Aboard the Guatemalan Trans-national Express, Paula hunkered down behind crates stocked full of gin, bamboo and drainpipes as the huge, sleek, jet-black train hurtled towards its destination at a speed that made sound turn inside out.
Paula sighed and reminded herself that this was definitely the last time.
Lunging from behind her hiding place, her svelte leather-bodysuited frame cut like a rubber knife through the air towards her target, her limbs jack-knifing out and thumping with quiet yet disturbing thunks into the adam’s apple and unguarded temple of the well-armed but unsuspecting security guard. As the comatose man crumpled to the floor of the swaying carriage, Paula allowed herself a smirk.
Davos would be proud.
With the guard’s clearance chip in hand, Paula made short work breaking into the next carriage, and the next, and the next, moving so fast that the locks seemed to dissolve through her fingers and the shiny minimal interior of the cargo carriages blurred past her as quickly as the train’s shiny minimal exterior was doing through the South American countryside. All this was mere muscle memory. All this was basic training. All this was the easy part.
It was as she leapt her way past the umpteenth crate of bamboo that the irony of the situation caught up with her. Given the name of her on-train contact and all…
Said crate exploded open in a milleu of wood chips and green sticky splinters. Paula barely had time to twist her torso in mid-air to catch the first blow on her forearm. Landing badly, she reversed her momentum against the train’s forward charge, fighting gravity for a terrifying second as the next kick meant for her forehead sailed over her head. That second allowed her one glimpse at her opponent…
A flurry of blows landed all over her, disrupting her concentration and forcing her to react. Elbows, knees, shoulders, all were used to disperse the punches and chops as Paula scythed her slender muscled arms in response. Pirouetting deftly and flicking her knee upwards, she caught her attacker with a satisfying stomach- deflating kick, and at that moment, she realised she could smell the pungent oily scent of gin.
Standing over her enemy, panting, she placed one booted heel across his sweating neck before she recognised him. With the huge black smudges painted over his eyes, it had taken her a moment to see…
“…Davos?!”
Licking his lips and cracking his infamous half-grin, the head of her organisation smiled up at her through his ridiculous eye make-up and drawled; “You never got the bamboo jokes, doll? You were meeting a guy with the callsign ‘Panda’!”
Davos wheezed out a laugh from underneath Paula’s boot as she stared down at her boss, dumbfounded as the Trans-national Express droned and chuntered on its way, oblivious to its tenants.
Paula blinked.
“B-but…this can’t have been another training excersise…this is a heist!”
Davos grinned again, a tiny black cartridge topped with crackling electric blue energy appearing in his hand.
“No, sweetcheeks. THIS is a heist.”
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