've cost us the easy way to Balor."

"Does it look like that matters now? We're getting shot up faster than a runaway eight-point buck during huntin' season, and all you care about is getting the cash prize at the end!" I shouted back.

Whiskey and I took a quick peek at the soldiers firing at us before dipping back behind the walls, our backs feeling the rough hickory of the cabin. Despite adrenaline pumping through both of our bloodstreams, we remained stagnant. We were sitting ducks at the moment.

"How did they even find us, anyway?" Whiskey asked in a high volume voice.

"I don't know! I was just snapping the antidotes out of that thing like ya told me to do. Next thing I know, I'm stuffin' the backpack with the stuff, and they're climbin' up the mountain trying to get my ass. Came awfully close, but they didn't."

"We must've tripped an alarm or somethin'," Whiskey said.

"Or maybe you were right, and Balor set a trap for us," I suggested. "I'm sorry, Whiskey. I shoulda listened to you."

"Trust me, sugar. We're way past that. No need to bury an already buried hatchet."

The gunfire ceased for only a couple split seconds, which gave me a new opportunity. Now was the time to properly fight back against these bastards.

"They're reloading their weapons," I pointed out. "Now's our chance."

I loaded up on the solid black glocks that I had since I didn't want to use my sniper rifle in such close range. "Cover me, Whiskey!"

Before the gunfire could start again, I rose to my feet quickly and dashed out the cabin and into the winter wonderland. Whiskey covered me by shooting at any other soldiers that I wasn't directly fighting. I could assume that he did this because he didn't want to risk shooting me and being liable for what might happen next.

I was tearing through the enemies one by one, either shooting them in their chests or knocking them unconscious, using either the handles on the glocks or my fists. It was relatively easy at first, but my confidence might've gotten the best of me as the enemies that flooded in were much tougher than I thought. Now, it took more than one hit to take them down. With one soldier left, he and I stared each other down. It was like time froze for only a few seconds. Every time I stared deep into his soul, he stared deep into mine. Who was going to crack first? Definitely not me. I had too much training and discipline to crack.

Carefully, I drew my two glocks once again. It didn't go unresponded, though, because as soon as I drew the glocks, the soldier drew his small knife. I pulled the trigger to both glocks, and nothing happened.

Damn it, Rocky! You didn't reload, I thought to myself.

I didn't worry. At least, I didn't let the enemy soldier know that I was. I tilted my head to let the enemy know that I was cocky enough to keep going, and he smiled an evil grin. It was so evil that even Satan himself might run away in fear. Loading the glocks back into their holsters, I realized that I had to think of something else to use. Then, a lightbulb clicked on in my head.

"Whiskey!"

"What, sugar?" he asked.

"Toss me that high-tech lasso of yours."

He looked at me as though I was crazy. "Are you flippin' nuts?"

"Just trust me," I said. "I just need it for one split second."

"Fine. Here," Whiskey shouted, tossing me his high-tech, retractable lasso.

I caught the high-tech lasso with ease and started to use my arm to spin it around. When the enemy soldier charged, I used my arm to launch the lasso's loop toward, ultimately bisecting him at the waist. I was reeling after that battle and its result. I thought it'd be relatively easy for me to kill someone who worked for the enemy. I thought that witnessing death a year after what happened would be easy to deal with.

Turns out, being on the other end of the fight as the villain is a lot harder to stomach.

As I started to get back to my feet after remaining in a kneeling position for a few moments, Whiskey came over to give me a hand and help me up. Of course, I grabbed his hand willingly since he took the time to make sure I was alright.

"You okay, sugar?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess. You better thank your fuckin' stars I didn't need no more backup."

"I guess I should, then," Whiskey chuckled.

Then, the sound of rumbling trucks emerged. Two heavy-duty military trucks came barreling toward Whiskey and I, which meant that we weren't in the clear yet.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, being in disbelief that there were more coming.

"A sign that says that we're not out of the woods yet, sugar," he responded, dashing back to the cabin.

I quickly followed Whiskey, making sure that I didn't get hit by any possible gunfire heading my way. As I neared the cabin, I stepped wrong and tripped over my feet, almost immediately feeling a horrible pain in my right ankle. In terrible pain, I screamed, letting out a slew of profanities that were unfortunately a part of my daily vocabulary.

"Damn it! Motherfucker, that goddamn hurts!"

Whiskey looked over to a pained me after he dove behind the wall to avoid the bullets' range. "You okay? What happened?"

"I rolled my fuckin' ankle! God, it hurts like a bitch!" I exclaimed.

"How bad is it? Can you stand on it?"

I rose to my feet and tried to stand on both my feet. After touching my right foot to the ground, I collapsed with defeat. Luckily, Whiskey was there to catch me and make sure I didn't face plant into the wood floor.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Whiskey voiced out loud.

"How about a hell no?" I suggested.

I heard the soldiers outside preparing to fire their weapons, while Whiskey and I remained in the wooden sanctuary assessing my apparent injury.

"Agents of God knows what agency," the enemy commander started, "We'll give you one chance to come out here, with your hands up, and surrender the antidotes to us. Then, you'll have the opportunity to live."

I stuck my head out of the shattered window and saw this wave of soldiers holding their weapons steady and aiming for the cabin. My ankle was still hurting at this point, but I learned to deal with it.

"Fuck you! We ain't budgin'. If you want us, you'll have to drag our cold, dead corpses with ya," I shouted, "and do us a favor, eh? Go to hell!"

After the soldiers readied their weapons, they fired upon the cabin again. This time, the gunfire was a lot more rapid, so there was more of a chance of me or Whiskey getting shot. If that ever did happen, I'd lay my life on the line for Whiskey. I love him so much that I'm willing to take a bullet through my heart for him. As soon as the gunfire ended, the soldiers left on their tank-like trucks presumably back to their base. They thought that Whiskey and I were shot dead, even though, in actuality, we weren't. We were safe behind the wood walls that had thick enough planks that nothing could pass through. Not even bullets.

"They're gone," Whiskey said, looking out the window as the trucks left. "Must've thought we were dead."

"I should be after what I said to them," I said, still wincing in pain.

"Hey. Don't you ever regret that, sugar. That was awesome," he said. "I had to do everything in my power to not laugh out loud so that those guys couldn't hear. It was unfiltered, unexpected, and I loved it!"

I smiled, but only for a brief second before the pain radiated through my body again. I grabbed my ankle and yelped, trying to self-diagnose this pain myself. But it was a hard task to do because I wasn't a doctor. I knew that I couldn't stand on it, so that was a big indicator already.

"Jesus fucking age Christ, that hurts!"

Whiskey quickly came to my side and knelt down, checking out my ankle and making sure it was okay. "Are you okay?"

"What do you think, cowboy? I'm cursin' in pain, I can only stand on one foot. What do you think?"

As Whiskey looked at my ankle, I winced in complete agony. I think I had a broken ankle, but I couldn't be sure because, again, I wasn't a doctor.

"It's fine. I've been through much worse," I said, accepting the pain and putting that thought aside.

Whiskey gave me a look of shock and denial at the same time. "You've been through injuries worse than a possible broken ankle?"

"Oh yeah. I've been through a lot worse pain," I answered, snapping my ankle back into place so that it didn't hurt anymore.

Yep. Definitely a fracture. But what type of fracture it was…I don't know.

"Trust me, Whiskey. If I pass out and become unconscious, then that's when you really need to worry," I reassured.

"I'll keep that in mind," Whiskey said. "Come on. We have to go."

"Where?"

"A secret base in Yekaterinburg. If we can get more antidotes from there, then it'll be better for us and worse for Balor," he said.

I tried to follow Whiskey, but I kept hobbling, which slowed me down significantly. "Might take me a bit to get there. Damn ankle's actin' up again."

Without even hesitating, Whiskey swiftly came back to my side and slung my arm over his shoulders. He dared not to speak a word, but his actions spoke louder anyway. I didn't let it show, but I was screaming on the inside. He didn't know it, but I was falling in love with Whiskey all over again…and I wouldn't change that for the world.