Delta - S01 E01

7 months ago

Delta - S01 E01

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 1

♥ Astrid ♥

Shooting ranges had always fascinated me. Call it creepy for a sixteen-year-old to say that, but it was true. Something about holding the cold metal of the gun, combined with the adrenaline as the bullet explodes from the barrel, not to mention the satisfaction received if it hits the target – it all added up to be one amazing time.

It was also a great way to get things off my mind. This was the sole purpose I had in mind as I entered a private range, tipping the bored-looking attendant a bright smile to assure him that I wasn’t about to commit a homicide. Sliding the gun I had been issued out of my jeans pocket, I checked the magazine and then leaned against the wall, breathing out through my nose. As fun was it was, any time I was in a firing range, I had to mentally prepare myself, because my imagination tended to go overboard when alone in a cold, quiet room with a gun in hand.

Something about it freaked me out. I couldn’t understand why I was able to shoot men straight through the heart in the heat of adrenaline-boosted field work, but once inside that room, my heartbeat sped up more quickly than if I had been confronted with a KGB agent armed to the teeth.

Once the psychological part was over and I had entered what was generally referred to as the Arctic Zone – because once inside, all emotion ceased, and it was just you and the gun – I stepped forward, drawing my gun up in front of me. My finger caressed the smooth metal, tucking itself under the trigger as I fixed my eyes on the target, which stood about seventy-five meters away.

Exhaling again, I closed one eye, sighting down the barrel and taking a little more time than necessary. Giving my imagination a boost, I pictured the target as a man dressed completely in black, holding a knife against the throat of – I shook my head in slight irritation. No, memories like that weren’t going to help. The man switched to holding a gun pointing at me even as I leveled my own at him. Part of me wished I had asked the attendant to give me man-targets instead of the normal bull’s-eyed ones.

Concentrate.

What would my early trainers have said if they saw me now? Fire first, and then think. I could almost hear them saying it. Training eleven-year-olds to fire a gun couldn’t be an easy job, especially since you knew that one day soon they would be in the field, firing at real targets. It made me grateful to know that I was one of the very few teenage agents Delta, the spy agency that employed me, had.

Breathing out for the third time, I re-leveled my gun at the target, emptying my mind of all thoughts. My gaze completely focused, I snapped off a rapid succession of shots, all of which slammed into the target in a split second. Lowering my gun and going back to an easy stance, I examined the outcome – and smiled.