1.

The first guard in Miranda’s line of vision is the one she takes down with her. She grunts and grabs him by the throat before sticking a dagger straight to his skin and pinning him to the empty corridors’ walls.

“W-What do you want from me?” the man whimpers as tears form in his eyes.

“Answers,” she says. “You’re stationed here quite often, aren’t you? You must know a few things about the commander and his activities.”

“I— I think you’re mistaken,” he blurts. “It’s probably someone else you’re looking for, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“I never said you did,” Miranda tells him through gritted teeth. The guard’s pulse beats against the small of her palm as she tightens her grip around his neck. “Why do you feel the need to defend yourself? What do you know?”

The man wheezes. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead.

Miranda opens her palm and lets him drop to the floor. She squats before him, resting her wrist against her knee, her other hand occupied with holding a gun—she takes out of her back pocket—to the man’s skull. “Tell me!” she shouts. “What the fuck do you know, soldier?”

“You—” The man gasps. His eyes are wide. “You’re crazy! I don’t know anything! And I’m warning you, if you don’t stop this, I’ll have to report you!”

Miranda leans in and nudges the gun against his temple. Next to his ear, she whispers, “Nah, pal, I’m not crazy—I’m just an assassin.” As she pulls away with a smile, she tilts her head and snickers. “Now listen, I don’t want to hurt you, but I would like you to acknowledge that I’m in a very bad mood today. So, unless you want to tempt your luck, and choose between having that throat of yours slit or your brains blown out later tonight, I think it’d be wise for you to start talking.” The man parts his lips to speak, but Miranda hushes him with a palm pressed to his mouth. “Oh, no, sweetie, that’s not how it works,” she shakes her head. “You see, if we do this here, someone will catch me.” She makes the gun spin around her finger until the hilt is facing his head. As Miranda knocks him out, she laughs again and sighs. “Man, even though you’re not the biggest of blokes, you’re still going to be a pain to drag back to my room…”

2.

“Why did you do that?” the guard gasps as Miranda tugs the piece of cloth—she had used as a gag when she was tying him up to her desk’s chair—out of his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Miranda says, her hands rested against her hips whilst she observes him.

“You didn’t have to be so violent!” he cries.

“Oh?” She raises a brow and crosses her arms. “Were you expecting me to seduce you first and gently get that information out of you, perhaps? Sorry, but no, I don’t work that way. If I want something, I take it. Watch…” Miranda circles around him. She stops once they are face-to-face and takes out another one of her daggers from the belt hanging by her side. As she points it towards his eyes, his groin, she carefully observes each and every single one of his reactions. “Well that’s rare. Doesn’t really seem like you care more for one or the other.”

“I care for my people.”

Miranda scoffs. “They trained you well then.”

Silence.

“Not going to talk, are we?”

He shakes his head. Miranda thinks she might have to clean up the blood that has dried against his chestnut bangs as he averts his gaze from hers. “You won’t be getting anything out of me. I am loyal to my pledge,” he mutters.

She stomps forward and grabs him by the collar. “Look me in the eye and dare say it again,” Miranda spits, “that you are loyal to a traitor.”

The young man smirks and faces her gaze straight on, his shade of forest green reflected in the oceans of her eyes. “I’m loyal to my cause,” he says. “And no one, not even you, will take that away from me.”