Why do I have to do it?
Because you're the one that put the plan together in the first place?
Anna huffed, tugging her employee cap a little further down her forehead, in an attempt to obscure her wandering eyes. She was a schemer -- not a field person, being in a building she'd dreamed of seeing go up in flames many times made her anxious, but she tried not to let the disdain cloud her judgement. The redundancy of the people worship on stage had hardly met her gaze, she looked around at everyone, from the sheeple to the tight security, occasionally readjusting her caramel locks so they fell past her ear. The instrument attacked to her earlobe, with a cord running down to another device clipped on her top, were both issued by the establishment's security -- so no one would think anything of her merely listening into what the other guards were discussing (a dreadful mix of fake news and rendezvous). But every now and then she would tune into an alternate channel, stationed just close enough to the event to slip under the radar, with a secure server programmed by a former software engineer that quit complying with their horrid leaders after manipulation had gone too far. Despite how well the set up seemed -- Anna never felt comfortable, nor should she be.
Because with every advantage came a set back -- the most recent one being the rumors of their planned attack, fueled by an ex member who had a nasty case of pillow talk. They'd put an end to him -- something Anna wasn't proud of -- but they couldn't have even rumors spreading, not when so many lives were riding on one dinner, one night, one shot. And of all the people they chose her to procure that shot -- not to say she didn't have a steady sniping hand, but there were people more qualified that worked with her, individuals that knew the ins and outs of a building she'd only been in twice in her life, the first time leading to an inevitable ban. So why her? No one else had the balls, though Anna wasn't about to say she was here out of nerve. More like they slapped a round on her waist and locked the door after pushing her outside.
"You wanna get something done, you have to do it yourself," She murmured, unnecessarily adjusting her cap once more before straightening her posture, a reluctant show of respect as the leaders finished spreading nonsense and finally came down from the stage. Though her expression remained neutral, indifferent, Anna observed the three, Marcus, Quentin -- she already knew Talia was not in the cards, that woman was clever, it was spelled out by the smugness on her face and carved in the gun shot wounds of former resistance members tossed away in ditches. But the other two proved easier on a minuscule level. Anna wondered what the counter would be if someone else were to be taken out -- back lashes tended to be fierce.
"Aroha*, do you read me?"
"Copy."
"What's our game?"
"Oh now it's our game? I thought I was on my own?"
"We wouldn't really put you out there by yourself. Status?"
"Dinner room is being prepped. Best shot is tonight, they won't be here tomorrow."
"Who're we hitting?"
"That babolo* Marcus."
"Roger. Update me."
"Will do."
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*Aroha = Love in Maori, Anna's codename.
*Babolo = Insult in Samoan.