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Miss Fortune

The date had gone well enough, she supposed, though the wine had been sub-par. Blind dates rarely got very intimate, mild banter being the substitute for meaningful discussion. Normally, that would have put her off, but tonight was a different situation and she was thankful for the disconnect between herself and the man across the small table from her.

He was handsome, in a serious way. As with all military men, his face remained unreadable, his emotions buttoned up just as tight as his collared, white dress shirt. He had an athletic build; a strong torso and long, graceful arms ended with strong, well shaped hands. If he were any other man, she would be drawn to him. Knowing who he was, what he was responsible for, made her task that much simpler.

The waiter interrupted their silent staring contest, offering a fortune cookie to each of them, signaling an end to the evening’s meal. She politely accepted hers with a smile. He kept his eyes on her as the waiter set down the cookie in front of him.

“More water,” grunted her date, indicating his empty glass with only a twitch of his index finger. The waiter nodded silently and left. “What’s yours say, darlin’? You have to read it before you eat the cookie. Bad luck if you don’t.” He let out what she could only think of as a chuckle, though it was rough and had a harsh quality to it.

She cracked open the cookie, its warm fragrance rising from the still hot shell. She pulled out the sliver of paper, artfully tucked into the hollow of the treat. As she read, she was careful to keep her eyes neutral. She smiled, as if it were a funny anecdote like all the others she had ever read. Her eyes flitted to his face, but she was really studying the men by the door, suits hiding the compact machine guns strapped to their waists. They were distracted by the waitresses, who were showering them with flirtatious smiles. No man was immune to the advances of a pretty woman, not even one protecting national dignitaries.

“It’s nothing,” she said, a coy look in her eyes as she returned his steady gaze. She sat up a little straighter, arching her back slightly, as if stretching a bit at the end of the meal. His eyes traced her slim figure, the tight, red dress she had picked out only accentuating the curves of her body. It was delivering its desired results. She knew from the look on his face indicated he was hungry for more than just an after dinner cookie.

“Lemme see that,” he responded, motioning with his head.

She slid the paper, face down across the table. The waiter returned and began filling their glasses. As the fortune slid across the satin tablecloth, her hand brushed by his glass, spilling it. His reaction was lightning fast, but he reacted to the wrong motion. As her right hand tipped the glass, her left flashed into the vest of the waiter. Her fingers wrapped firmly around the cold grip of the semi-automatic handgun. She yanked it out with the ease and efficiency any professional assassin was expected to possess. Bam-bam! Bam-bam! The two guards at the door dropped to the ground as each explosive-tipped double-tap ripped through their thin body armor, fountaining blood onto the now terrified waitresses who screamed and fled in the ensuing chaos.

As she turned the gun on her date, he made a desperate lunge backwards towards the weapons of his dead entourage, but fell as he toppled over his chair into the next table. Two more quick shots of her pistol sliced through the tendons in his shoulders. He sagged on his arms, struggling to crawl for the door, but she put her heeled foot into the small of his back. As she increased the pressure from her heel on his spine, his head involuntarily shot up in pain.

“Who the hell are you?” He cried through gritted teeth, still struggling towards the exit.

“You know exactly who I am,” she replied, her voice cold.

“Why are you doing this?” he screamed as she drove her heel deeper.

“That’s what my sister and mother asked before you executed them. They never knew why, but now you do,” she whispered cruelly in his ear.

She drew up to full height, lowered her gun, and fired. Her last shot punched through the back of his skull, splattering his mind and soul across the polished floor of the restaurant.

She handed the weapon back to the waiter who simply nodded and smiled as he wiped it down and placed it in the hand of her now deceased dinner guest. As she regarded the man on the floor, she felt no remorse, no sadness. The only thing she could feel was pride. The words from the fortune cookie scrolled through her mind on an endless track, as they had for her entire life.

“Long live the Second Revolution. Long live the Liberated States of America,” she said quietly, a smile on her face, as she walked out the door onto the wet streets of Free Chicago.

Recommended1 Simily SnapPublished in All Stories, Flash Fiction, Sci Fi

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