-scraps-

                                    

                                          
Nikolai was piloting us to our arrival point. We sat on the heli in silence, going through info on the mission and occasionally one of us would mumble something to another. 
Out of boredom, I picked up the file that Laswell had given me.
There was a cleanly printed paper alongside a yellowing map and a few photos, with coffee and dirt stains. 
I picked up one of the photos, seeing a short woman with frizzy french braids, overalls, a tank top, and fireproof gloves. A welding mask was in her hands. Her elbow was propped up against a table, full of small metal scraps. Leaning against the table was what appeared to be a big metal sheet crafted from random scraps fused together.
I nudged Ghost. "We're supposed to work with her? She seems...eccentric."
"A nutjob, you mean." He said, lifting up his mask to take a puff of a cigarette.
I looked at the scar that ran over his lip for a moment before looking back down at the paper. "What is she even going to help with?" I mumbled, putting the file back in order.
"Guess we'll find out." Ghost replied.
✧༺♧༻✧
Me and Ghost got off the heli and waved to the others before walking down a sandy path to a scrapyard.
A bunch of totaled cars that had been flattened were stacked on top of each other, while others were taken apart and set into piles. A huge piled of worn or popped tires sat next to the chainlink fence, and beside it was an old couch that looked like it would give you a disease if you touched it.
A large table had scraps of metal on it, and next to that was another table with all kinds of tools. 
We were nearing the table when a woman with a blowtorch in her hands popped out. "Hello!" She chirped.
I felt Ghost's arm relax, and I looked down to realize he had put it on his hip quicker than I could even notice.
"Hello," I said slowly. "We, uh..."
"Kate Laswell sent us here." Ghost spoke for me.
"Laswell, Laswell..." The woman looked like she was trying to remember who the hell Laswell was. "Hmph. FBI girl or something?" She asked, as she pulled her mask on and began welding metal together as she spoke. 
"Uh... CIA." I glanced at Ghost, who gave me a "is this bitch serious?" look. 
The woman didn't look up. "What did you come here for?" She asks.
"We're looking for a convoy." I told her.
The woman looks up. She turned her blowtorch off. "Ah." 
Ghost clears his throat, looking at her. "Any clue where it would be?"
She hesitates, before gesturing to the stack of cars behind her. Ghost raised a brow, before walking behind it.
"Dice." He said instantly. "Come here."
I sighed before traveling over to where he stood, finding crates of ammo. "Holy shit..."
I took a quick count. There was seventeen crates of ammo, all of them reaching my hips. 
Ghost marched back over to the woman. "Who gave you these?" He hissed.
The woman hesitates, before muttering. "Amir Al-Sami."