Be sure to read Part 1 here
and Part 2 here
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The team is clearly elite.  

I rub my bloody hands together over my spare clothes as I watch them.

Each of them has a unique style different than the short-cropped hair and clean shaven appearance of most agents.  One of them sports a bald head with a massive beard sprouting from his chin.  Another has his head shaved into low and wide double mohawks.  The woman in the group has blonde braids down the sides of her head that connect into one large braid in the back; the top of her head is dyed black.  She and the youngest of the men have tattoos like circuitry running up one side of their necks and curling around their brows.  Another of the men has a similar tattoo running up the shaved side of his head, but his is intermixed with numbers and images of various weapons, both modern and historical.
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Be sure to read Part 1 here
And when finished here, read Part 3 here
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I glance at the hand that stops me in the hallway to the agent bunkroom, then move my eyes up the arm attached to it and to the face of its owner.  A sheen of sweat glistens under long, black hair.  Frey examines my face.  I place my red fingers over her clean ones and hold them there for a few moments before dropping my arm back to my side.
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Blood is on my hands. Red rivers run through canyons that make up my palm print. It pools in the crooks of my curled fingers, creating lakes of a man that used to be. Drops overflow and cascade over the backs of my knuckles where they draw together until they are strong enough to leap into the air. They fall one by one between my boots, where they hit the ground and explode as scarlet stars over broken pieces of white concrete.
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