Spook scoffed at Jake telling her to ease it up with her weapons, though she still complied and sheathed the sword on her back.
"Just 'cause I'm being pessimistic doesn't mean I'm wrong." She leaned forward and stashed the whetstone somewhere on her person, though exactly where was a mystery. Otherwise, she nodded to what the others said, at least until Nate had a psychotic break and started calling himself the Grim Reaper. At this, she looked up at him, blank stare of the mask calling him on his shit before she even said anything.
"Bullshit. Ninety-six has the farthest confirmed kill, 2500 meters. Took a Wild One Chieftain's head clean off, fucker was dead before he hit the ground. You're in seventh, behind Gunnery Sergeant Carlos Hathcock, at 2,286 meters with an M2 Browning machine gun." She took a second to let the fact sink in, that he was eighty-six meters short of outranging an automatic weapon. And then she picked up where she left off.
"You're eighty-six meters short of a guy in a jungle with a machine gun, and three-hundred of the record. You wanna go for it? By all means, but everything out here is pissed off enough to know you're shooting at it from four miles away. Now are you done being edgy?" Spook sat back and crossed her arms and legs, right foot bouncing lightly to keep the time.
She happened to glance over at Isis while she awaited some kind of response. Nate was right about one thing, she had to admit; she had an ass to kill for.
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FallenTrinity
