Evolution

While Hollywood and Barbie were out on surveillance, I stayed at home with the rest of the men, playing drinking games and bullshitting about nothing. We were all lounging around in the living room, Sterk's arm securely around my shoulders while his free hand held a beer bottle. "Gotta hand it to those Polock's," Twitch said as he held up his bottle of a local brew. "They can make one good god damned beer."

Spike, Sterk and I all held up our beers in agreement before taking a swig. Sterk pulled his arm away from my shoulder and rested his hand on my thigh, "I'm going to bed. Care to join me?" Poor man just couldn't hold his alcohol, we were only five beers in and he was already wasted.

"Nah," I said while shaking my head. "I'm not sleeping until I'm thoroughly drunk, to the point where I just can't stand," I winked at him and kissed him on the cheek. "Go to sleep, I'll be in soon," He nodded before getting up, using my knee as support, then waved at everyone and stumbled down the hallway. We all laughed as we watched over the side of the couch, Twitch over the side of his computer chair. I downed my beer before reaching for another from the cooler, glaring at it when I realized I no longer had Sterk's belt buckle as a bottle opener.

"Need a hand?" Spike asked with a flirtatious grin. He never gave up on his pursuit for a woman. I rolled my eyes and handed him the beer, which he popped on his own belt buckle, laughing when the foam spilled from the top and all over his white shirt. "Sure glad I ain't the one that does the laundry 'round here," He sighed while he pulled off his ruined shirt. My drunken eyes did not see the twenty-seven year old flirt that I had always smacked away angrily, but the muscles that he had worked hard to get. Leave it to drunk me to trace the lines of each muscle on his stomach without even noticing what wrong I was doing.
There were scars that lined his upper body, much like every other person who worked here. I didn't have many scars, other than the scars that covered my hands from working with so many wires and guns and knives without wearing any gloves. But the people I worked with; scars from bullet wounds, scars from being stabbed, scars from being punched too hard, scars from simply training. Sometimes it made me feel like a disgrace to our company, I had no proof of my intense training. I was trained in martial arts by Sterk, and he went lightly on me to make sure he didn't cause any harm to my body. So, as my fingers traced his scars and muscles, I felt a bit envious, a bit angry. Drunk me didn't take my anger out the same way sober me did. I was still aware that Twitch was in the room, so when I stood to pretend I was going to bed, I nodded towards Barbie and I's room to Spike, letting him know that this was his only chance to have me.

"'Night, Twitch!" I said while I walked down the hallway, feeling a bit of grief while I past by the room Sterk was sleeping in. I think I loved Sterk, now when I look back at it, we were really just using each other as a way to forget the bad day we had. But when we woke up in each others arms, it was also okay. It was nice to be held in a place where hands were usually only placed on another person for a severe ass whoopin'.

As I fixed the sheets on my small twin sized bed, there was a rapping of fingers on my door, and oddly enough I began to feel nervous. "Come in," I said nonchalantly, pulling up my plain red Egyptian cotton sheets, breathing in their citrus scent. The one thing I loved about doing laundry was using a citrus scented detergent, which pissed Barbie off since she absolutely hated the smell of citrus.

The door creaked open and shut just as quickly and quietly. "Didn't think 'ya were serious," Spike said, the sound of his boots were getting closer to me.

I turned on my heel, then grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto my bed. "Don't talk," I said a bit angrily. "Talking will just make me stop." I threw one leg over him so I could straddle him, once again letting my hands trace the scarred muscles on his stomach and chest. Sober me would have been repulsed by this, the constant stink of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath, the way he pronounced everything in a subtle southern accent. All of it bothered me when I was sober. All of it made me want him more when I was filled with a Polish brew. I leaned down and began kissing him, and he returned with no troubles. He propped himself up on his elbows as we continued, while I reached down to pull at the same belt buckle that had helped me get into this situation.

Our lips only parted long enough for me to pull off the pajama pants I had borrowed from Sterk, but the second they came off, the bedroom door opened. "You said you'd be in later," Sterk's hoarse voice said quietly. I gasped when I looked up from Spike, when I saw the horrified look on my lover's face as he took in what was in front of him. "You..." He narrowed his eyes on me, "You fucking bitch."

The words felt worse than any pain I had felt before. Even when my parents abandoned me, even when I had almost cut off one of my fingers during work. Those words were like a million knives stabbing me all at once, like a hundred bullets attacking my body. He slammed the door shut and I chased after him, ignoring Spike completely. I didn't blame Spike, it was me who initiated it.

"Where are you going?" I shouted after him while he grabbed his vest and shoved his pistol into it's shoulder holster. "You're insane if you thinking going out alone will fix anything!" He ignored me, pulling on his boots and not even bothering to lace them. The beers and this emotional stress was making the room spin, and I had no choice but to sit down on a barstool. "Stop ignoring me, Sterk!" He went to the front door, gave me the finger, and slammed it behind him. I quickly pulled on a pair of Barbie's cargo pants and pulled a vest over my thermal shirt, then grabbed the GPS device I had for everyone in the group. "Don't tell Barbie where I am," I told Twitch before following Sterk.

He was moving quickly, and I was dreading having such short legs, since it made chasing after him so much harder. Something hard kept hitting my thigh, something in the pocket of her pants. I growled and stopped running, kneeling down on the hard ground to retrieve the annoyance in my pocket. As I pulled out the small, yet heavy object from the pocket with my left hand, my right hand was shot. I screamed as the bullet lodged itself into my palm, and quickly realized that the object in the pocket was a small pistol, small enough to hide in your hand without anyone noticing. I glared up at my attacker, his pale skin shining in the moonlight. "Jesteś na mojej drodze!" I shouted at him before pulling the trigger of the gun, shooting him in the chest.

He fell to the ground, and I walked up to him, stomping my foot into his chest. "Stay out of my fucking way, you and all of your goddamned Podziemie freaks!" My eyes gave him the cruelest of glares before I shot him again, this time in the head.

"Stark?" A familiar woman's voice asked me, and I whipped around, pointing my gun. I wasn't taking my chances, I had already lost a good month's worth of work thanks to that stupid fucking bullet. "Stark, what the hell are you doing?" I lowered my gun when I realized it was Barbie, but Hollywood was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Hollywood?" I nearly growled, shoving the pistol back into my pocket.

"He saw Sterk running somewhere, " She walked over to me and pulled my injured hand up. "What are you doing out here alone? Furthermore, why the fuck are you wearing my pants?"

"I'm serious, Barbie," I said through clenched teeth. "Do not start your bitching. Where was Sterk going?"

She shook her head, "Hell if I know. He didn't tell us anything, but he seemed pretty pissed off. Did something happ-" Before she could finish her sentence, her comlink cracked and screeched before Hollywood's voice was heard on the other end.

"Sterk's down!" He shouted, and my heart damn near gave up on itself. Tears filled my eyes as he kept on speaking. "The Podziemie know our location, everyone needs to pack up and get the hell out of there quickly. I've already contacted McNaire, and he has a place ready for us. Twitch knows the directions. Give him your location, now!"

I screamed and turned back around to the body of the Podziemie, not caring that my boots and Barbie's pants were getting covered in his blood. "You fucker!" I cried as I stomped on his head, his lifeless body still twitching at the kicks. Barbie wrapped her arms around my shoulders and dragged me away, dragged me back to our 'safe house' and helped Spike and I pack our weapons while Twitch pulled the van around to the front. We had abandoned a good portion of our clothing, but saved all of our computers.

I didn't get to see Sterk's body. I didn't get to apologize for what I had done to him, and I knew good and well that it was all my fault for his death. That if anyone had to feel guilty, it was me. It was that damned Polish brew. It was Spike's scars and muscles. My unfulfilled need for sex. My stupidity, my unbelievable lack of shame, and my need to defy the rules we were given. Now I understood why we weren't allowed to fall in love, I understood completely. But, something else had occurred on the day of my lover's death, the day of my deceiving him - Barbie, the bitter, cold hearted bitch, allowed a man to touch her. Allowed a man to kiss her. Allowed Hollywood to show her what I had let go of.