Drina & Benja Work Ish

Their footfalls are nearly silent against the asphalt as Medrina and Benja hurriedly put distance between themselves and a factory just outside the little town they’re entering. A device in Medrina’s hand continues to count down as they move, each second ticking off another moment of peace. It’s barely still in the triple digits as they continue into town via one of the main roads. It’s late, or early, depending on perspective, and the streets are thankfully empty, the quiet surrounding them just moments away from being interrupted.

“How long til retrieval?” Benja asks breathlessly as they continue to move. They’ve slowed their pace to a respectable walk by now, not wanting to rouse suspicions, and he guides her toward the sidewalk rather than the middle of the road. Medrina pulls a phone from the pocket of her black BDU’s, sighing as she reads the screen.

“Delayed, apparently," she says. “Some sort of… issue with the other team.”

“Ugh,” he mutters. “And the blast?”

She holds up the device for him to read. 32 seconds. He barely nods. She quickly pockets the device and the pair keep moving in the direction of the rendezvous point further into town. The models had predicted the likeliest level of success with this very risky setup, and Medrina and Benja have long stopped questioning the logic of their design, instead simply following orders as best they can–no matter how flawed they seem.

The explosion can barely be seen in the distance, the sound echoing quietly through the empty streets. It might be silent enough to not wake sleeping townsfolk if their houses are noisy enough. The alarms are the real issue. Immediately, an emergency siren sounds in the distance, its wail long and droning. Benja pauses to listen and Medrina immediately corrects him as sirens sound closer to them. “Keep moving.”

The pair continue down the sidewalk, turning at the next cross street, acting oblivious even as curtains and doors are opened here and there as weary residents peek out to see what’s going on. They’re barely around the corner when Benja grabs Medrina rather suddenly and pushes her against the wall of the building beside them, which happens to be a recently-closed pub.

“Someone’s coming,” he murmurs, and without even thinking, presses his lips to hers in a rushed kiss. Medrina’s eyes shoot open and she resists the urge to shove Benja away as heavy-sounding vehicles move down the road, turning sharply to pass them as they head in the direction of the factory. She can hear shouting and a few pairs of feet running down the same road, and as Benja starts to pull away her hand grasps for his, urging him to stay in the ‘kiss.’ He knows to trust her heightened senses, not even aware of the trio until they’re within actual earshot. They up the faux passion, deepening the kiss with slight head movements and petting as the three soldiers near, Medrina reaching to hold onto the back of Benja’s head, half for the appearance of it, and half to yank him back the second they’re free of danger.

“Town’s on emergency lockdown,” one of the soldiers shouts to them from the road. Benja breaks the kiss and turns halfway to look at the man, pretending to be surprised. “You two lovebirds head home.”

“Right away,” Benja shouts back, reaching to tug Medrina against him and slip an arm around her shoulders like he’s guiding her. The soldiers are satisfied, hurrying to meet up with a slowing vehicle on its way toward the factory. Medrina is silent, fighting an uncomfortable laugh.

“Sorry,” Benja says quickly, releasing her shoulders the moment they’re free of prying eyes.

“I’m just surprised it worked,” she blurts, “Like some cheesy movie shit.”

“For real,” Benja laughs awkwardly. “They said low casualty, though! First thing I could think of to stop us from having to murder some rando soldiers.”

Medrina nods as he talks, then nudges him, smirking. “That felt like I was kissing my mother.”

Benja rolls his eyes, laughing.

“That’s because I have such soft, supple lips.” He immediately puckers his lips at her.

“Uuuuugh!” Medrina’s features scrunch up in mock disgust and she laughs.

“Let’s just agree to never do that again,” Benja suggests.

“Legit,” she says. “Next time we’ll just kill the innocents. Way less weird.”



December 31, 2019

“How’s Operation Ball Drop going?” Benja’s voice sounds over the secure comms channel on the walkie in Medrina’s hand. It’s a few hours from midnight at this point and she’s chilling in a nondescript office, lazily spinning on the chair.

She shrugs before pressing the ‘talk’ button. “Pretty sure half of Twitter is convinced I’m about to murder nearly a million people in Times Square. So… successful?”

Her phone sounds and about half a dozen more images from the actual Times Square festivities come across a text. She’s not even in the same state, which is fortunate. She’s pretty sure with all the posts there’s definitely a BOLO for her. Her job is absolutely the most boring for this mission: prepping and sending suspicious tweets to fuel fear of her intentions. So far none of their people at Times Square have been noticed. It’s always better to keep nondescript faces in a crowd.

“How’s the facility?” she asks across the comms.

“Practically a skeleton crew,” comes the swift reply. “We could probably slip in and out without even alerting them if we wanted to.”

“Stick to the plan,” she says quickly, setting the walkie down.

Silence, then Benja’s voice pops across. “Always do. Out for now.”