The Red Mercenary

“Could you remind me why we’re doing this?” Astoria said boredly, leaning against the wall of one of the apartment complexes that helped create the alley.

Logan looked up from the paper he was studying and gave his acquaintance a flat stare. Almost as if in defiance, the woman met his eyes and held her gaze with a fierce intensity. She’s certainly a strange one, Logan thought, sighing as he prepared an overview of his plan for the third time.

“We’re looking for the Red Mercenary,” Logan said, speaking slowly enough for Astoria to, hopefully, remember what he had said. “A friend of mine is on the police department, and he says they’ve been having a lot of trouble with this particular super villian. I’m not supposed to get involved, but my friend was able to slip me a copy of the criminal’s file.”

Her body still set in a relaxed posture, Astoria said, “No offense, but why would he ask you for help?”

Logan cursed under his breath. “Look,” he said, “I’m just trying to help gather information. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

Astoria snorted, holding out her hand. “Lemme see the file.”

Logan handed it to her, and she studied it for a moment. When she got to a certain point, she frowned. “Huh,” she said, cocking her head. “They got my height wrong.”

Logan stopped in place, a shiver creeping up his spine. “What did you say?” he asked, voice quivering.

Astoria met his eyes, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Logan reached for his gun, but a sudden, unnatural gust of air knocked the breath out of him. The Red Mercenary looked at him for a moment, whipped out her gun, and fired a single shot.