"Damn y'all, I sure as hell missed this fly shit. Undercover, hijacking. Couldn't think of anything more bombass hell."

Quintin Barnes. LA. 21. Level 7. His parents were legal Iraqi immigrants, but they were deported when Quinn was just a baby. The orphanage he was left to changed his name to something more American, and he doesn't remember his real Iraqi name. I hadn't been on a mission with him yet but he deals cigs back at the agency and we've done some street courses together. He was chill. It was impossible to understand him when he was drunk with all his slang talk. He came to the agency when he was 16, a lot later than most agents, so he retained more of his urban west coast dialect than the rest of us. Quinn was also probably the least intimidating agent I knew. He wasn't as muscular as the rest of us, and he was always tripping over things, dropping things, forgetting things, rambling about things, and always had a goofy smile on his face. But he was a good agent, and hard to dislike with his awkward demeanor. Plus, his specialty was nuclear chemistry, which was the core science of what we were dealing with.

"I still do not understand what you are saying," Lucky sighed. It was hard enough even for the native English speakers to understand Quinn's fast talking and random slang sometimes, let alone Lucky, Lautaro, or Owen.

"Oh yeah shit sorry man. Uh, it's good to be back is all I'm saying."

"The boys are back in town!"

"Andrews, what did I say about talking?" Zach's tone was callous.

"Only to do it in absolutely necessary conditions," Harrison said quietly.

"And?"

"Subtle Patty, subtle. I'll shut up now."

"Don't call me Patty."

"Fine. Mission leader," the New Jerseyan dragged out slowly.

Ever since he got here Zach's entire presence had made everyone on edge. Mostly Owen, since Zach was purposely testing the German's directional skills. I have no idea why Flagg sent Zach when Owen was the best mission leader at the agency and he was already here. In a group this big already we didn't have room for two men so used to leading, and we didn't have time for them to find balance either.

Basilone was a terrorist. We knew he had at least three targets for the bombs he was making in Tunis: The Bellevue Hospital Center, a library for performing arts, and then a rescue center, all in New York City.

The Bellevue was unluckily the first target. All 11 of us were there right now. After Owen called Flagg again and told him what we had heard in the warehouse, he'd sent over Zach, Harrison and Quinn.

Once again we all had our jobs, motivated by a large sense of urgency and fear. Basilone said he wanted max damage. We didn't have time to figure out why the Italian was doing this, all we had to do was find the bomb, deactivate it before it blew up the building, preferably not getting blown up ourselves, and if we could get Basilone himself in the process that would be fantastic.

James had another drone out, this time piloting it from inside the hospital's main control room. All the security cameras and alarm systems were in there, so he could see everything on a larger display and not over the span of two laptops in a hotel like the last two times. The drone was x-raying the building from top to bottom, and could chart chemical frequencies and heat signatures through the walls. James' eyes had lit up when the new agents brought it over from Denver with them. The original eight of us hadn't brought it since Flagg didn't think we would need the extra technology. I don't think anyone could have predicted that a lose foreign alliance official turned terrorist bomber would be the mission debrief.

Four of us were in the hospital itself disguised as everyday civilians. I was sitting at the small canteen in the center of the hospital, Harrison was in the south lobby, and Blitz in a waiting room near the east entrance. Cal was disguised as one of the receptionists. Lucky was on the top floor of a parking garage across the street with one of our digital camera monoculars checking for activity from above. Zach was sitting on one of the park benches outside. James was in the control room, and Adira, Owen, Lautaro and Quinn were in the basement. So many voices were flying around the radio in my ear it was discombobulating. Luckily everyone had a different accent of sorts so it was distinguishable who was speaking, but none of us had been on a mission with 11 people before. Owen was doing his best to wrangle all of us, getting increasingly annoyed and stressed as he struggled to get every part of this massive and complicated hospital in view.

It didn't help that we had no idea what we were looking for. Suicide bomber, robbery bombing, captive situation, an air strike or even a plane flying directly into the hospital, we couldn't tell. Anything goes. Our biggest priority was to not let anyone get blown up, but also to do this discreetly as possible. If civilians find out there is a terrorist in the area, hell would break loose.

-

"Isn't terrorism all online now?" Cal noted.

"Yeah, bombing shit is so 2000's," Quinn added.

"Hate is timeless," I said, "as long as humans are around, we will clash."

"Well that's cheery," Harrison said.

"Aristotle is quaking at the philosophical realism," Quinn nodded.

"Cal has a point," Axel said, "it's all about hard drives and computer blackouts now. Bombs seem a little..."

"Primitive?" I suggested.

"Then what the fuck are we even doing here?" Blitz grumbled.

"Y'all, Francis is picking something up along the top four floors."

"Specifics would be great James," Owen sighed from next to me. Him, Quinn, Lautaro and I were in the basement of the hospital after James' drone picked up a chemical frequency coming from down here. Sure enough, we found a bomb and a bomber, the latter of which was gagged and tied up behind some boxes, and the former of which was currently being dissected by our mechanic and our nuclear chemist on the cement floor.

"Hold the phone, who the hell is Francis?" Harrison asked.

"The drone," James replied evenly.

"It has a name?"

"And?"

"With what gender does Francis identify with?" I asked.

"Francis is whatever Francis wants to be."

Quinn wiped his brow with the back of his hand holding his wrench. "Francis is a bitch name."

"If you're going to give it a name at least make it something good Strider," Blitz's English accent chimed in.

"It has to begin with a D," Cal asserted, "Drake or Donna or Diego or something."

"Death the Drone sounds badass," Lucky offered.

"Jeez okay okay, we'll rename it later. But for the record Barnes, can you pilot Franc—the drone?"

Quinn was quiet. "Well, like, if it came down to it, like adrenaline and shit I'm sure I could fuckin' work it out like it ain't rocket science or nothing—"

"Exactly. You can't. So back off me and my drone."

"Fuck Strider just get back to the point," Zach said irritably.

"The drone who shall remain gender fluid, nameless and will go by they/them pronouns," a massive sigh was heard from Zach, "is picking up high chemical frequencies getting carried by singular heat signatures on the first, second, third and fourth floors," James reported.

"Bueno, eso es genial. So much for just the one to deal with," Lautaro muttered from next to me. He ran a hand through the bleached tips of his hair.

Owen cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles. "Lawrence you're the quickest —get up to the fourth floor. Andrews you get third, Bowman you go second, and I'll get the first. Peréz, Barnes, stay here. Radio if you manage to get it dismantled. You'll have to tell us how once we get to the other ones. Ackley, move to where Lawrence was in the main lobby."

I darted out from the basement as soon as he finished speaking, with Owen right behind me. How he thought so quick about what to do blew my mind. He wasn't called Flagg's runner up for nothing.

The German ran beside me up the cement stairwell to the upper floors, me silently thanking Blitz he made me run stairs and track back at the agency. Owen looked surprised that I was keeping his pace. When we reached the first floor he broke off and burst through the push doors while I kept going up to the next floor.

"James, where is he?"

"North side, moving west at room 104."

Axel and Harrison's voices came over the radio asking James where the bandit on their floor was. I zipped around another corner and then realized that our redheaded computer hacker wasn't going to have to tell me what the bomber looked like.

The perp wasn't exactly subtle. He wore a large, thick, dark zip-up coat and his hood shading his face. He was coming towards me and had his head fixed down at the floor.

"James?"

"No, it's the other dark clothed suspicious hooded guy not-so subtly hiding a bomb under his sweater —yes that's the guy!"

"What do you want me to do?" I hissed.

"Tackle him tackle him tackle him!" He chanted.

"What about the bomb?"

"Oh right. A slightly less intense tackle!"

I sighed but prepared to so what he said. I could probably flip midway through and get the bomb out his hands without letting the package hit the ground.

But then the man looked up. He had dark eyes that peered out from deep within the shadows of his hood, and made frightening eye contact with me. Then he bolted back the way he'd come from.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, but picked up my pace to a sprint and went after him.

"Oh we love a good chase scene," James said.

I rolled my eyes as I ran, "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Lion King?"

"You know it."

"Can we not talk about Pixar films and focus instead on chasing down your bomber Bowman?" Our mission leader said in monotone.

"Um, excuse you, the Lion King was Disney, not Pixar Hoffmann. What, you live under a rock or something?"

"James Strider I swear to god," Owen threatened. Though it did sound like he was holding back a laugh.

"That bitch!" Harrison's anger roared in everyone's eardrums.

"Yours take off too?" Axel guessed.

"Everyone's did," James suddenly sounded rushed.

I nicked the edge of my shoulder as I slid around another corner. "Do we shoot?"

"We can't risk the bomb falling out of his hands and going off," Owen said.

"We have almost got it rewired down here," Lautaro claimed. When he was anxious his accent thickened, which was the case now.

My man up ahead suddenly stopped short. I saw his jacket flap swipe out, and then a gloved hand pull a metal canister out of the inside pocket.

I pulled out my gun from the holster at my thigh. "Blitz, start getting everyone out."

"What? Why?"

"Because this guy is about to set his bomb off." I shot at the fire alarm set into the opposite wall. The glass shattered, red lights started pulsing, and the blaring alarm went off throughout the entire hospital.

"Ah fuck, warning next time Adira, damn!" Quinn yelled.

"I coulda triggered that," we all heard James mutter.

"Oh no, she just likes to be a drama queen," Harrison replied mockingly.

"Takes one to know one," I retorted back.

"Bitch--"

"If he's gonna fire it then get the hell out of there!" Axel said, sounding like he was also chasing his guy.

"No, I think I can still catch him," I insisted.

"Deera—"

I reached the man still tinkering with the device, and hit him in the back of the head with my gun. He fell forwards, and the bomb slipped out of his hands and skidded across the floor. I jumped over him to chase after it, but then a shot ran out and a hot numbing pain sprouted in my side. I turned and saw the bomber with a handgun in his right hand and I turned on my heel and kicked it out of his grasp and down the hallway. I turned back around, stumbling a little bit from the bullet he grazed me with, and reached the bomb. It was smaller than I thought, roughly the size and shape of a soup can. It was blinking red on one end and my hands shook as I picked it up.

Then different hands wrapped around my mouth and neck and yanked me backwards. The bomber tightened his grip around my neck and pulled my back into his chest. I clawed at his hands, and started to wildly kick my legs. I couldn't scream, not that I could be heard over the fire alarms. I tried to calm myself down, like Blitz said I needed to in times when your airways get blocked, because your first instinct is to start breathing more, which only exhausts you further. So I moved my hands down and started elbowing him in the gut. His hands loosened and I slipped down and out of his grasp, turned and kneed him in the gut, punched him in the cheek, then kicked him down. I turned back around to the bomb. "Lautaro, this one looks very different than the one in the basement!" My voice shook.

"What does it look like?" He asked just as urgently.

I was about to reply when the bomber came back and bashed me in the ear with his elbow. I fell off to the side while he picked up the bomb, clicked a few more buttons, and then tossed it back down the hallway and spirited away.

Clutching my now bleeding ear I went, "Blitz it's gonna blow!"

"Run then you bloody idiot!"

"Mines going too," Harrison said. "He activated it, tossed it, and ran. I'm heading down the stairs with all the patients now."

"Jesus all of you are moving so quick!" James cried.

"Keep going Andrews," Owen said. "James, just keep tracking where the bombers went. I haven't even found the one on the first floor yet. Ackley, are people getting out?"

"Yes, but they're coming in waves. I don't think even a hundred are out yet."

"Lucky what's it look like up there?"

"Firetrucks are coming down FDR Drive right now."

"There's people in the elevators, all stairwells, and right outside," James said. "Cal and Patterson, you need to help them get away from the building itself. Adira, you are right below where the third floor bomb is ticking—"

"So get the hell out!" All the boys yelled at me.

I didn't waste a second and took off down where the bomber had gone. All the boys speaking over the radio in my ear and the flashing lights were making me dizzy.

"Peréz, Barnes —get up to James in the control room. Andrews keep coming down and meet us there too. Lawrence, Bowman, get to some stairs and you too. Oakleigh get outside and help Patterson help the immobile get out safely first, then see if there's anyone running like they might have set a bomb off. Ackley—"

His voice cut off.

"Owen?" James said.

There were faint sounds of fighting in my ear that could possibly be on Owen's end but I could barely hear anything over the fire alarm.

"Owen, status," James tried again.

"Leave him, concentrate on unlocking the doors and speeding the elevators to get people out," Zach told him. Wow. Owen's not even gone a second and he's nudged his way in charge.

"I'm not taking orders from you," James spat.

"Fuck you Strider."

"Why did we have to get the basement job? It's already crumbling down here!" Quinn didn't seem to notice the tension and he whined.

"What's the English word for when someone is taking their sweet time being a dumbass?" Lautaro growled.

"Dilly dally?" Axel suggested.

"Andrews?" Zach muttered.

"I heard that!" Harrison said.

The bomb above me exploded.

I was flung to the ground by the force, bits of debris falling down around me. I covered my head with my hands and tried to block out the ringing in my ears. I pushed myself up on my forearms in the dust and scattered insulation and coughed. Then the one on my floor went off, and I got blasted forwards again, slamming into a wall right on the side where the bomber had grazed me with that bullet. I scrambled back to my feet and sprinted back to the stairs and merged with the mass of people screaming and crying as they clambered down.

"Adira!"

My head snapped up. I saw Axel leap down the last eight steps of the stairwell like Spider-Man. He grabbed my hand and together we jostled through the panicking crowd of hospital staff and mobile patients to the first floor doors while the rest continued down to the emergency exit out the building on the other side.

"You know, most people hold hands after a movie date or on their way to class or something," he commented when I didn't let go of his hand as we continued running at the same pace. His brown hair was fluffed with dust like mine probably was, and his arms were scuffed up with small scrapes, also like mine.

"Yeah, well, last time we were underwater hiding from the Italian Navy. Now we're fleeing from a crumbling building." I turned to him and raised our conjoined hands up between our faces. "I guess it's just an 'in times of crisis' thing for us."

He had the nerve to smirk. "So what I'm hearing is —I'm your hero."

"Niiiiice," Quinn dragged out.

"You seriously have the nerve to flirt right now?" Zach's tone was stressed and acerbic.

"Yeah, watch it Lawrence," Blitz added with hostility. Oh great. I guess we'd reached the stage in our friendship where he was now my older brother.

Axel and I let go when we got to the electrical room. Everyone was already inside, except for Cal, Zach, Lucky and Owen.

"I don't know where he is," James was saying as he frantically shoved his computers and other tech equipment he brought with him into his backpack. "His signal went out as soon as the first bomb went off and so did all the cameras. The drone is down too," he rubbed his forehead and then moved his hand through his red hair.

"People are scrambling out here," Lucky began, his accent on edge, "not everyone got out, and rescuers are trying to go back in, but the building just keeps crumbling. They keep the extra sick and immobile on the ground floor, and the bomb above that was the one to go off first. But I don't—I don't see anyone in those conditions out here."

My heart fell. I tried to suppress the sadness that I knew was coming, but I knew myself too well. It would come back no matter how much I tried to forget it.

Another explosion sounded and we all instinctively covered our heads. James quickly slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Alright, let's go let's go!" Lautaro yelled. He was bouncing on his feet ready to bolt. The eight of us hustled out the electrical room and started towards the quickest exit. But I caught James' bright hair start to go the opposite way.

"James come on, let's go!" Blitz beckoned him quickly towards the rest of us.

"We can't just leave him!" James yelled back. We had to strain to hear each other over the continuous blaring alarm.