<a class="proll" href="https://shop.Writing.Com/main/campfires/item_id/987734-Miscreants-Ball">Miscreants Ball!

Brenna (Bren) Harron:

The streets of London were wet as usual as I moseyed my way through the dark back alleys. But I really didn't mind the rain. It washed away the blood and gore that had caked itself to my day old combat boots. Another night, another kill. It was what I lived for.

I swung the heavy black tactical bag to the ground from my shoulder. There had to be a pack of cigarettes somewhere in there.

The top opened with a satisfying zip. Inside were cables, radios, and other gadgets that reflected dimly in the hazey moonlight. But sure enough, a box of Winstons was stuffed beside my carabineer and harness. Bingo!

I stuffed the pack into my shirt pocket, and continued digging for the Colt Zippo that was also tucked away. Now where was that sucker?

A fire engine flashed by the mouth of the alley, sirens wailing as pedestrians cursed. I glanced up, wide eyed. I couldn't have. I most certainly did not.

I stared back down into the tactical bag. Shit. I had left my lighter at the scene. Fan-fucking-tastic!

I sighed and zipped the bag back up, slinging it once again over my left shoulder. The bag thumped audibly against my back. No Cigarettes for this little assassin. I continued trampling through the alley.

That was the third lighter this month! I would just have to stop blowing shit up until I could keep control of my lighters. It was just bad for business. Not to mention twenty dollars of my incoming million would have to go towards a zippo. How irking!

I stumbled slightly as my foot got stuck in a muddy puddle. Water spashed up my legs, making me look like a bonafied bed wetter. Geeze, what'd I step in... a lake?

It was too tempting to yell "I did not pee myself!" but there was no one near to hear me even if I did. It was better that way though. The way this night was going, I did not need innocent by standards to kill and stuff in a dumpster. The British frowned on that sort of thing if I rememberd correctly.

God, I needed to go home and go to sleep. What I wouldn't give for some sort of transporter, a bottle of wine, and a bubble bath. Where's Aladdin when you need him?

Gabriel Porter (Prince of Persia):

I woke with a start, my chest heaving. Blood. Lots and lots of blood. My hand snapped to my naked torso. I felt around, but there was no wound-not a single bullet hole. My trembling arms fell back to my lap. Where was I? The room was pitch black, but my fumbling fingers somehow managed to find the switch of a lamp beside the bed I was in.

A putrid yellow light flooded the room. The wall was a boring beige, while the carpet was dark blue with some obnoxious flower pattern. The room itself was not a bad size at all, considering it was a hotel room. I wracked my brain for a city or a state, but came up with nothing. The best I could decipher was that this was a Marriot. Their carpeting I could always recognize.

There was a soft moan to my right, and small movements. My hand snaked its way under the pillow for the gun I knew would be there, but there was no need.

A small woman was twisted around in the white hotel sheets next to me, her naked, flawless skin peeking through the thin material. She was a hot little number with flowing red hair. Last night I couldn't resist her. She hadn't been bad either, but now I wished she would go.

The girl flopped around some more, rolling closer and nudging herself up against my side. I frowned. One shove and she was back to her own side, but the banshee shriek was really unnecessary.

She tugged the sheet close to her chest like she was a virgin and I had just made a pass on that hot little body of hers. "What are you doing? Where am I? Who are you?"

Hell, for all I knew she had been a virgin before last night. I sighed. "What does it look like babe? Do you think we watched movies all night?"

Her eyes widdened, and I could see the tears before the welled. Splinded. I shrugged and reached for the tv controller. Six in the morning; surly I could catch the news. I leaned back against the headboard, resting my head back against my hands.

The woman shrieked with exasperation and scuttled off to find her clothes. Good riddance.

An abnormally cheery field reporter appeared on the tv screen, her huge blonde hair hidden by a big green umbrella. I squinted to see the writing at the bottom of the screen. New Museum exhibit? Who gives a fuck?

I flipped the screen back off and turned back to the woman. She was tottering on one foot, trying to get her other heel on. It was obvious she was trying to stay as far from me as she could get, but I could have cared less. She glared at me, but it was hard to take her seriously with eye liner smeared accross her nose. Bloody hell, was she a mess!

I grinned as the hotel door slammed home. What a drama queen. At least that mouth of hers was good for something.

I picked up the reciever of the phone on the nightstand. "Room service?"

Rory Devlin:

The sky is filled with pinpoint stars even though it is overcast. As I run, I hear the loud footsteps of what must be at least four cops behind me, echoing eerily on the cobblestone sidewalk that seems to tilt with each running step.

Why now? Why does my bad luck have to crop up when I least want it?

At least I'm not unconscious yet.

I hear a shot ping off of a nearby Dumpster. At least... I think it's nearby. Suddenly the world does a frightening pirouette, and I find myself on the ground. It's funny-- it's my own body that's doing this to me. A long time ago, some guy found it fit to stick an icepick in my ear. I won't go into it: it's a long story. Anyway, the doctor who treated me told me that I was lucky to even be alive, but I don't feel that way when this happens. As far as I know, it's just because the thing that controls balance in my ear is screwed up. I'm pretty much deaf in this ear, too, but that doesn't bother me too much.

On the grimy cobblestones, I wonder briefly, which way is up? I force myself to my feet again, cursing my stupid ear, and start running. Who would have thought that such a small thing like an ear could do this?

The cops are getting way too close for my liking. Finally, the dizziness is fading. I duck out of the way around a corner into a narrow nook that only someone who has lived here for a long time would even know exists. The cops are lost, and I sink to the ground when they pass, glad that the sky above me is it's normal, smoggy self again. No wavering stars.

I shift my position on the ground, feeling a stab of pain in my leg. I reach down gingerly, and when I bring my hand up again, it shines with blood in the moonlight. How did I not notice?

Making a more thorough examination, I realize that it isn't too serious--just a scrape. It's bleeding like a bugger, though. I'll ask Andi to patch it up when I get back.

After a few moments, the apartment seems farher and farther away to me. I'm feeling kind of weak, and I know it's not from my ear this time. I hate getting shot. That sounds kind of funny. I use a grimy slip of cloth that comes from God only knows where to stem the blood. I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace that I stole. Was it worth it? Hell, yes! The thing has so many diamonds it could weigh down a ship. It'll pull in a mil at least.

Andi's gonna like this.

I get up slowly. The dull throb in my leg is burning now, getting worse now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Finally, I hitch a ride to the apartment. I know that it might not be such a good idea, since the cops probably have everyone in the world looking for me already, but it would be even more conspicuous if I was walking around in the dark past midnight dragging my leg. And the cabbie is quiet. I hate people who talk a lot.

The cabbie drops me off by the apartment Andi and I share, and I get out, paying him wordlessly.

I make it into the apartment before collapsing on the floor.

How disgraceful.

Andi is in the bathroom freshening up, and she hears me fall. Racing out, she registers first annoyance that I'm home so late, then shock.

"Rory, you idiot! What happened?"

"Don't ask," I mumble. Andi lifts me onto the ratty chair we have in between the beds. She's slim, so you'd never guess how strong she is. Sighing, she walks away into the bathroom, coming out with an emergency kit.

"Okay," she says. "Just be still."

I nod. She doesn't have to tell me. Right now, I don't want to move.

"You've heard about the exhibit?" She says conversationally.

What exhibit? "No." Andi knows everything. She'll tell me.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it..."

Jennifer VanMorran:

Mascara. Blush. Lip liner. A quick gloss. Perfect.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, then looked over my shoulder at Jones. Standing by the door with his hands folded in front of him, he cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Miss VanMorran, if you are all ready, then we'll be off to the museum. I believe the car is out front. Your driver today is Alexander," he said in a low voice, as though afraid I would bite him. He had a right to be afraid. I had told him at least a million times that I would not ride with Alexander. He's a mad man in a boat. Oh well, Jones was just trying. I had to give him credit, being my body guard for over 15 years.

I stood slowly and walked past him through the open door that he was holding. "Thank you Jones," I said and continued walking. Someone opened an umbrella as I walked outside and another helped me into the boat. Alexander shook at the wheel. I stifled a laugh.

On the way to the museum, Rachel went over my schedule, most of which I didn't hear. I was thinking about something else. Something bigger.

I stepped out of the boat, holding onto Jones' hand for stability. After walking for some time, we turned the corner and waited for the traffic to stop to cross the street to the Venice Museum. As I stepped through the doors, I smiled seeing the museum manager.

"Monsieur Delbur!" I said as he kissed my hand. I wish he wouldn't do that. "What have you got for me today?" Monsieur Delbur, the head of the entire museum, smiled and pulled out a pamphlet.

"A very nice surprise Madame, I'm sure you'll be interested," he said with his French accent. I always noticed his greased back hair and perfectly triangular black mustache, but today it was especially prominent. He really needs a stylist. I took the pamphlet and narrowed my eyes in on a gold box on the front. It finally arrived.

Brenna (Bren) Harron:

The walls of the old mansion creaked with the wind. The sound was very eerie, but it put me at ease; my normal loneliness didn’t even register. I lay on the antique chaise in the blue room, staring rigidly out a window. Rain pattered lightly against the glass, running oddly down its uneven, rutted surface. Thunder shook the foundations and the whole house rattled.

The old plantation house was on a hill overlooking the Black River in South Carolina. The moment I saw the crumbling pillars and over grown English garden, I knew I had to have it. That was four years ago. The decrepit outer shell kept what few neighbors I had away while renovations were being made. And though the outside appearance hasn’t changed much, the inside has absolutely flourished.

I fumbled for the half gone cigarette in the silver ash tray, eyes never leaving the rain-skewed window. I leaned forward, eyes squinting to see through the tiny rivulets. Down by the river—a flash of movement. I knew it! I knew there was someone out there!

I jammed the cigarette into my mouth and slid off the blue silk cushions. My palm caught the handle of the Walther P-99 as it fell off of my lap.

I crept quickly down to the main hall and through the empty house silently, stopping only for a moment to put my heavy trench coat on. I didn’t know who was out there or what they wanted, but they were sure as hell going to regret coming here.

Outside the rain was cold as it whipped me across the face. I crouched calmly against the side of the house, searching for any sign of movement. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

There was a rustle to my right, by the stables. My hands tightened around the grip of my gun as I dove around a corner to my left. A bullet embedded itself into the rotting wood of the mansion right where my head had been. I turned my face away to shield my eyes from the hail of splinters that followed, and then raised my Walther to fire.

I caught the intruder in the chest as he turned to find cover. The man fell to his knees, one hand clutching his bleeding wound. I ducked back behind my corner, making sure there were no more attackers. I would have done a more thorough job too, but the rain was really getting to me.

I approached the man, gun still ready to fire just in case. He was a short thing; clothed in all black and a trench for the rain. He looked almost too young to be a man, more of a boy. Eighteen years old was my guess, but I was never one of the ones who won the jelly bean jar after guessing the right number. He looked up at me with crystal blue eyes and rosy red cheeks. God, was he pretty.

The young man raised the gun that was still clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Don’t.” I warned, my own Walther snapping up to aim at his head.
The gun was lowered and dropped haphazardly at his side. “Don’t shoot.” He coughed a little, hand tightening over his chest. “We have a job for you.”

My eyes narrowed, head snapping around to look for more people.

“My boss sent me here alone.”

Yeah, like I was going to believe that. “And if your boss wants to hire me, he can do it by himself; the civilized way.”

I met the boy’s eyes again. He seemed older now. Twenty maybe?

“Jennifer VanMorran for eighty million.”

Eighty million? Sweet Jesus! And that name sounded familiar… VanMorran.

“We had to test you—make sure you were good enough.”

I raised an eyebrow. He was my test? This was starting to get a little hokey, even for me.

“Well then I’m sorry for you and your boss. No deal.”

The shot rang out loud and clear, like even the thunder decided to sit back and watch the show. The rain pattered away on his cooling body, blood and brain matter sliding down his still very beautiful face. Such a waste of young talent.

I clicked the Walther’s safety on and turned to go back to the house. This place was no longer safe.

Gabriel Porter (Prince of Persia):

The Romanee Conti red wine slithered pleasantly down my throat. It was one of my all time favorites, and Gerard had broken it out immediately after we heard the news.

"Say it again old chap!"

The man sitting in front of me moaned, struggling half heartedly against the duct tape that held him to his seat.

I chuckled, completely amused. "Ah yes, almost forgot."

I reached over and tugged on the ratty old gag that had been shoved inside the man's mouth. It dropped to dangle around his neck.

He coughed and sputtered until he could speak again in a soft voice. "Former leader Serge Fedorova was assassinated late Thursday night in a London warehou..."

The man was cut off as I slapped him accross the face. "Not that part you imbecile!"

He tried again. "You, sir, are the new leader of the PR5 terrorist organization." He clamped his mouth shut before continuing. "The Prince of Persia."

I grinned ear to ear. PR5. It was brilliant, bloody brilliant!

"Gerard?"

The butler snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Fetch some more wine, and call Gretchen will you? I'm feeling rather in the mood!"

"Right away, sir."

I turned to the bodyguard standing watch in the corner. "Kill him."

"Yes, sir."

I smiled as the man started yelling frantically in Russian. If I hadn't already had arrangements with Gretchen, I would have killed him myself.

A peircing shot rang out from the basement as I walked up the stairs. Prince of Persia... bloody-fucking-tastic!

Rory Devlin:

"Magic?" I ask incredulously, leaning back on the chair. The night is gone by now. It is early morning; two something probably. Andi is sitting to my right on her bed. "The box is supposed to be magic? You've got to be kidding me," I say.

Andi shrugs. "It's what I heard." She stretches out across the ruffled covers, her fiery amber eyes locking with mine, daring me to contradict her.

Well, if it's what she heard then it's probably right. She's always right. Andi has infallible sources, and the ear of many important people. She doesn't even watch the news, because she already knows what it's going to be. Breaking news is old rumors to her. But magic? Seriously, that's dumb. Just because I'm Irish doesn't mean that I believe in leprechauns and banshees...and magic. Looking sideways at Andi, I ask, "Are you sure? Is it some kind of rumor?" Oh--I shouldn't have asked that. She always says, "Well, you know, you'll--"

"You know, you'll never know until you see it with your own eyes."

I thought so. We both lapse into silence, so that the only sound is the rumble the sparse traffic makes on the road outside, and the whistle of the wind as it blows in through one of so many cracks. Andi covers her face with a pillow whose stuffing has migrated to the edges, and she groans. Wisps of her hair stick out from underneath it, and it looks like a Scottish Terrier has taken up residence there. I don't even try to move. I just sit there, eyes half closed, waiting for sleep that I know won't come tonight.

"'M tired," Andi says. She yawns so deeply I can hear it through the pillow.

I lift myself to my feet, using the arms of the chair to launch myself up. "Okay, then!" I'm surprised at the verve in my voice.

Andi shifts the pillow so that one half-lidded amber eye is visible. The usual flame there is dimmed with exhaustion. Mumbling something incoherent, she says softly after a moment, "Okay then, what?" She has that tone in her voice, like, "What is this crazy guy up to now?"

"Have you been to Venice?"

She smiles, a mischevious Cheshire cat one that reveals her straight white teeth. "Okay, then!" she says.

We catch the soonest flight to Italy, and Andi falls asleep against my shoulder on the way. I let her: she's exhausted. Besides, I'm only human, and Andi's as hot as they come. I tap her awake when the captain announces we're going to land.

Andi lifts her head with glazed eyes, grinning at me before she realizes that she's been nuzzled up to me for hours. She blushes. "We're landing?" She says impulsively. "I can't wait! This should be fun." Yeah. It should be fun. There are probably a billion people after it. Fun may be the wrong word. Absolutely amazing fits better.

I nod, noticing that she's carefully avoiding my gaze. To Andi, any show of emotion is a sign of weakness. "Did you get a good rest?" I ask.

She blushes deeper, and fixes me with a glare that lights her fiery eyes. "Yes," she hisses.

"Good. I'm glad."

We touch down. Andi keeps her distance from me as we leave the plane. We are enclosed by hurrying people and loud voices in various languages. Andi looks worried by the bustle.

"I don't speak Italian." She says.

"It's okay. I do."

She looks at me without turning her head. "If you're sure," she says.

I am. And we're here. I feel like Lasagna. "Let's go eat." I say.

Sophia Delbur:

I watched and waited in the shadows of the lobby as Miss VanMoron strode by, she smelled of jasmin and distrust.

"Why do you always act like that around her, you know I hate it Father."

Monsieur Delbur jumped with a start not having seen Sophia.

"Ah mon petite chou how many times do I have to remind you of how vital Miss VanMorran is to our little Musuem. -- Mon Cherie Miss VanMorran wait just one moment I'll give you a tour of the exhibit myself." She was half way down the hall by now, she seemed to be in a very big rush.

"Go make your final arrangements for the viewing, we'll still be awhile."

As I turned I could hear him telling her, "The opening galla is not for another week, but we decided to give you a private showing."

My face showed disgust but I wiped it clean before I slipped out through the back door and down the hall lined with gaurds. It seems I had chosen the right outfit for today, I could tell by the way the guards were staring. It was short crimson japanese style dress with a slit exposing most of my thigh . I put my hair in a long fishtail braid, the swish of it behind me was comforting. I took another turn down a back corridor and opened the heavy wood door I've come through so many times before.

The sight was amazing, everything I have worked for since I was 16, all my findings, were there in one of the most beautiful displays I have ever witnessed. At the heart of the display, a gold box the size of two fists rested in a glass case roped off by red velvet chords.

Beaming with pride I walked over to my favorite find unhooked the line and punched in the code on the keypad. I gave the display case my indentification card and it unlocked. Opening the glass doors I ran my hand through the box. The image wavered as my hand hit only air, a hologram. Perfect I thought to myself, it's ready for the Galla and Miss Vanmorran.

The faintest of smiles appeared on my lips as I returned to my private office. I couldn't help it.

A Non-Existent User

Majin_Epyon Presents:
Caswell Derry
One—
Freddy Gets Fingered:

It went down like this...
The night was chilled, a full moon shining down upon the mansion in upstate New York. I had done some time near here as a kid, and I swore never to return. But here my ass is. Seven heads making a move for the door. And from outside I can hear fifteen more coming up the path. It must be amateur night. Breaking sticks, trampling gravel, ammo cartridges and frags not secured to their fatigues, this obviously must be Freddy’s goon squad.

Freddy “ Fingers” Abdul. This Turkish fuck; he sits across from me at this dinning table with that shit eating grin breaking his face, and I realize how much I hate this man. At one time we’d done business, actually quite a lot of business. I used his docks to import my shit, and the Turk just sat back and got fat off my royalties. But like all things, our business was coming to an end. Freddy was sick of sitting back and getting fat off of my shipments, so he began skimming from the take, cargo and crates gone missing from the docks. Theft he would say, which was bullshit. I was king around here, and no one made a move without my authority. Then the cops got involved. At first I didn’t worry, the Halls of justice were on my payroll; from the beat-cop to two supreme court justices I saw to it my influences were everywhere. What money couldn’t buy, the lovely C.C. would remedy.

But this was personal.

With Freddy I had to make a statement. You see the coppers had tipped me off. This new Super-cop was trying to clean up the Baltimore docks, tighten the shipping codes and other hard ass gung-ho shit after 9-11. But all would have been fine, except Freddy was greedy. His moonlighting operations were putting my whole empire in jeopardy. Freddy was promising young girls from his home country dreams of a slice o’ American Pie, shipping them here in the cargo crates and then turning them into heroin addicted trickin’ whores. Fingers was a real scum bag. So anyway, Super-Cop finds one of these cargo carts, filled with forty dead girls. Something like the crate shifted in transport from a storm crossing the seas, cutting off their air supply, but who cares now, they were all as dead as Elvis. It was all over the news, bad noise, and Super-cop was going to see heads roll. Not even my higher-powers could save Freddy on this one, it was only a matter of time until they followed the breadcrumbs to here. First they’d bust the Greeks in Greektown. And then the Greeks would rat out the Turks, and Freddy would finger me.

I couldn’t allow this to happen.
Freddy became expendable.

So here I sit, shaking my dented tin of mints looking at this Turkish ghost. I have to give it up to Freddy, he was smart, meeting me out in the middle of nowhere at this estate where he could have his mercenaries hidden within the woods, concealing their numbers. He thought he could get the drop on me, but he forgets I hold the trump card here.

“So,” Freddy lifts his goblet of wine to his lips, wafting the Merlot beneath his nose. “It seems I am taking all the risk at the docks, while you sit back and reap all the benefits.” His accent is thick, English broken and horrible even for an immigrant.

“Fingers…you know this is the deal.” I open the mint and plop one of the white pills under my tongue. The chalky residue melts into a sour paste like flour and pollen. The doctors say I have a condition. And if I don’t have my medicine, bad things happen. But I say fuck, isn’t their a demon in all of us. “You got greedy. The girls? That was not a part of the deal. You know the heat you’ve brought down on us.”

“Those whores…Fuck ’em.” He slams his hand down on the table, jarring the china and plates around. “I’ll have a new shipment by mid-week. And as for you,” His oval eyes turned vile and black as Freddy’s hand swiped his long rockstar hair from his face. “Do you really think I invited you all the way out here to just renegotiate our contract.”

“Honestly, no.” I allowed the drugs to swallow me, numbing my emotions. I was Cool Hand Luke, I was Stallone and Schwarzenegger all wrapped in one. Unleashed.

I am Hell.
I am Fire.
Damnation and salvation would be found through me.
I am the Grim Reaper, and Fingers would feel my wrath.

“Good my friend. Because our partner ship just came to an end.” Freddy snapped his bony fingers, his flesh looking like it was three sizes too large for his skeleton. And as this fucker made his move to annex my empire, I could only think to myself, someone should feed this fucker a steak.

Then the gun barrel hit the back of my neck, cold and hollow, the scent of gunmetal and oil filling my nostrils with that ever so familiar scent. This wasn’t the first time some faceless manwall had put a gun to my head, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last. The gun cocks with an echo across the dinning hall, and alls I can do is smile. The odium of malice is near, I can feel the symphony racing through my blood like the calm at the eye of a hurricane.

“So, as you can see. You are in no position to bargain. At a wink of an eye I could have Saffir blow your brains all over my dinning hall.” Freddy slid his chair back from the table, the mahogany skidded against the hardwood floors.

“Ya, but if I were you. I would tell Saffir to take that thing and shove it in his own mouth and pull the trigger. It could save him a lot of pain in the end.”

“Even at death’s door, you still try to be the gangster. Even Scarface died in a hail of bullets. As we speak my men…”

“…Are dead. Shit you think fifteen poorly-trained Mercs can silence D-Block…By now your men are as dead as Dillinger.”

From outside the footsteps had silenced. Those Mercs never knew what hit them; I can already picture the scene. Maybe they caught a glimpse: a wandering shadow, a wraith or eclipse of darkness. But by then it was too late; the throwing stars or katana bringing an end to their mercenary lives with whistling metal, wind, and geysering arteries. Their last sight Chaka and Khan, the two ten-year-old assassins delivering them into a brutal grave.

“You bluff…” Sweat began to trickle from Freddy’s hairline as his teeth ground together.

“I never bluff,” The drugs had me, the haze filling my head. The world melted to liquid mayhem, and I was instinct and action. “ And Saffir…your time has come.

Saffir never noticed the red dot beaming on the back of his head. The pop shattered the window in a silent breaking of glass and the bullet cut through his ear and the exit wound emerged from his left eye socket, splattering Saffir’s brains over the dinning room.

It was time to move.
No need to play it smooth now.
Let the carnage begin.

The guards made their move, as I kicked the chair away from the table. Falling to the floor, I rolled backward pulling my twin automatic forty-fives. The shells chimed, cascading to the floor, as gunsmoke and mayhem consumed the room. I shot through kneecaps, pierced guts and intestines, maiming and crippling all around me. As the smoke settles and the moans of agony sound in misery, I find myself laughing in sadistic glee. First there were seven, and now there is none.

“Hey baby,” I spoke into the communicator attached under the collar of my Armani shirt. I excitably awaited her voice, soft and exotic I could nearly taste her Carmel complexion. Colt Cannon, my Middle-Eastern war camp refugee, the arms specialist was good at what she did. Next to me, I’d even say she was the best. It was said she could snipe a scumbag in the eye, from three towns away. In other words, Colt never misses. “Glad you showed up, you got ‘im?”

“His ass is mine…” She replied with seduction, the red lights lighting up Freddy’s chest. “Executioner.” I had never heard the word uttered so perversely.

“Hol-up baby.” Brushing the splatters of blood from my shirt I walked over to the trembling man. Holstering my pistols, I pulled my hunting blade stepping over the writhing bodies that littered the dinning hall. “So Freddy, you’re not so cocky anymore. What happened to your brash demands? Oh I wouldn’t think of moving.” I pointed to the window, gesturing jovially at Colt sitting in a treetop with a beam on his rapidly beating heart.
“Please…please…Caswell,” Freddy’s teeth chattered like he suffered from hypothermia. “Caz, we go way back…I wasn’t really going to kill you buddy.”

“Shh, don’t wreck the moment for me. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t going to kill you.” I seized one of his lanky ham-hocks, and lot the good ole chop to one of Freddy’s fingers. The pink sausage fell to the floor as the man let out a howl of an agonized man. Tears welled from his eyes as a warm stream of piss traversed down his leg. I tossed him a dinner napkin and wiped the blade clean upon his colorless cheek. “You should wrap that up, don’t want your blood getting on me…With all those whores, I don’t know where your member’s been. Now back to business…”

“Please…I didn’t talk…I won’t turn on you…I’ll go back to Baltimore and take the whole wrap for the girls and everything…I won’t finger you….anything, please Caz…don’t kill me.”

“Finger me, ha- you’re fingerless…That’s pathetic. Buck up Freddy Fings. Just die like the scumbag pimp you are.” In my blind rage I hadn’t even notice I was constantly shucking away at the man’s hands like a cob of corn. With my smoke gray Timbo-boot pressed onto the meat of his wrist, I was hacking away at his right hand. Three fingers and most of his thumb were gone, and Freddy’s hand was a gruesome hook of crimson gore and flesh. The man was nearly passing out, swaying back and forth in the chair.

“Wait Caz, please stop…please…mercy of God please stop…I can’t…” Freddy vomited at the sight of his blood. Quickly I dove back to avoid the projectile.

“Fuck man…These are $700 pants. Pray to your false-prophet. The end is near my Turkish friend.” I turned and walked back to the window, smiling into the darkness, knowing somewhere in the enigma Colt was licking her lips, nearing climax with the anticipation of the kill. One finger on her sex, the other squeezing the trigger; god I loved that girl. And it was time. I had grown tired of the carnage. I wanted to go get high on some Meth and Forty’s. Just as I was about to give Colt the signal to finish off this man, Freddy said something that may have saved his pitiful life for a minute or two.

“Caz…I can get you something beyond your wildest dreams…I have a contact in Europe who says the criminals from all over are gathering…”

“Gathering? Gathering for what?” Freddy’s statement had raised my curiosity.

“Gathering for the prize…”

“What prize?”

“An artifact, in Italy…”

“I am not a pirate, Freddy…”

“But this one,” He wheezed through his teeth, mustering all his strength. “It grants you wishes…Caz, do you believe in magic? Your boss Drexel did. He spent most of his life looking for this prize.”

“Ya well, Drexel’s dead…and so are you…” I blew a kiss at Colt, and in seconds she put five rounds into Freddy’s chest.

As I walked out of the mansion, I thought about Freddy’s last words. And like a kid on Christmas morning, I realized part of me does believe in magic—

“C.C. Call the boys…How do you feel about a trip to Europe?”

Agent 47:

A huge fireball erupted from center stage and the podium went flying into the crowd. Moments later, a second explosion rocked the crowd and people pieces went flying everywhere.

I always watched my work; it makes me smile. I was standing by the entrance, jaw jacking with the security guard that let me in.

His face went white in an instant. "You didn't say..."

"Shut the fuck up. I gave you your money, and if you don't shut the fuck up about it I'll kill you."

"But..."

"No buts about it bitch. You shut the hell up or I'll kill you, this is none of your damn business!"

Actually, it was his business. This guy was in on it now. I had bribed him about a million to let me and my friend into the event with a briefcase each. Big no no here in Russia. Technically, it was his fault that these people were dead.

"OK man, but if anyone comes looking for me..."

"Don't worry. If anyone comes looking for you...I'll pay them a visit too. I like to protect the people that help me."

That was a bold faced lie. I'd kill the fucker in a second. He just helped me accomplish my mission, and little did he realize, I just pickpocketed half of my money back. Man, I'm an asshole.

I turned and looked at Alexey, my counterpart in the operation. "Time to head on home. We've done enough damage for tonight. I want to catch this shit on the news."

Alexey just nodded as we headed casually out a gate clearly marked NO EXIT.

It was a several minute walk back to the car, which was very plain as to hopefully avoid any suspicion. But that wouldn't matter tonight.

Someone obviously saw us leave.

We had been driving for about ten minutes when I saw the lights in the review mirror. "Looks like we've got company. Pull over, I'll finish this."

Alexey pulled the car over and I opened up the trunk. By my estimates there were about four cops on my tail.

"This ought to do," I said to myself as I pulled out two shoulder fired rockets and made sure my trusty Colts were ready.

That's when I noticed a finger print on the slide of my Colt. Oh shit, not this again. I pulled out a rag and began polishing the slide.

"What the fuck are you doing there 47?" Alexey inquired.

"The fucking pills...they're supposed to...help stop this shit!" Obviously fucking not.

The cops were getting really close now. "There, good as new." I armed each of the shoulder fired rockets and handed one to Alexey.

"On my mark, you fire at the far left I have the far right. Three, two, one, mark!"

There was a smokey blaze as the rockets headed towards the law. Both hit their targets right on and the cop cars exploded in a brilliant spectacle of fire and car parts.

"Nice shot Alexey, right on the money! Now
get out your sixty, because this is about to get ugly."

Alexey picked up the belt fed m-60 machine gun lying at his feet. He jacked the action and we were in business. I pulled out my Colts and pointed them at the incoming cars. They were only a hundred yards away now.

"OK Alexey, on my mark you lay down a heavy stream of fire and force them to stop, I'll move out and finish them off."

"Roger, roger."

"Three, two, one, mark!"

The muzzle of his gun lit up like a demon and hot lead pelted the cars. He must've gotten a direct hit on the left car, because it came to an immediate stop and the driver took off running as the car exploded. Fortunatly for me, but too bad for him, he didnt get away quite fast enough. He was writhing on the ground in a ball of flames, screaming for his mother.

"Again, well done Alexey. Keep that cover fire on the last one, I'm going to make my move."

I ran along the shoulder of the road keeping low as bullets sailed over my head. I could hear shots hitting the oncoming windshield of a car, but the driver refused to stop. I hopped in the ditch and opened fire as he came within fifty feet.

I managed to blow a tire, but he kept coming. He was heading straight for Alexey so I chased him. About twenty feet from our car, he stopped and got out. Alexey was trying to reload as fast as he could, but it was too late. The cop was out of my range and already has his AK drawn. I ran as fast as I could to reach my comrade. I was too late.

As I came within range, the cop opened fire, gunning Alexey down in a pool of his own sweat and blood.

I let out a yell that scared the shit out of the cop. He must not have seen me. If he had, then he was a dumb bastard because he had emptied the whole magazine into Alexey's chest. I walked up to him and he knew he was toast. The cop dropped his gun and started chattering in Russian.

"Whats that comrade, you're sorry? You're fucking sorry, huh? Well I'm not sorry, and I just killed your three buddies. But I am sorry you killed my friend! What? No, im not going to shoot you in the head. I shoot people in the chest; they fly farther!"

With that I raised my Colt and shot him. One in the head two in the chest. Fuck, I'm a god damn liar. Oh well, he had it comming. And oh, god damn! No way! I fucking got blood on my bumper! God damnit, now I have to fucking clean this off! Jesus Christ, thats going to leave a stain!

I grabbed a rag out of the trunk and started to wipe off my bumper. That, however, only made things worse. I now had blood smeared across the bumper! Shit! I'm just going to have to deal with it.

I jumped into the passenger seat, and remember I couldn't just leave Alexey there. He deserved a proper burial... Off a bridge. So I hopped out and grabbed him.

He was still alive, even if just barely. I grabbed him and he tried to choke out a few words.

All he could get out with his raspy, tired voice was: "b..box...exibit......Iiiitaly....maj....maj....magic."

And then he died. Now there was blood all over my trench coat.

"Well this is a total fucking loss."

I wrapped him in my ruined trench coat and threw him in the trunk. Hopping back into the front seat, I started the car.

When I got to the first river, I stopped the car and heave-ho went Alexey. I couldn't have his death on my hands for too long, now could I?

Upon reaching the gates of my compound I recalled what he had said to me. My curiosity was peaked, but I didn't have a damn idea what he was talking about!

...

Later that night, I sat in my basement cleaning my guns and watching the news.

"There has been a terror attack at a local political rally. Presidential candidate Sergei Petrovich Menkov was killed in the bombing. The death toll oficially stands at thiry four but that number is expected to rise with over four hundred peopel wounded and over one hundred critically injured. Officials have no leads in the attack, but they suspect it is the work of a dark figure known only as fourty seven."

"In other news, four policemen were found brutally murdered only a few miles from the event. Police are not saying whether the two evens are linked. However, a fifth pool of blood that does not match the other four has no body. It is suspected that it is the blood of one Alexey Pomperov, a local mafia boss. His body was found several hours later in the Ob' river. Offials are declining to comment on how he may be involved."

Well, someone saw us leave and that's just fucking cake. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time. I'd just pick up the rest of my check tomorrow.

Magic, Box, Italy. I couldn't get it out of my head. I layed there in bed that night wondering what the hell Alexey could be talking about. If those were his last words, they must be pretty important. But we all know magic doesn't exist. The man must have been dellusional. But, come to think about it, he had mentioned going to Venice earlier in the evening. This may be something worth looking in to-- in the morning.

Jennifer VanMorran:

"Lasagna please. Thank you." I handed the young waitress my menu and looked down at my nails. Damn did I need a manicure.

"I can not believe Delbur would pull something like that on you. Does he not realize how important you are to his precious museum? Honestly, showing a hologram and calling it the real thing. Who does he think he is?"

"Rachel, please, no more talk of this. We will go back in a week and see if he has changed his mind about it, but until then, leave it alone." And she better shut up about it before someone hears. But no. She opened her mouth again.

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell him you knew. You just kept acting like you thought it was the real thing. Why didn't you tell him?"

Now she was really pushing me over. I couldn't get angry though, not when there was too much work to do.

I ignored her question as someone in the doorway caught my eye. A man, fairly short, walked in and spoke to the head waiter. I knew I'd seen his face before. Why did he seem so familiar?

"Jennifer?" Rachel watched me and I realized that my waitress was standing next to the table, holding my lasagna. She was shaking slightly. I'll leave her a good tip. I gave her a smile, moving my hands and responding with a quick "Yes, thank you."

I glanced down at my plate and then back up to the man, now standing with a woman. He had looked much younger in his picture in the paper.

Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore.

Sophia Delbur:

"Tell me again, papa."

"You must be tired of this story by now."

"But papa, it's my favorite!"

"Alright, anything for you mon petite chou."

Henri Delbur took a breath before starting, it was late and he was tired. He knew he could never resist the pleading eyes of his daughter, the eyes he fell in love with three years ago when he adopted her. It still amazed him how much she had come to love tales of hidden treasures and conquest. He admired it, after all he was a historian.

"It is said in a time before religion, a time before government, magic was spread across the earth. Animals, plants, elements, they all had their own powers. Out of all the creatures in the world, man was the only species where magic was not dominant. Those few who did posess it became gods among those who did not."

Little Sophia was sittting straight up now, hands supporting her head. Her smile was hidden, but her eyes gave her away. She shook with excitement.

"It was then that man's true nature was revealed. Jealousy and greed gave way to wipespread suffering. Rumors of the one God, the savior of man, were heard more often in more places. The sorcerors began to disapear one by one. The trees stopped talking and the animals ceased helping man..."

"Don't stop! What about last three sorcerors, the most powerful of sorcerors?"

Delbur had thought she was asleep, but not tonight. Tonight he might have to tell the whole thing.

"Alright, alright... the remaining three sorcerors, afraid of becoming extinct, gathered all their power and sealed it inside a box. The magic was so great that a little bit of it was given to whomever touched it. Years past and the box was forgotten, but not forever." He paused. "No more tonight, my darling, it's late."

"But papa!" she knew when she was beat, and her father's stern face told her to give up, "alright, but I'm gonna find it one day!"

"I'm sure you will sweetheart."

His words grew softer and the picture faded. It was replaced by a series of images in rapid succession: A bloody battle scene littered with rotting remains of dead men, followed by a man swimming in gold coins crazy at the sight, followed by coat of arms. All went black. A single dove emerged from the darkness. There was a light in the distance, but the bird flew on. The light grew to fire, the fire shifted into the form of a skull, mouth wide. The fiery skull was licking the bones of the bird when I awoke.

I rubbed my eyes and waited to regain my senses. Only when my three room flat became visible through the dark, did I slide off my four poster bed. The rug was soft under my bare feet. I felt the warm night air as it blew the sheer curtains that hung over the doors to the balcony, I had left them open again.

I grabbed my black slik robe that hung next to the desk, wrapping it around me before heading to the balcony. My flat wasn't the largest, but I didn't buy it for that. I bought it for the view. My feet never made a sound as I walked across the tile to the wall. I leaned over to rest my arms on the short ledge. The two towers of the museum always comforted me. I liked being so close to work.

The moon was full and red. Someone has died tonight. I fingered the beads on my necklace; Three ruby stones on a gold chain. I never took it off. Midnight gave a soft mew as she wound around my legs.

"Hello sweetie." I gave the kitten an affectionate scratch behind the ear.

Walking back inside, I looked at my clock: four in the morning. It could be worse.

It was the second time this week and I thought about asking my father what the dream meant, but I decided against it. Instead, I turned to my desk. Midnight jumped onto it as I sat down. Maybe the journal had the answer. It was leather bound and worn. Three squares were idented on the side.

"Come here you." I picked the cat off the desk and set her in my lap. Her collar was encrusted with three diamonds. I unhooked it and pressed the band into the lock. It clicked open.

I returned the collar to midnight, and she scampered off. Back to work. I flipped back the cover and recognized my own small, neat hand writting. I began flipping through the history.

Something from outside caught my eye. The top of a neighboring building glistened in the moonlight. It was erie, but I had more important things to worry about.

The cry of the dove as it was being torn to peices still echoed in my head.

Skylar:

The moon was covered with a large smokey cloud, it left me in totally darkness. I put my cigerette out with the heel of my black boot, and looked into the scope of my sniper's gun. I made sure my silencer was on correctly. My target was dressing, and I laughed to myself. I could imagine what the headlines would say tomorrow. I took my shot. he fell to floor.

I took my time packing my rifle. No one heard the shot and he was alone. I made sure not to leave anything there that could not be cleared by one of the building residents.

I made my way down the stairs of the building and out to the gated sidewalk, crossing the street toward the target's brownstone. The gate was locked, so I took the bobby pin out of my hair and picked the locked; opening and closing it without a sound. I did the same for the door and went inside. I touched nothing. Never did, it was C.I.A rule number one.

I walked up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Senator Marshall's body was lying lifeless on the floor. I was happy there was not a lot of bleeding. I took a couple washcloths from my bag and held one to the bullet wound behind his ear. The other I used to wash the small stain out of the carpet. I took a small needle from my bag and injected it under his arm. The police would think the cause was a heart-attack. I laughed. I put everything back in my bag and left the house, locking the door and gate behind me.

The next morning I was in Washington at the Pentagon, waiting for my briefing. It is weird being at the Pentagon. No one knows my job, only a seletive few. Others think I am a history liaison to the government.

I was called into Greenburg's office almost immediately and we went about handing in my weapons.

"So, have you heard the headlines?" Greenburg asked, picking up the New York Time. "Senator Marshall was found dead of a heart-attack in his apartment, monday evening." He laughed, "Good Job."

"Thank you, I am the best."

"Your on your way to Italy, flight leaves in an hour."

"How did you manage that? And what am I doing in Italy?" I asked.

"There is an exhibit at an Italian museum, an ancient box that is rumored to give the owner three wishes. We want you to find and destroy this box. You speak italian fluently, right?"

I laughed, "You need to read my fucking file. Of course I speak italian."

Brenna Harron:

I stood in the front drive of the mansion, staring. Just staring.

Three whole years. It was the longest I had ever stayed in one place. I was long over due for a move, but I just couldn’t leave. Attachment—it was every criminal’s worst nightmare. A red velvet drape caught my eye as the breeze rustled it through an open window. It had taken me three months to find those drapes. Three fucking months! And what had it all come down to? Some punk ass kid running around in my back yard with an outrageous offer. Of course his body was in the river; I had taken care of that mess last night.

I glanced down at the business card in my hands. It was the only thing I had taken from the body. The paper was a sturdy white with the name Henri Delbur printed neatly on the front in small font. The name didn’t ring a bell, but I had searched the internet last night and found out he was the curator of a major Italian museum in Venice. Interesting.

There was no number printed on the card, but someone had taken the liberty of scrawling one on the back in blue ink. The number was right below another inscription: $80,000,000.00. I mean really… who did that? Eighty million? Good god that was a lot of money! Very hard to resist money at that.

I looked back up at the mountain of a house in front of me. My house. He ruins your house and you’re going to work for him? I shook my head, taking out a much needed cigarette. The flame of my brand new lighter lit the end, and I puffed a smoke ring.

I turned around and started walking away, my lighter still in my hand. This one had red crosshairs on it. I liked it. Then again, I also liked my house.

I snapped open the Zippo, striking the wick. I stared down at the flame as it danced its happy little dance. Fuck it.

I spun and heaved the lighter across the front drive towards the house, where it landed on the porch. I turned quickly away before the ring of gasoline lit and engulf the mansion.

Next I took out my cell phone and dialed the number on the business card. Someone picked up after two rings.

“Henri Delbur.” It was a French accent. A Frenchman running a museum in Venice? Huh.

“I’m in.” Was all I said in reply, and then snapped the phone shut. By then I had reached my car that was parked on the street. I had packed it this morning.

I slid onto the leather seat of the red Ferrari, key immediately turning on the ignition. I glanced at the passenger seat where a plane ticket lay. Italy; one way. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

Gremlin

Evelina Lombardi:

I walked into "The Santino Lombardi Lounge" and looked around at the guests; smiling at the newcomers, welcoming the regulars. I waved the Bartender down. Stanley nodded and I sat. No sooner had I sat down, the phone behind
the bar rang. The waitress Andria brought my Vodka and peppermints, and a large manila envelope.

"Business or Pleasure?" I asked.

"Business. Is there anything else I can get you Boss?" Andria asked.

I shook my head and she left.

I took a sip of my Vodka on ice and popped a peppermint into my mouth. I then opened the manila folder with my name scrawled across the outside of it.

I started reading the papers.

"Damn...and tomorrow was my day off too..." I was interrupted.

"Excuse me?" a familiar voice asked.

I looked up, angry at being interrupted, and then my face softened when I saw who
stood there.

"Mike! You old dog. I see you're back from your trip. So how was it?" Evelina was ecstatic to see her personal muscle back in touch.

"Evie, it was wonderful! May I sit down? Oh dear, is tomorrow not your day off? You poor thing!"

"Yes, tomorrow was supposed to be my day off, but its obviously important. Papa is requesting a one on one talk." I explained

"No Naillo??? Now that's odd." Mike said a little concerned.

"The best I figure, it's a slightly dangerous political job, and with me being head Rep. It must be a Big Client. Lord knows, I wouldn't unpack your bags yet." I was only guessing.

I finished my drink.

"Well Mike, I have work tomorrow. I'm going home." I got up and hugged Mike.

"See you at work." He said, kissing my forehead.

I drove the car home, and there Sierra was sitting on the couch waiting for me. I walked in and threw my keys in the basket and my coat over the chair. Then I crashed on the couch. Sierra, being the loving creature he was, felt a need
to be in my lap. So he curled up on top of me.

After an hour we moved to the bedroom where he curled up on his side with his pillow so he could watch the door. I snuggled up close next to him and fell right to sleep.

The next morning I awoke to find myself running a little later than I would have liked.

"No walk today, at least not before work." I said kissing Sierra on the nose.

I got dressed in fresh clothes, rebraided my hair, and drove to work.

When I walked in the door, the secretary Synthia looked up. "Mr.Santino is waiting for you in his office, Ms. Lombardi."

"Thank you Synthia, I appreciate it." I walked past her desk and up to the office.

I knocked on the door.

“come on in my dear” The older voice from behind the desk said, ”Have a seat.”

I came into the room, smiled at Papa, and sat in the chair across from his desk.

"How is my Daughter Evelina?" He smiled at me.

"Why, I don't know. Our paths haven't cross in a day or so."

He gave me a look.

"I am doing well, but I'm extremley curious as to what we are talking about. But otherwords quite well. Your looking great, Papa. How are you doing?"

"I am doing alright, but the time for my heir to take over is soon, and I will be fine once I know you are back." He said calmly.

Wait, he said heir, not heirs. What is he implying?

I set the manila folder on the desk infront of me.

"There is a box that is getting ready to be released onto the world. This box has emince power. In our hands, it would give us all the leverage we'll ever need. It will make your term over this company so much easier."

He continued, "Please don't let greed devour you my child. Any use of this box is rumored evil, and no matter what you try to change, you will be burned. If you succeed, you will be my sole heir. And if you don't, I am afraid of what may happen. Naillo would use it. I know your heart, and I am sorry my little girl didn't turn out more like you, Evelina."

"You will be going to Venice. A museum just announced a new exhibit that contains an ancient box from the library at Alexandria. Rumors say there is a Djinn in side. Bring it home and the Italian Mafia is yours."

I felt a little overwhelmed. "What team am I taking? How many? What kind of security breech are we talking here?"

"No one. you have to do this alone. If you need financial help other than your contacts, there is a list of people in your file that you can run me a tab with. Every criminal circle in the world will be after this box, so be careful."

"Milko Management and the rest of the Mafia will crumble with Naillo in charge. Every head of our companies respects you, because Naillo has run ram shot over them her entire life. You stand on a different level than Naillo. You worked hard for your positions, and Naillo has been given everyhing. That is my fault, and I regret doing it to her."

I walked around the desk and Giovanni stood up. We shook hands as business partners, then he stroked my cheek and I hugged him. He kissed my forehead.

"Papa," I whispered.

"I am so proud of you." He said.

I stood up straight and headed out the door. Time to go to work.

I nodded to Synthia as I walked out the front door.

"Sierra lets go." I said

Sierra jumped in the car and I drove to "The Lounge"

"Stanley I am out of town. If Naillo's not here, your in Charge." I said sweetly as I walked inside.

Blowing him a kiss, I left. Sierra and I were off to Venice.

I came to the front of the hotel Dei Dogi. Jack opened the door to the car, and Sierra jumped out. I opened my door and stepped out as well. Jack smiled and pulled out a phone.

"Yes, is Ms. Lombardi's room ready? She didn't call. Well how soon? With in the hour? wonderful!"

Jack looked up at me disaprovingly. "When will you ever learn?"

"When will you learn to keep my room ready and waiting? It's wonderful to see you too, Jack."

He loaded the cart up with my luggage, shaking his head. He sent the Vallet to park the car. "I will take a break, and we can share a drink while we wait on your room."

"Oh fine, if you insist. Sierra, stay with our things and make sure they get to our room." Sierra layed next to the cart growling at Jack.

Jack and I went to the bar and ordered drinks, when his phone rang.

"Yes, that is Sierra. Thank you.... Yes." Jack said to his tellephone. "Your room is ready Ms. Lombardi."

"Thank you Jack!"

Gabriel Porter (prince of Persia):

I leaned back in my leather chair and propped my feet up on the marble table top. The other men sitting in the conference room stiffened at my actions.

“Excuse me, Gabriel? Is something wrong?”

That was the man four chairs down. He was the youngest in the room, and I had never bothered to learn his name. “We’ve been in here for five bloody hours, and discussed nothing of importance!”

The leaders around me gasped at my accusation. The man to my left, my third in command leaned forward heatedly. “Discussed nothing of importance? Did you really think we would just hand you a crown and move on? We have to transition you into power, Gabriel! Contracts, current missions, everything!”

“This is not one of your quick fucks.” The young man four chairs down sneered.

I turned to him appalled, my eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?!”

“I said, this is not one of yo…”

The room exploded with the report of my Colt .45 as men shielded their faces from flying chunks of brain. I looked around slowly, setting the gun down on the table. “No one EVER speak to me like that again!”

The men jumped as I screamed, each looking firmly at the table and not at my eyes. That’s right you bastards, learn your place.

I leaned back in the swivel chair, loosening the knot of my black, silk tie. “You think I’m a wine guzzling fool, eh? Yes, well I’ve been taking cues from some of the best leaders you fucks have ever had. And now it’s my chance, and you better not cross me.”

I motioned to Gerard, who was standing at attention behind me. “None of you have once mentioned the assassination of Serge. How very careless! What if that assassin holds a grudge against PR5 hmmm? What are you to do when they target me? Gerard?”

“The home of the assassin in question was found burned to the ground only a few hours ago. A woman of similar description was seen boarding a flight to Italy.”

“Tsk, tsk, gentleman. Seems she’s on the move.”

“We were in the process of tracking her down. We had plans for interrogation all in order.” This from a man on my right who was wiping blood off his ear.

“When my butler, no offence Gerard, can find an assassin faster than trained men, then we have serious problems.”

No one felt they needed to defend themselves. Too embarrassed, I assumed.

“And then there’s the matter of this box.” I paused, measuring everyone else’s reaction. Some of the men made no movement at all, while others looked at each other with guilt glazed eyes.

“Yes, I know about it. I also know you know about it. So let’s share, shall we?”

Someone at the end of the table spoke up. Ah yes, my second in command. “We know nothing of this box you speak of. Enlighten us.”

I grinned, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment. How very irritating these men could be. “You have no knowledge, which is why you’re sending a group of agents to Venice in two days.” Someone coughed, breaking the silence. “Well that little expedition has been canceled.”

There was an uproar of slamming fists and yelling. And they said they knew nothing.

“Quiet!” I shouted, motioning them to settle down. “A new group will be deported, with me as the head.”

“But sir!”

“Shut up! All of you! We’re going to interrogate that assassin, and retrieve that box. Any of you in opposition can go and sit by that bloody corpse!”

There was peace once more. If only they knew. Gerard opened huge oak doors behind me, and I got up. “Now, I expect you all to sit here and think about what you’ve done, like good little boys.” My grin couldn’t have been broader.

As I sauntered out of the tall building, I turned to Gerard. “What time is it?”

“Just about tea time, sir.”

“Ah, how delightful!”

I stopped and turned, eyes glued to the fifteenth floor where our meeting had been. After only ten seconds had passed, the windows shattered and the ground shook with an explosion. Flames licked the sides of the fifteenth floor, smoke billowing out into the clean air.

“You couldn’t have put some fireworks in there as well? That would have been brilliant!”

“Terribly sorry, sir.”

“That’s all right Gerard. Now go home and pack, we leave tonight. I shall be back for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

Red Lipped Vixen

Bridgette Proctor:

Sitting around in a museum all day is not most people’s cup of tea. In fact, most people I know would hate to step foot in a museum. Me however, I love being here. This is my passion, my art, my everything. Sadly, I really do mean everything. The only people I see on a daily basis are my art professors and the man who works at the coffee bar in the museum. My day consists of going to classes and painting, going to the museum and studying the greats, then going home and painting or staying in the museum. If it’s necessary for me to stay in the museum over night, I will. Security? It’s easy to get past them if you know where to hide.

This is how most of my days go, but today was slightly odd. From time to time, a prominent figure comes in and the Delburs' show them around the museum. Today it was Ms. VanMorran. Seeing as how she is “very important” to the museum, she gets to see some of the best stuff before anyone else. When she comes in, I always follow close behind so I can get a sneak peek at what they have. But today, today was weird.

Generally Ms. VanMorran is escorted by Monsieur Delbur or his daughter, Sophia. That was no different today, but they took her to this part of the museum where I rarely ever go. They turned down a back hall and arrived at a pair of huge wooden doors. They were opened quickly, and then they were closed. I saw nothing, which is always disappointing.

I casually waited outside, obviously a ways away. After a few minutes I heard muffled yelling and screaming, then a crashing sound.

Now, this museum is like me home and if anything is happening, I have to know. Being the concerned person I am, I ran to the doors and opened them as quickly as I could. All action in the room stopped as everyone looked at me. Nothing was going on but a vehement argument, but now I had icy eyes staring at me. I backed out of the room slowly and apologized. No one said anything.

Now, when I look back at what happened today, I wonder what they were arguing about and what the little box in there was. It seemed like such a secret, because no one spoke when I went in the room. I would ask Sophia Delbur, but I have a feeling that this exhibit really wasn’t meant to be seen by me.

Rory Devlin:

I can't take my eyes away from the woman sitting across from me. As the door opens and another customer walks in, her thin body is highlighted with the bright sunlight from outside. The blond hair that flows down her back lights up in the burst of sunlight, and her icy eyes flash. The momentary effect is almost ethereal, as if the woman is not even of this world. Her face seems to glow.

God help me, but I know that woman! I pride myself in my flawless memory for faces, and the fact that I can't remember hers annoys me. Whoever she is, I decide, she's very rich. The thin stiletto heels on her feet must be four inches tall, encrusted with some kind of dark jewel.

"Rory," hisses Andi. "Stop it. You're being rude."

"I know her."

Andi laughs. Universally the sound is a merry one, but Andi has redefined it. She only laughs to mock people, that or to mock herself. "Oh, please, who doesn't know her? Miss oh-so-perfect Jennifer VanMorran, big in the newspapers a while back, richer than Uncle Scrooge. Yup. She's got it all." I can tell immediately that Andi is less than impressed with VanMorran. "And look at how that waiter's slobbering all over her! That's despicable!" Andi fingers a short spike of her black hair, one of the few ones long enough to reach her chin. It's a nervous habit that she's completely unaware of. She sticks the strand in her mouth and spits it out as VanMorran examines her nails. "And vain, too! God, I hate the rich."

Our lasagna comes and Andi grumbles through mouthfuls of it, slurping up strings of cheese while studiously glaring at the perfect, blonde beauty at the table across the room. I can't help the smile that comes to my face, but I hide it when Andi glances my way. She'll surely break my nose if she sees. She's jealous!

I've never seen Andi jealous. I glance at her and my suspicions are confirmed. Her small, thin face is twisted with disgust, and her thick, blood-red lips are pursed angrily. Andi's hair is as wild as ever, the feathered cut sticking out everywhere. She stares on, oblivious to my examination. It's funny, as far as I know, she could beat me up, leave me to die in a dumpster, and walk away without a second thought. "She's looking at you," I hear Andi growl. There's an expression I don't recognize on her face.

It's a pout. I carefully contain the laughter that wants to come out, and I look up at her. "You're imagining--" but she's not. Instead of a curious glance, the look she's giving me is probably like the one I was giving her a bit ago.

Her eyes unexpectedly meet with mine, and she looks away, nose high in the air as she picks at her food.

I can't be recognized here, right?

"Andi--"

But she's not listening. I've done a few jobs in Italy, but not that many, and definitely nothing high-profile. I've never been caught or photographed. Then why is VanMorrran looking at me like that? Like she knows me?

"Andi, listen to me!" My voice is soft but commanding, and Andi looks at me grudgingly. "Is there any way I could be noticed here?"

"Um...well...not that I know of. Not that I can remember, at least..."

"Andi!"

"No, then. You've gotten away clean here. Always. You did live here for a while didn't you?"

Well, of course. I was actually born here.

Suddenly I remember where she may have seen me. "Oh, no."

I'm not sure if I thought the words or spoke them until Andi says, "What?"

"Just a few years ago, when I was...nineteen, I think, or eighteen, my parents got in an auto accident here. Both of them were killed."

Andi didn't know this. Neither of us knows much about the other. "Sorry."

"Don't be. They were wealthy snobs who cared only about themselves and denied that I existed most of the time. Anyway, I kind of..." at this point I wince. "After the accident I was kind of ticked off at them."

Andi's eyes narrow to little crescents of fiery amber. "Rory...What did you do?" There was both a motherly disapproval and a devilish eagerness in her voice.

"I took off with my dad's car--not the smashed up one, but his precious Ferarri--and I got in a bit of trouble. I got a slap on the wrist from the police here...and my picture in the paper."

"But Miss Priss here is a certified globe-trotter, so it could be anything, right?"

"I guess so."

Andi nods. She gets back to her food.

"Well, there's only one way to really find out," I say.

"Hmm?" Immersed in the cheese-covered food on her plate, Andi couldn't care less.

"To go over and see, of course."

And with that, I get up and walk over to the beautiful Ms. VanMorran's table.

A Non-Existent User

Two—
Caswell Derry:
Soma

Her body slid upon me like a razor blade across the tongue, her flesh glistened with sweat translucent in the flickering candlelight. She was always like this after the kill, excited and horny like a teenager from murder and mayhem. To each our own fetish. Mine was pain, sadistic ecstasy from torture and torment, while hers was the squeals made by her victims. Her teeth locked down upon the pink muscle within my mouth, pulling the tongue from its shelter, and suddenly I felt helpless like a babe at her mercy. Poison this girl was, and like an addicted I sucked her dry. She was some exotic drug that you can never get enough of until they’ll pull your overdosed body from the commode. And if the paramedics succeed in reviving you, alls you dream of is getting more: just one fix. In life, I was always attracted to things that were bad for me; Colt was no different. It was for her, I murdered the only father I had ever known. Not my real father, he I had never met, but the one who took me off the streets and raised me to be a man. The one’s whose empire I now rule. But as I stare at Colt’s baby-smooth sex, I think it all was worth it. An angel this girl was, her eyes hypnotic and black, the dance of a cobra seducing its prey with the slivers of almonds and batting sleek eyelashes. Jovial and frolicking my fingers explore her Carmel flesh, gently sliding over her raised flesh from bullet wounds, and tributaries of pink rivers of self-inflicted scars or battle abrasions. To the blind hand Colt must feel like some Frankenstein monster, yet to me she is beautiful, the trauma wounds evidence of the Middle Eastern torture camps. Semblance of the masterpiece God had created within her opus.

And C.C. was mine.

She moaned into the night air taking me inside of her, her head fanning backward swinging her braided jet-black hair in small semi-circles of excitement. In the mirror I could glimpse the rippling of the twin tattooed angel wings that spanned across her shoulder blades. The feathered wings moved rhythmically like she was to take flight, this angel working me with her gyrating hips. My hands reach forward to toy with her nipples, each breast fitting firmly within my palm. Smiling a sadistic sneer, her teeth gleamed like white daggers as she paused her erratic motioning.

“The safety word is…is banana…” She whispered in a devilish voice.

The blade came stern and fast from under her hair band. Blinding, I could barely see the assassin strike. Colt was a killer. I should’ve known better than to think this exquisitely naked girl was weaponless, after all weapons and arms were her other passion. The razor slashed across my chest, blood trickling warm from my erect nipple, the pain making me swell inside her. And I thought to myself, this is the reason for safety words—even though I will never use it.

It was two hours ago we arrived in London and met Freddy’s contact. A tight-lipped fuck he was. But after twenty minutes with Colt and her hand bag of surgical tools, this newly facially impaired deformed mutant would only feel safe living among the sewers below the streets of London’s east side. And as I looked at him in all of his horrific agony, I wondered rhetorically could one hear themselves scream with no ears. Is it some form of impulse body defense communication, stimulus and electrodes sent out over nerve systems to inform the brain of the shrieking pain the body is in? Anyway, they all start off by saying they’ll never talk. But in the end they always do.

Now we had a name.
And in most cases a name is all you would need to go on:
Hello, Jennifer VanMorran…

Colt stabbed down hard, the double-edge blade piercing my shoulder as we both screamed climaxing together. It is always great when it happens together, the spasms electric pulsing through our bodies. Half of me failed to notice I was impaled to the mattress, the other half was wondering what the hotel-cleaning maids would think of our room. The strife torn war zone was a canvas for our bout of rough sex: tables turned, furniture toppled, the mirror smashed, bits of glass ground into the furry brown shag carpet. The neighbors must have believed an assault and battery crime was taking place. Even at one point, I swore I would cry banana, but I nearly bit the tip of my tongue off not to. Good thing Chaka and Khan never spoke, or boy would they have a Barnes-n-Nobles bestseller on their hands, fat housewives from all over buying the steamy seductive novel of the exploits of a sexually addicted drug kingpin and his abusive playmate. Anyway I’m sure the boys are next door playing their video games as they always did. I say it’s good hand-eye coordination, all this gaming speeding the reflexes. But all in all I love my defunct nuclear family.

“We leave for Italy in the morning,” With my right hand I pulled the blade free from my shoulder with a meaty thud. The red droplets trickled down the tip salty and warm to my tongue. With a smile I looked at the muscular form sprawled over the bed and smiled. “Banana…” We both gave a chuckle as I wiped the blade upon the ruffled sheets.

“Can you hand me a smoke?”

My flesh is sore, welted and pink like a newborn. I reached for the pack and pulled out two cigarettes. Lighting them both, I handed one to Colt and she greedily took the thing between her fingers and I swore I saw chunks of my severed flesh under her nails. The smoke pressed to her lips as she gave a hefty French inhale.

“I called ahead and arranged a pick up.” Her lips were ruby and swollen in passion. A pick-up meant she had called her mafia contacts in Italy and secured a weapons drop. VanMorran was a wealthy name and powerful woman. Wealth means protection, bodyguards and such. They’ll have guns, but Drexel always told me to carry a bigger one.

“Do you really think it is true,” I flicked on the boob tube; it was the BBC world news or something. A bombing in Russia, police chase, murder…I really wasn’t paying any attention. I had my own headlines to make. “I mean…Well….”

“Well what,” She snapped. “The box is magic…Carson and his faction are going after it.”

“Well Freddy did favor Carson’s underworld family on the West Coast over ours.” I pulled the rolling papers from the drawer, and proceeded to twist up the spliff. “If he was workin’ for somebody, he’s workin’ for them.”

“ So if Carson is after this box,” Colt pulled out her surgical kit and began mending my shoulder wound. The black threads were like barbs of thorns tracing a ladder across my skin. “What do you think he wants with it?”

“A takeover…Maybe to find a way to bring his brother Drexel back from the grave. If this box is really magic who knows what powers it is capable of.” I looked at her handiwork, and once again Colt’s many talents impressed me.

“If Drexel can really come back,” For the first time in my life a look of fear rang from her soulless eyes.

“Yes, I know. It is better not to talk about those days.”

“But.”

“Shhh, Biddy.” I sparked the joint to life, the cheery red and smoking as I thought what a perfect twist. “C.C. I protected you from that monster before. I will do it again. Drexel is in the grave, dead as Elvis. I’ll see to it he stays that way. If Carson thinks he can bring his Brother back from Hell he’s more than welcome to try, and I’ll be more than pleased to put him right back there, with company. And if I have to kill a whole lot of people on the way there, then so be it. Let the Underworld be warned, the Reaper has arrived.”

Agent 47:

I’d been up for three days straight looking for info on the box. There was Nothing. Nothing more than rumors. I did manage to find out however, some very very basic information on its longwinded history. It first appeared in ancient Egypt. Then nothing about the box surfaced for thousands of years, until it turned up again in a private collectors hands in the 1930’s. Rumor has it that it was stolen by the Naizs in ’39 and smuggeled back to Egypt to hide it from the advancing Allied forces. Delbur obviously discovered it there.

“Well, to Venice I must go.”

Three hours later, one Dorjan Vargo was on a 747 from Novosibersk to Venice. Sitting in first class as always, he was enjoying a complimentary sip at some premium Moskovskaya Vodka.

The Cossack man sitting next to him whispered, “I beg your pardon, Sir, but I won’t be sitting next to a drunk so I’ll kindly ask you to refrain from causing a ruckus.”

“Is that so? Well, I will have you know that I don’t take orders from dirty Cossack traitors. I’d be willing to guess your family betrayed the British you dirty swine. I will also have you know that I have no reservations about breaking this glass in your eye.”

The Cossack man, looking even more offended, turned his head and looked forward yet again. It was a long flight to Venice.

There was still a good amount of daylight left after squaring things away at the airport. I decided to head over towards the museum to have a look at this alleged box, right after checking into my hotel.

After assembling my gear at my hotel I checked my pistols to make sure they were in working order… just in case. Sure enough, they were. So I headed over to the museum to catch a glimpse at this ancient wonder.

It was a short walk from where I was staying to the Venice Art and History Museum. I could see the giant marble pillars from a good distance
away. The whole building was quite interesting; clearly build during the Rennaisance.

I walked up the giant marble steps into the main hall of the building. I hung a left and headed for the back wall of the museum.

I had forgotten the event was closed. Maybe the back door. I thought to myself. I realized that was a no go as I walked around back. Too much security. Even for me. I thumbed at my precious left hand Colt. Oh well. Let's have a look at what else is around here.

As I was walking towards the exhibit for a second time, I noticed a woman standing nearby. She had jet black hair and big doe eyes. Yeah, I'd tap that.

I walked up to see if I could be having a go with her later that night.

"You look familiar, have we had the pleasure of meeting before?"

"No, no I dont believe we have."

"Hmmm, interesting. Where have I seen you then? I know I have seen you somewhere."

"Well," She replied curtly, "I am managing this exhibit. My name is Delbur, Sophia Delbur."

Something clicked inside me.

"Well, Sophia," I replied, slightly taken aback, "They call me Dorjan Vargo. I'm a financier, from Hungary."

She did not at all seem impressed with this. But that was just as well. I couldn't go on banging away at the broad I was trying to rob now could I? She might get suspicious if things went my way."

Time to get out. Besides, her hair was messed up. It might look funny if I tried to fix it.

As I exited the museum, I hung a left towards the nearest phone booth. Maybe I will get lucky tonight.

"Delbur, D-E-C, _D-E-F, D-E-L, Delbur. There it is. 1679 Florence Ave. flat 296. What a twit. Not even smart enough to keep her name unlisted with such valuables in her posession. Well, I'll best be off while she is still at the museum. I muttered to myself.

I hailed a taxi and showed him my address. It was about ten minutes before we arrived outside an exquisite flat complex. It was another five minute walk to her flat. I picked the lock to a maintenance door, and helped myself in. It was a quick walk up to the second floor where I again picked the lock with ease.

Sitting in front of me was my greatest problem of the day. Yes, even bigger than security at the museum, was the black cat sitting in front of me. It stared up at me with evil in its eyes.
Damn, I hate cats. Pure evil they are.

I walked in avoiding Satan at all costs. It eyed me curiously as I walked into what looked like the study. I pulled out some rubber gloves. Best to not leave fingerprints. I rummaged through the desk for a short while, finding nothing of consequence.

I strode into the kitchen to find nothing except some very expensive German made cutlery. I proceeded to the lounge.

A faint buzzing noise could be heard at my feet. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at what was revealed to be...Satan.

I hate cats!

Into the bedroom. I rifled through the night stand, where something caught my eye. Sitting atop the dresser as a blue notebook. No, a journal, and it was locked. Looking closer, I discovered my lock picking set would be useless on this one; The key was very oddly shaped.

Now what could open this damned thing?

I opened the nightstand again. Just a few dusty books and a flashlight, but no key like objects. Hmmm...

There was a soft mew behind me. I turned, startled. It was Satan.. the little bastard. The cat had jumped on the nearby desk, laying down to bathe in the sun. That's when something flashy caught my eye. No, please say no.

The cats collar was exactly the shape I needed. This was going to be interesting. Shooting it would be too loud and too messy. Touching it was my only option. Animals are dirty. Cats...are horrid animals.

Suck it up 47 you've got work to do.

I bent over and picked up the cat who looked not at all pleased. I pulled it up to eye level when it proceeded to swipe me across the cheek as I held it by the scruff of its neck.

"You bastard!"

I attempted to unclasp the collar, only to be scratched across the top of my hand.

"Foolish devil!"

Holding the cat away from me where it could not reach any part of my exposed skin, I undid the clasp.

I set the cat down, or rather dropped it on the bed, then unlocked the journal.

Thumbing through it, I noticed several detailed digrams of a box. Followed by that were many scribbles and notes about its "magical abilities."

"This is what I need." I said to satan as I walked towards the front door.

Then I thought to myself, as unpleasant as it sounded, I should put the collar back on the furry devil.

I quickly replaced the collar with only a few minor scrapes and a bitemark to the forearm. I resisted kicking the beast, only out of fear of rabies.

"What a foul creature," I said as I locked the door, and then headed down the stairs.

Upon reaching the outside of the building, I saw a car pull up and a woman get out. Upon further inspection, I noticed it was the woman whos flat I had just robbed, and she was heading my way.

I ducked into the alley until she had gone inside.

Danger averted, I hailed a taxi and enjoyed the short ride back to my hotel.

Jennifer VanMorran:

The man I was staring at got up. He walked with confidence, reassuring me who he was. I had seen him in a newspaper in London, then again in Milan. Rory something.

Why is he coming over? Does he have a gun? Where is Jones? Why won't Rachel shut up?!

Then I remembered. The box. Every man, woman, and dog was out for it. Well, there was no way I was going to just sit there as he walked up and shot me.

"I'm going to go make a call," I said to Rachel, and Jones stepped forward. I looked at him and sighed, knowing that he would be close behind me. I stepped away from my table with haste before Mr. Rory Something-or-other could reach me.

The door opened for me and a cool gust of air rushed to cool my face and lift my hair. How beautiful Venice is at night. The moonlight grazed over the waterway and met my gaze. If only I weren't being followed.

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I stepped out of sight. A few moments later the door reopened, and I saw the man’s shoes standing in the same spot I had been. Looking at the moon, no doubt. He turned and I met his eyes with the barrel of my small gun. With a freezing glare, I muttered but one word.

“Bonjour.”

Sophia Delbur:

I walked into my apartment immediately feeling uneasy. Heading straight for the bedroom, I saw Midnight sniffing where my journal had been. Her fur was ruffled, but she was fine. She mewed her welcome. With a sigh, I flipped open my cell phone.

“Terribly sorry James, but we’re heading back to the museum… it seems I’m not done working yet.”

I snapped it closed, ending the call, and walked closer to my dresser. The cat purred, comforted by a familiar face. I pulled a white handkerchief from the top drawer and proceeded to wipe her claws clean.

“I hope you got him good.”

She yawned, unconcerned. Blood gleamed from her right fang.

“I’ll get that too.”

Holding Midnight’s muzzle open, I rubbed the corner of the handkerchief on the tooth. She shook her head and ran off, her privacy having been invaded. With the handkerchief in my purse, I almost skipped down the stairs. Things are starting to heat up around here, I love it. I could feel myself smiling excitedly.

Stepping into the waiting car, I flipped open my phone again.

“Leo, I know it’s almost time for close, but how much of the staff do we have left.”

A startled voice came back over the other line.

“Not including security, about twenty-five.”

“That’ll be fine, send five to meet me at the front immediately.” I couldn’t hide the laughter in my voice.

“Yes, Miss.”

With the phone back in my purse, I took out a pen. In the few seconds before we arrived, I scribbled my message down frantically on a piece of paper. Palo, the intern, opened the door nervously.

“Good to have you back, miss,” he said, trying to suck up.

That’s what you get for wearing a tight business suit and skirt. I walked like I had a purpose, up the stairs and through the double doors. Four other museum lackeys joined Palo; interns don’t get paid over time.

“You,” I pointed to the boy on my right and handing him my handkerchief. “Take this to analysis, pronto-- I want a positive id in ten minutes.”

He ran off and I turned to Palo. I slipped him the note I had just written and looked him dead in the eyes.

“This goes to the curator, take it strait there, you understand me?”

“Yes, Miss.”

I was still walking instinctively to my office. The remaining three interns followed my big stride awkwardly, awaiting their orders. I stopped and the boys swung on their heels to face me. I started on the left.

“Go to I.T. Ask them their progress on the website. Tell them I have a few more adjustments and they should send me a rep ASAP.”

Off he went. Next.

“Coffee, a grande Espresso con Panna.” He looked at the ground disappointed at the lackluster of his task.

The last I had follow me into my office.

“I have something special for you.” I pulled a snap shot from out of my desk and threw it on the desk. “I need you to find her. Her name is Bridgette, and she’ll be somewhere in the museum. When you find her, bring her to my office. I need to speak with her.”

He took the picture of the girl and left confused.

It’s time to start playing.

---

Henri Delbur read the note that was given to him: The third player has entered the game.

"Good."

Skylar Watson:

"Ciao, sono qui controllare dentro." ( Hello, I am here to check in.)

"Avete una prenotazione?" (Do you have a reservation?)

"Sì, è sotto Skylar Watson." (Yes, it is under Skylar Watson.)

"Sì, qui è stanza 428." (Yes, here it is room 428.)

"Grazie." I said leaving the check in desk and heading for the elevator.
-------------------------------------------------
I entered my room, setting down my luggage and hanging up my dress for the galla. I quickly went to the phone and dialed Jacob's phone number.

"Hello, this is Jacob Greenburg."

"Hey, I am in Italy. Just checked into the hotel. I enjoyed my flight. Very interesting."

"I knew you would," he said with a sly laugh. "I always understood you had more then a passing interest with the military."

I laughed. "So, what is the plan."

"Sky, it is your job to investigate and report back. I have to go, but call me after the galla."

I set the phone on the hook and pulled out my lap top. There had to be something interesting about the museum and the box. I searched until darkness creeped into the small hotel room.

Putting the computer away, I curled up in bed. I had not realized how tired I was till now. Pulling the blanket comfortably around me, I fell into sleep.

Brenna Harron:

If you had told me five hours ago I would be having a staring contest with a kid, I would have laughed and shot you between the eyes. But there he was none the less, giving me the ol’ stink eye. I think I had a few more years under my belt though, because his scowl was starting to crack. I glared with all my might, trying desperately to banish him to the depths of hell. The boy started to laugh. I guess there’s just something about french-braid pigtails that’s not threatening.

“I can help somebody over here!”

I looked up quickly with my most charming smile and moved to the next employee. He was a young, typical Italian man. Goody.

My teeth flashed in my version of the ‘heart breaker’ grin. “Hi! My name’s Camilla Moretti; I have reservations?”

The man typed furiously on his keyboard. “Ah yes, Signorina Moretti, I have you listed right here! One night stay, correct?”

I fluttered my eyelashes a little, playing the roll of Camilla Moretti down to the dimples. “That’s right!”

The man slid a key over the counter as I gave him my Visa. He swiped the card and glanced back up with a flirty smile. “Check out is at ten, Signorina. Have a nice stay!”

“Grazie!”

The man beamed at my ‘attempt’ at the Italian language. And if everything went according to plan, he’d forget all about me in two minutes. I picked up the only bag I had brought with me and headed to the elevators where I waited patiently for an empty car. My face had fallen back to its usual blank stare.

Ten minutes later I had secured an elevator. My bag was set neatly on the floor as I swiped the card I had palmed from the flirty host through what looked like a credit card scanner. The panel lit up green, and the car jerked into motion. Stupid shitty European elevators. I watched the numbers light up. Three… five… eight… roof.

The doors opened on a dimly lit hallway. I glanced around warily, then stepped towards the flickering exit sign. My fingers slid around the cold handle of the metal door, expecting it to be locked. How very surprised and suspicious I was as it jolted open.

Again I peeked around the windy roof, grasping my escape routes and cover. With a shrug, I strolled to the edge of the building. Right in front of me, ten stories down, was a small Italian bistro. Bingo.

As I set up shop, I gazed a little longer on the restaurant. It was a sweet little place, one only the locals would know about. Cute little drapes and hand painted signs-- how it made me want to gag. But hey, if VanMorran was going to be there, I supposed I couldn’t complain.

My setup was perfect. I had checked into the hotel next door last night, and made a mess of the room. Well, let’s just say fresh paint won’t do much for the blood stains. Then I had come back this afternoon to open the window and arrange a few well placed bullet casings. Twenty minutes later I was here, checking in as Camilla Moretti. Now on the roof, I had finally positioned my sniper rifle, and was sighting the bistro door.

As expensive as the restaurant looked, you’d think Jennifer would have gone someplace more sparkly. She seemed like the sparkly type. I mean really, who could blame me for shooting a selfish, dyed blond bitch? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I didn’t move an inch from the gun’s scope, but I could feel the darkness falling quickly. Where was this woman? I had it on good authority that she ate there every Friday evening.

I blinked as the door opened. There she was! Finally! I squinted, finger caressing the trigger. Wait for it…

The roof door behind me slammed shut, jolting me from my zone. I tensed, reaching for the Walther beside me. Only, my hand never made it. There was a nudge at the back of my head, and I could feel the barrel of a gun pressing ever so slightly into my skull.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Nice scheme you have here. Brilliant, bloody brilliant!”

I shivered uncontrollably. Who had found me? What the hell was going on? The person behind me nudged me a little harder with their gun. I raised my hands in surrender, gasping as someone grabbed the collar of my shirt yanked me to my knees from my laying position on the ground.

“Brenna Harron, right?” Yeah, like I was going to admit who I was. “Yes, well I wouldn’t say much either if I was in your spot.” The man chuckled, his cold, British timbre slithering over my skin.

He must have motioned to the person behind me, because my arms were wrenched behind my back. I tried to turn my head, but someone cracked the butt of their gun against my skull. I yelped with pain, deciding it was better not to resist as they bound my hands together.

Men rushed forward to disassemble my sniper rifle and gather the other weapons that were strewn artfully on the ground. Someone was also working on tying my legs now too. What were they using? Plastic ties?

“I never thought such a small girl could bring down the leader of PR5. Did you lure him into the bedroom first? I head Serge was a valiant lover.”

I snarled, trying to leap out of my captors hold. They caught my collar again, this time turning me to face the Brit. Well, it was more of a fling because I landed squarely on my ass.

His handsome face was a shock at first, but whoopty-fucking-doo. So he should have been on the cover of a magazine, that didn’t mean he’d be successful at keeping me.

“Gregor, if you would?” A man stepped forward, kneeling down in front of me. His hands clamped around one of my legs, running slowly upwards. I clenched my teeth, trying to keep from hyperventilating. He kept on moving father, and farther up. I started shaking with silent rage. No one treated me like this, no one.

Up his hands slid still, finally reaching the no-no spot. I growled in warning, but of course that didn’t even phase the fucker. I snarled, swinging my legs up as best I could to kick him in the shoulder.

“I do not keep weapons in my cunt you jackass!!!”

The man ducked, my combat boots swinging awkwardly into the side of his head. He grunted with the impact. Of course I didn’t see the fist until it landed on my jaw. I groaned as something cracked in my mouth. Tooth? Bone? Hell, I didn’t know. Blood oozed from my lips like drool. I spit, aiming for the shoes of the guy behind me.

There was a gunshot from below, and everyone froze. Shit! Jennifer VanMorran! My eighty million!

The British man cursed, whispering heatedly to someone by his side. My face was jerked around to meet a wad of cloth. It was shoved deep in my mouth, duct tape clamping firmly over my lips.

The Brit glared at me as men hauled me to my feet. This was not going to be fun.

Gabriel Porter:

The warehouse was surprisingly quiet tonight. Earlier in the day, there had been such a ruckus with the arrival of weapons and the capture of the assassin. But now I could sit and drink my tea in peace. Though going out for a walk by the canals seemed like a grand idea as well. Choices, choices.

I looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. I uncrossed my legs and sat up, setting my tea cup down. What could it be now?

One of the guards that had been placed with the prisoner walked in, looking rather worse for wear. His dirty brown hair was tousled, and it seemed like blood had been cleaned sloppily from his nose.

He stopped a couple feet away, and I caught the light twinge of color around his left eye that would be purple in the morning.

The man nodded slightly, “Sorry to interrupt sir, but she is awake.”

I grinned lazily, easing up out of the comfy recliner. “Splendid!” It looked like my indecision about the night activities had been remedied.

Down the stairs and into the dark basement I followed the guard. He slowed as we rounded a corner and halted. I kept moving, not scared of the girl one bit. She sat in a poorly made wooden chair that had been bolted to the ground at the last minute. She was shackled tightly, barely able to squirm about; hardly worthy of the fear she had instilled in the other men. The woman’s furious green eyes followed my movement towards her. It was rather eerie. I stopped directly in front of her, assessing the situation.

The guards had knocked Brenna out shortly after her capture on the roof top, unable to do anything with her otherwise. She was stripped of her fatigue shirt and boots, left only in a white tank top and pants. Her hair was unbound, haven been searched for weapons as well. I had received a report earlier that there were quite a number of knives and guns on her, and even a vial of poison. What I had been most surprised about was that she hadn’t been wearing Kevlar. How very strange indeed.

I snatched the woman’s chin tightly, turning her head. There were several bruises darkening on her face, and I can imagine everywhere else. I let her go and her teeth snapped at my retreating hand. I ignored that and moved lower. There was a bandage on her right shoulder. I moved her shirt out of the way and yanked it off. Brenna hissed quietly, the sound turning into more of a growl.

There was a bullet entrance wound. Someone shot for the heart and missed. I checked her back, and just as I expected, no exit wound. It was a couple of weeks old and healing well, though it did look like she had worked on it herself. Digging bullets out of your own flesh was nasty business. This was one tough bitch.

I motioned to the guard behind me. He stepped forward, opening a small black pouch. Rummaging around inside, I passed up more exotic tools of torture and settled for a simple pair of large tweezers. The polished metal shined softly in the low light. I snapped close to her face for emphasis. Surely she had gotten the gist by now.

“I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t give me a satisfactory answer, then I will hurt you.”

Brenna blinked in thought, her face changing from angry to blank. Looked like I picked an experienced one. Jolly. I would have much rather fucked the answers out of her, but considering the circumstances, that would have been inappropriate.

I started moving, pacing slowly around to her back. My fingers trailed along her skin, hand caressing the bullet wound lightly. “Who contracted you to kill Serge Fedorova?”

“Was that the fat, floundering, Russian letch?”

I yanked on her ear, my fingernails drawing blood. “Just answer the question.”

The girl obviously held no loyalties, because she spit the answer right out. “Drexel.”

The bastard! Well, he had his own untimely death. The puzzle was, why didn’t he use one of his many assassins? “Why you?”

“He didn’t want anyone to know.”

Well no shit. “That’s not good enough.” My hand moved back down to the bullet wound, applying pressure.

“He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask,” She gasped, breath coming harder now.

“And he didn’t kill you after he paid you?”

She smiled faintly at that. “He tried.”

Hmmm. Very interesting indeed. Why Drexel wanted Serge dead, no one would ever know. If there was any vendetta against PR5, it was taken to the grave.

So on to the next mystery at hand. I pulled a small white card from my shirt pocket, and dropped it in her lap. There was a money figure scrawled on the back. A very big figure.

“What’s that?”

Brenna shifted as much as possible, and I dug my fingers deeper, almost breaking the scab of her wound. And still she said nothing.

I leaned in and whispered, my lips brushing up against her bloody ear. “Come to the end of the line have we?” I smirked. This was what I had been waiting for. Aside from sex, torture was the next best thing.

“Pray tell, who are you going to kill for eighty million?”

I moseyed on around where she could see me, one hand on her wound, the other snapping the tweezers open and shut.

Her eyes found mine and she stared blankly. Nope, no words were coming out of that mouth. But I couldn’t just let her sit there with it closed. I wanted it open and screaming. So I backhanded her across the cheek. Her lips opened and granted me with a small yelp, as the chair rocked against the bolds holding it to the floor. I knew had they not been there, she would have crashed to the ground.

“Give me a name Brenna.”

She turned back to stare blankly into my eyes once more. Another grin formed on my face. I couldn’t help it. This was almost as good as Christmas morning. I stepped closer, bringing the tweezers into her vision. She followed them closely as they headed towards her wound. Finally I clamped onto the red scab, and yanked as hard as I could.

Her scream was like angels singing: so beautiful and infused with pain. I dropped the instrument to the floor and stepped ever closer. My finger ran around the bloody outer rim of the small hole, before plunging inside. This time her scream was more controlled.

“A name is all I ask, and the pain will go away.”

My finger moved inside, swirling around blood and muscle. I paused, waiting for an answer. When none came, I shoved two fingers inside. This proved to be harder than expected. And to my disappointment, she only managed a groan.

Her jaw was clenched, and I knew she was never going to tell me-- even if I took her to the brink of death. And as pleasant as that sounded, I would wait to kill her later.

A throat cleared behind me, and I pulled my fingers out, turning to a guard that had just arrived. Blood started splattering on the ground from my hand. “The Delbur girl is here sir.”

I held my arm out so the blood wouldn’t get on my clothes. “Wonderful! Bring her down!”

The guard moved to the side to show me she was already there. She was a skinny little thing, shivering with fear. Her hair was long and blond, and her brilliant blue eyes were wide. They were glued to Brenna. I turned back to the assassin. She had her eyes closed and her lips parted to accommodate her heavy breathing.

I glanced at the new girl. “What is your name?”

I could hardly hear the stuttering whisper. “Bb… Bri… Bridgette.”

“Well Bridgette, if you don’t do everything I say, you’re going to end up like Brenna here.”

The blonde’s eyes grew even wider, and she nodded fiercely.

“Good girl.” I murmured.

Brenna was looking at me again, this time with violent hatred. Her white shirt was covered in blood, the material sticking to her skin. I clamped both of my hands on her shoulder.

“Sure you won’t give me a name?” She didn’t even shake her head, but I knew the answer.

I grit my teeth as my hands shoved in opposite directions, applying harsh pressure until I heard a pop. My eyes dilated as Brenna shrieked. It was so loud, so full of hurt, that I had to step away before I did something stupid. God, that woman knew how to scream.

There were tears streaming down her face; her eyes clenched shut and her chest heaving.

A meek voice sobbed from behind me. “What did you do to her?”

I turned to Bridgette, surprised that she had spoken up at all. “I dislocated her shoulder, which was already wounded.” I showed her my dripping bloody hand.

“Oh God,” she covered her mouth like she was going to throw up. Disgusting. It was definitely time for my departure.

“Brenna love, think on that name and I’ll be back for you.” I leaned in, my lips brushing hers for a moment before she turned away. It was all I could do to restrain myself.

“Sir, Darien is on the phone for you.” Goodness, were these guards ever impatient.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

Red Lipped Vixen

“Bridgette?”

I turned around to meet eyes with a young Italian looking man, he was a museum worker. Should I respond? Or am I going to get kicked out of the museum?

“Um, yes,” I responded timidly. I didn’t want him to think that I was anyone or anything. Having the museum workers know me is not the best thing. I fear that they may be watching surveillance tapes and they could know that I’ve been sneaking in at night.

“I need you to come with m--,” the museum worker stopped mid word as one hand slid under his chin and another hand was placed on top of his head. His eyes grew wide and then his head was twisted forcefully and there was a loud cracking noise that filled the entire room.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! What did you do to him!?!” I sobbed.

“Well miss, he was act’ally in my way. I have high orders t’be taking you somewhere. Now, how bout we get you there. Otherwise, we may b’having some problems.” The man was huge, bulging muscles, obviously worked as the intimidator. But that meant nothing to me; I backed away slowly from him.

“Now, come on, I won’t hurt you unless you make me,” he spoke quietly, wanting no one to hear.

“HELP! HELP! Someone help me!” I screamed and started running as quickly as I could. I ran through room after room after room. No one. Where was everyone? The museum was still open for another 15 minutes, at least. There had to be someone, just one person. Where were all the workers? I turned around to see if the man was still behind me, when I ran smack dab into a preson.

“Oh, thank god,” I panted, “You have to help me. Someone is trying to hurt me. Please, please help me.”

“Non parlo inglese,” he responded.

“Oh, um, Ci è un uomo. Desidera danneggiarlo. Aiutilo (There is a man. Wants to hurt me. Help me.)” I sobbed. I didn’t have this time to waste.

“Approvazione, camminerò voi all'ufficio di sicurezza (Ok, I’ll walk you to the security office),” he said in a calming voice.

“Grazie, grazie così tanto,” I spit out I horrible Italian. The man put his arm around me and started walking me to the security office. I tried to catch my breath, but I just couldn’t get it back. My head started to feel light and it was hard to walk. Why was this man trying to catch me? On our way to the security office, the Italian went limp. I looked up at him and saw the blood trickling out of one tiny spot on his forehead. I dropped him immediately. Now, I was crying more and I couldn’t catch my breath and everything around me was spinning. And I hit the floor.

------

I woke up in someone’s arms; I was being carried somewhere. I tried to squirm or scream, but I was handcuffed and my mouth had been duct taped.

“Now miss, I tol’you to just come wit me. You didn’t do it, so I had to take some force. I didn’t hurt you though, so no worries there, I just had to hurt some other blokes. No problems, no worries.” This was the man that wanted to capture me in the museum. “Now, I jus wan’to prepare you for where you’re going. It’s going to be dark and well, for you, prett’orrible. Do what Gabriel says, cause he’s not nearly as nice as me.” Tears streamed down my face as he talked to me, which he apparently noticed. “Oh miss, don’t cry, just do things right, an nothing will happen to you. Now I’m goin’ put you down and undo your handcuffs and the duct tape. Don’t scream.”

I was put down and it was impossible to stand. My head was pounding, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my head several times. I was dizzy and it was impossible to keep my balance, I kept falling back on to the huge man behind me. He was undoing my handcuffs and soon as they were off I grabbed my head and sat down. I took a look around to see where I had been taken. I was sitting at the top of a staircase. It hurt to look down, so I looked up at the man, but that hurt even more. The man leaned down and took the duct tape slowly off my mouth.

“Where am I?” I spoke quietly and hoarsely.

“You’re at an undisclosed location,” he said as he reached down to get a handkerchief out of his pocket. He licked it and wiped my forehead; it stung like a bitch. “You took a nasty spill when you faint’d, you hit your head on a statue. Now, let’s take you downstairs.”

The man stood me up and walked me down the stairs. Each stair proved to be more difficult than the last, until we finally reached the bottom. I was handed off to another man while the first one walked through the door. I tried to look inside, but I felt like I had been given tranquilizers. The first man came back and pulled me through the door. I woke up.

There was a girl covered in blood, strapped to a chair and several huge men standing around. And then there was the ringleader. Tall, blonde and handsome in that evil sort of way. He asked me my name which I could barely get out. This was horrifying; I had only seen this sort of thing in movies. He moved back to the girl in the chair and pushed her shoulder back until there was a gruesome pop. I had never seen anything like it; I thought I was going to throw up. A guard walked over to me and handcuffed my hand and my feet prison style. Gabriel and his men left the room, leaving me with the girl.

It was dingy and gross in the room. There was one light and a huge chest that was pushed against a wall. It looked like one of those rooms where you go in and you aren’t really given a chance to get out.

“Come over here,” said a voice across the room. I looked over to see the girl in the chair fully alert; I thought she had passed out. “I can get you out of those,” she said while motioning to the handcuffs. I hobbled towards her. “You can’t be stupid about this and it has to be quick. Gabriel has surveillance in here and there are guards by that door, but most surveillance runs on a 30 second delay. I want you to reach in my pocket and get out the file. Then, I can undo your handcuffs, BUT I need you to undo me from this chair. We have to do this quickly, and if we do, I promise I will get you out of here.”

“Ok.” I reached into her pocket as best I could and found a tiny file, which I handed to one her strapped down hands. She started to fiddle with one of the locks and it was soon undone.

“Now undo my hands and feet, quickly,” she hissed.

“What about my feet?” I questioned.

“I can do those faster than you can get one of these undone,”she said in reference to her shackles. “Now start on mine.”

I started to undo the cuffs that were holding her down in the chair, the first one came undone and she started on her other hand and I moved down to her feet. She soon had both hands and worked on the other foot. The woman was completely free and stood up quickly.

“Now, can you be a dear and pop my shoulder back into the socket?” She pointed at the shoulder in question and I moved towards her.

“I’ve never done, I don’t know what to do.” I was scared to touch it, what if I did something wrong and ended up hurting her more?

“Just push it in, fuck, it’s not that hard.” I pushed her shoulder and it snapped back into place with a loud popping sound. “Oh, there we go.” Now that the woman had the use of both arms, she ran over to the huge chest that was against the wall and pushed it in front of the door. “There are guns in this chest, if we can get it open, then we can get out.”

I could hear people running down the stairs. The door started to shake and I could hear muffled yelling. The woman was getting excited and trying harder to get the chest open. The door started to open a bit and a gun poked through the opening, the man behind it started firing. The woman took the file she had used to uncuff me and stabbed him through the wrist. The gun dropped to the floor and she picked it up.

“Are you ready?”

Rory Devlin:

VanMorran stands to go when I'm only a few feet from her. Fear quickens her step, and her
eyes dart around. What is she worried about? Does she think I'll hurt her? She strides to
the door with steps that are pretty fast considering the heels she wears. Opening it, she
stands in the doorway for a moment. The cool night breeze blows in, and vanishes abrubtly
as VanMorran walks away into the blue moonlight outside.

I don't quite know why, but I follow her. I open the door once again, enjoying the breeze as she must have, but I step out of the doorway quickly, into the dim light outside. The moon is a scythe-like crescent with a glowing haze of clouds around it, and its light makes the sharp rooftops on the horizon glow like jagged knives. Ahead of me the waterway is like flowing molten silver. It's so beautiful, for a moment I forget about VanMorran. She's probably gone, anyway.

I hear a soft sound, and I turn to it. With surprising speed, a slender arm straightens,
and I feel the cold barrel of a gun against my face.

"Bonjour."

I stifle a sigh and slowly raise my arms. Bonjour? That's French. This is Italy.

"Hello to you, too," I say. "What are you doing?"

Apparently her gun didn't get the desired effect. She presses it harder against me, her
cool expression never changing. "You're following me."

That was true. "I'm not going to hurt you. I recognized you. You're Jennifer VanMorran,
right?"

Her tense body relaxes just the slightest bit. "And you're Rory..."

"Rory Devlin. It's, well, I guess it's nice to meet you."

VanMorran doesn't seem amused. Her finger is perfectly still on the trigger, which is good in a way, but also very bad. She's experienced, so she's not going to shoot me accidentally, but she's also in complete control, so I don't have much of a chance of discouraging her. I watch her eyes and try to wait it out.

She steps back after a while. Her gun is still pointed at me. "Why were you following me?" she asks.

"I told you. I thought I recognized you."

"Sure. You're here for the box."

She gets to the point fast. And just what does one reply to that?

"Yes."

VanMorran's finger tightens abrubtly on the trigger. She's going to shoot.

"I love artwork. I'm a historian, if you must know. I'm quite interested in the Box's past."

She doesn't seem to believe me. Of course she wouldn't. This is getting boring. I've had enough guns pointed at me to...this may sound crazy, but I've gotten pretty used to it. I don't think she wants to shoot me, but she's pretty mad, so I don't know. "Okay, if you're
going to shoot, then please do. If you're not, then I have someone waiting for me in
the restaurant, and she's going to get worried if I'm out here too long. I have the
feeling that she won't be too happy if she finds us like this."

Jennifer's eyes meet mine and drill into me, and for what seems like minutes we stay like that. Her arms cross over her chest finaly, and the gun is slipped back into hiding. "Don't do anything sudden or I'll shoot you."

Typical, but I know she means it, even though it's hard to believe anything serious that she says. She's so skinny, and her elegant clothes and little pouty lips make her seem completely harmless. Okay, so call me sexist, but she doesn't look very harmful. Her eyes tell me differently, however, and her relaxed posture says she's used to this kind of thing.

And I've learned that women are often way more dangerous then men. I don't want to make any sudden movements. "May I head inside?"

"Not yet. I need to get a few things clear with you." I shift my position on the ground, and VanMorran's hand is on her gun again. She apparently doesn't trust me.

Of course. Why should she?

Is it just me or does she hate all men? That's something I'll have to find out. If she doesn't kill me.

I raise my hands so she can see I'm not going to try anything. "Look, I--" A dull glint and movement on a nearby rooftop catch my eye. It usually wouldn't bother me, but VanMorran's paranoia must have rubbed off on me, because I take a closer look. I see the eerie whitish blue glow of moonlight on fair hair, and a duller glint of something metal. I've always had good night vision. The person moves, and the star-like light on the metal slides down to reveal how long the metal object actually is. It's a gun.

Wait. A gun? Maybe VanMorran's paranoia isn't so misplaced after all. I see someone else come up to the light haired person on the rooftop, but that doesn't matter.
"Hey!" I call to VanMorran. I spin to point at the person, but she's disappeared from view.

VanMorran whips her gun out, readies it, and fires in one liquid movement. I miss the
bullet by inches, but the noise is deafening. I'm glad the bullet didn't hit me. I have
one too many holes in me already. The pain from the graze on my leg had almost gone, but as I jump to the side my foot gets caught in the cobblestone ground and twists. I fall
pretty ungracefully to the ground.

VanMorran looks surprised. Though her gun is still held tightly in her hand, she stares
at me with wide eyes. "What did you do that for? I told you not to move." she cries.

Warm blood stains my jeans. I reach my hand down gingerly. "There was a person on the
rooftop," I tell her. "They're gone right now."

"Sure they are! You're a liar, you just--"

I pull my hand away from my leg and look at it for a moment.

"I shot you! You're bleeding!"

She's surprised, but not at all apologetic. "No, you didn't. This happened a while ago."

She replies, but I can't hear it because there's a buzzing in my ears that's getting louder. Pain slices through the side of my head, and for a moment my vision goes black.

Not again. I get slowly to my feet, knowing it's not a very great idea. VanMorran drops the gun to her side, but she still looks ready to use it.

Suddenly the door to the restaurant swings open. Andi is illuminated in the light. "Rory? Are you okay?" She stays for a moment in the doorway, but walks forward until she sees VanMorran and I. She sees me, and VanMorran above me, and even in the dark here eyes seem to light up with anger. I feel a surge of pity for VanMorran. No one wants to get Andi mad. I've seen a few guys she got pissed off at, and personally I could do without seeing another of her victims. But VanMorran looks like she's pretty good... Of course, it seems most of her professionalism lies with weapons. Andi can get the gun away from her in an instant.

"Andi...It's okay. I'm fine," I slur. My voice sounds like a drunk's.

"Don't you worry, I won't beat her up. We just need a ride to a hotel."

VanMorran's fists clench at her side. She asks, "Do you know who I am?"

Andi couldn't have cared less if she tried. I watch the two, tense and ready. Andi walks so close to VanMorran she's only a step away from touching her. My vision goes black again, but I force it away. Andi speaks in a soft voice directly into VanMorran's face. "Look, you're going to give us a ride, whether I have to make you do it or not, Miss Priss."

"Don't you dare--!" VanMorran exclaims.

"Just give us the ride!" Andi's voice is low and dangerous. Though her body is relaxed, the anger I see in her eyes rivals anything I've ever seen before. She's apparently not too worried about me--she knows what's happening--but she's really mad at VanMorran. VanMorran seems equally angry and defiant.

I really would like to see what happened, but I can't hold off the blackness. My knees give out on me, and I fall to the ground again. My last conscious thought is, This must look really ridiculous.

A Non-Existent User

Caswell Berry:
Three-
High Plains Drifter

"You may see my actions as sadistic," I find myself laughing over the goon with the broken nose, paying homage to David Carradine, wishing the whole time I had a handkerchief monogramed with Bill on it. And again I let with the old stomp to his steamboat robust swollen face. His head bounces off the pavement as he begs for mercy in some foreign tongue I don't quite understand.

At my back, C.C. is removing the testicles from some other nameless goon, his squeals echoing along the embankment of the river sounding like a litter of downing cats in the crescent moonlight. The torture was fully unnecessary, yet we did it anyway. The kids were busy loading the arsenal of weapons we relieved from this criminal trio, the trunk of the Audi backed to the rear of the van as the kids shuffled the black duffle bags into the car's spacious trunk space. I don't think this is the purpose the rental agency meant by the "roomy" trunk space, but the Audi would do just fine, after all I only had my Ducati bike and that wasn't hauling shit. Feeling the goon squirm under my boot like a pinned worm, I laid my steel toe into his jaw sending teeth spewing from his mouth, the small yellow tobacco stained pebbles rattled down the cobblestone walk way. We were in Italy a little over a night and D-Block was making their presence felt. For this operation we would need an arsenal, so after greeting a few underworld contacts, we found a gung-ho faction of gun smugglers willing to move their latest Ex-Soviet imports in exchange for American greenbacks. This isn't as easy as it sounds, but the deal was set. Except one minor issue, I failed to take my medicine, and when the driver gave me some lip, I let him have it. My blade slid easily through his chin, caving in the bottom of his mouth before I withdrew it severing his tongue. The others just became casualties of the driver's misdirected actions. But now, as we steal what we originally came to buy, I am cursing myself for not leaving the driver alive...It seems he was the only one that could speak English.

"...But screaming and pleading for your life in some language I fail to understand just doesn't have the same passion as good ol' American English."

He spurts out some words in muffled slurred tongue like an Irish drunkard. I let the barrel of my newly acquired automatic pistol lash him across the cheek, splitting the muscle with a pink gash that opened like a baby's teething gums.

"English you Fuck...Do you speak English."

"FUCK YOU...AM...AMER... AMERICAN PRICK..." The Italian goon shout out through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. His accent was horrible, thick and deep or perhaps it is nearly impossible to speak with a shattered jaw. Without my pills I loose all sense of reality and perception. In truth, the goon may have said nothing at all. Simply a figment of my imagination, something I just wanted to hear to make my erection grow. Agony my own form of old man's Viagra. Na, this fuck was talkin'...

"Oh, now all of a sudden you can speak English..."

"You...Do you know who I am."

"No. Can't say I do. And even more, can't say I care."

"I am Rocco..."

"Rocco...Never heard of you."

"Dumb American shit," I raised my gun and this piece of crap didn't even wince. Now that pissed me off even more.

"Fella, you don't even know the hell-storm you've just stumbled upon. We got you pricks by the balls-literly. You see when my lady is done gagging your partner with his own nuts, she's gonna come over here and scalp that tiny pea-pod brain you have in that large neanderthal head of yours."

"There's something I will tell you first..."

"Rocco...There can't possibly be anything you have to tell me that I need to know. Like I said before, this isn't personal or business...You see in my country I am what some doctors would deem as psychotic."

"You dumb fuck...shut your mouth and kill me. But you are the one who is fucked. I work for Giovanni Santino..."

"And? Luguini and Pasta doesn't' scare me. This Santino fella bleeds just like everyone else."

"Ha, you don't even know the shit storm you unleashed," the man let out a rumble of a laugh, well the best he could with a collapsed lung and broken ribs. "You don't even know when your dead."

"Dead," I cocked my pistol in his face.

"I don't take threats from a ghost. Santino rules this country. You steal from him...and...and I pity the future for you."

"Well Rocco, I've grown tired of waiting for C.C.'s carnage. I got something to tell you." I bent close and whispered in his ear. Fear and confusion rolled across his eyes, and after I stood again I looked down at him with a malicious sneer. "And when you get to hell, you can tell Drexel I said it..."

Colt walked over to me as I stood like a gladiator over the corpse. Khan was bouncing up and down in the back seat of the Audi, while Chaka was pretending to be a race car driver at the helm of the wheel. Wiping the trickling blood from my face I thought about just how much I loved our defunct nuclear family, and how I would punish anyone who stood to do us harm. Man, animal, demon, even God himself would fall before my wrath. Then Colt laid a kiss to my lips, she tasted sweet like honey and melon, and her eyes were passionate and hungering for sex I had no time to give.

"Not now Biddy..." I ran my fingers through her hair, and she smiled upon me with slivers of white daggers.

"But all this carnage... I'm kinda wet won't you have a taste?" Her voice was seductive and hypnotic, and only a fool could resist her when she was in one of her moods.

"We have to go...The cops will be here soon."

"How about a quickie," She took her blade and ran it down my cheek, a hint of pain, an orgasm of pleasure--I wanted her more than I wanted to take my next breath.

"No," I pushed her away, breaking her enchantment and for a second I swore she relished the tease of foreplay. "Take the kids back to the hotel and unload the guns. I'm gonna take the bike and tail Ms. VanMorran to see whom she is having for dinner. When the time's right, I'll call you and we will make the extraction. I'll be in touch luv." I laid a kiss upon my angel, and was off into the night. As I pulled off I felt like Eastwood's Man-With-No-Name riding into the moonlight.

Man that was four hours ago. Now I'm outside some posh restaurant, chain smoking cigarettes waiting for Ms. high and exalted. But when she emerges, she is not alone. She is followed by a man. A man she doesn't particularly trust. The gun barrel pointed at his way tells me that. Boy I wish I had Superman's hyper-sonic hearing, or at least the ability to read lips. Oh, she shot him...No wait it was only a warning. And here comes another, she looks feisty. My kind of lady. A lady that takes no crap, her motions are erratic and strong. She doesn't even flinch knowing Ms. VanMorran is holding a gun. It looks like they are leaving together, I better follow them and find out what is happening. Better swallow my medicine, I don't want this to get out of hand this time. I hop on the Ducati and fire the bike to life, whistling the theme to High Plains Drifter and thinking of Ali....

"I'm a Bad-Bad-Man..."

47:

I woke up in the morning feeling refreshed and ready to do some business. I had some serious dollars to spend, and I knew right where to spend it.

I hailed a boat and told the driver to drop me off at a corner about a mile from my destination. It was a brisk walk through the warehouse district; prostitutes and drug fiends linned the dingy alleyways. I pulled out a Colt and kept it at my side just in case. Things could get real nasty in a place like this.

A quick left into a seemingly abandoned warehouse produced little interest from the roaming scum on the streets. A door hanging off its hinges in the back led to a dark stairway into a subterranian basement. The stairs were poorly lit at best, but not infested with bums. It was likely they knew the inhabitants and tried to mix company with them as sparingly as possible. It was one thing to mix company with a strung out crack whore, but these Russian gangsters were quite the evil folk. Especially Dmitri.

Dmitri had a bad habit of accidentally torturing victims to death when they crossed him, or stumbled upon his business. He was a legend within the mob as being one of the cruelest, people to walk the face of the earth. That is why they put me in touch with him, and why he got the Italy account.

The basement smelled strongly of expensive cigars and wood. There were crates everywhere. Dmitri was standing off to one side, no doubt inspecting his latest shipment.

"Good morning Dmitri."

"Ahhh, here is my top buyer! Fourty-Seven, we were just talking about you! I have some toys that may be of interest-- Only the most lethal."

"That's good to hear Dmitri; it's why you are my top seller. You always come up with the good stuff. What have you for me today?"

"Well, we intercepted a shipment of anti tank missiles headed to Iraq..."

"Now Dmitri, these aren't those cheap Jordanian ones are they? Because you know how I feel about those."

"No, no, comrade. We understood your displeasure with Mr. Asaad's product, and dealt with him accordingly. You can visit him actually, he's at the bottom of the Okhtovstoya gorge as we speak!"

"Good, good."

"No, Fourty-seven, what I have for you are genuine United States government property. Only the best! None of these are more than three months old. Fresh off the assembly line."

"Excellent Dmitri! how much?"

"For you, ehhh... five thousand apiece."

"Five thousand you say? Now now, Dmitri, we both know that's a little high. Three, or I walk."

"Three is outrageous! Thirty five, or no deal."

"Now youre playing my game Dmitri. I'll take ten. What else do you have for me? It's urgent or you wouldn't have made contact."

"Yes, right this way Fourty-seven. You're in luck, you should enjoy these very much. I know you've been using those ancient Colt pistols tha...."

"What did you say about my pistols Dmitri? you know im very sensitive about them. You know how I cherish and love them!"

"Yes, yes Fourty-seven, I know how you love you're classic pistols, but I think I have something a little more... modern for you. Brand new products from our friends in Austria. An agent of the Red Mafia managed to get his dirty hands on a shipment of Glock 18C pistols headed to New York."

"Glock is shit Dmitri, you're wasting my time."

"No, no you havent seen this before."

Dmitri produced a very bland and square looking pistol from the nearest crate. The magazine stuck out six inches from the bottom. He pulled the slide back to reveal a compensated barrel.

"This, is a fully automatic pistol. It holds thirty rounds plus one in the chamber. Fires a 9mm cartridge at approximatly 800 rounds per minute. It only weights 589 grams, it's fairly light, and is as accurate as it can be. Low recoil- Just your sort of thing Fourty-Seven."

"Sold! I'll take four at you're asking price. But I need something with a bigger punch."

"I have exactly what you need! These came straight out of Belgium. FN 5.7. Fires the 5.7x28mm round at lightning speed! Twenty round magazine plus one in the chamber. He will not be getting back up after you give him one of these to eat."

I held it up and checked its balance and sighs. It had a stubby barrel but was incredibly light. It held twenty rounds over my current sixteen in both of my guns. A serious upgrade.

"You like then Fourty-seven? Five hundred apiece, I need to move them."

"Deal. I'll need a safehouse to store these at. My hotel room will no longer suffice. I require a place to stay for the duration of my business in Italy."

"As you wish. Pyotr? Here."

"Yes, Mr. Nemkovich?"

"See here that Fourty-seven is put in contact with Nadia. He requires a tempory residence. Good day to you Fourty-seven! I must head out. Business at the docks you know. I will let you know when I get something useful for you as always."

"Goodbye Dmitri, pleasure doing business as always."

"Right this way Fourty-seven."

Two hours later I was in a boat on my way to a dingy apartment complex in the heart of Venice. It was a long ride, as the water was so crowded. We passed the museum, and signs for the gala were everywhere. My anticipation was heightened.

We arrived shortly before noon.

"Yes, Nadia this will do quite nicely. Thank you. You may leave."

As she walked out the door, I picked up my cell phone. I dialed Dmitri's number.

"Previet, tovarisch."

"Kak dela Dmitri?"

"Hello Fourty-seven."

"Nadia will be contating you with my residence. I want the goods delivered at one thirty am. Dont be late."

I hung up the phone and picked the journal out of my pocket. I had been thumbing through it since its aquisition, and had found little useful information. There were many pictures and diagrams, and phrases written in a rudimentary language that I couldn't even begin to decipher. Finally on one of the last pages I found a clue. There were greasy and dirty fingerprints all over the page, and written in grease pencil was one quick note written in almost illegible handwriting. It was obviously written very quickly.

"Those who do not know its secrets cannot use its powers."

"Hmm" I pondered aloud as I wiped sweat off of my brow.

I put the journal back in my jacket and headed out the door. I was going to spend the day parusing the streets of Venice at my leisure.

The day was spent walking through trinket shops idly, and having lunch and dinner at streetside cafes. I could not help but think that the famed canals would be a great burial ground. Some of the deeper ones were particularly attractive. I returned to my apartment at one o'clock to receive my shipment of arms. I pulled out my suitcase of cash and counted the required amount. The grand total came to a little more than fourty thousand dollars.

The doorbell buzzed and I opened it with my gun drawn. Standard practice. You could never be too careful.

"Hurry, Fourty-seven, we may have been tailed!"

Three very large men walked into the apartment and set down three equally large crates in the back room.

"Excelent Dmitri, here is you're payment. Fourty-one thousand eighty."

"Wonderful! But we really must get going."

"Well, Dmitri I can't afford to lose my biggest supplier. I need to protect my investment, besides I need to test out my new pistols."

I ran into the back room and Grabbed two glock 18Cs, put them in their holster rigs inside my coat. I readied the FN 5.7s and put them in my chest holster. My new standard sidearms. I walked back to the entryway to see Dmitri with a sly grin upon his fat face.

"Well, Dmitri, I'm up for a little sport. How about you?"

I glanced out the front door and he only smiled at me in reply as we headed out.

Jennifer VanMorran:

I looked down at Rory for no more than a half of a moment and when I looked back, his dame had her gun in my face. "Now Miss Priss, you're going to turn and walk to your little car and tell your driver to go to the hotel on 7th."

Damn. My gun was on the ground. She wouldn't have the nerve to shoot me though. And besides, Jones would have heard that last shot and be out here momentarily.

"Listen. I'm not going to do such a thing without you lowering that gun, and even then it's questionable." My voice surprised me slightly. Considering that my hand was still shaking from pulling the trigger and a woman had a gun in my face, I sounded quite confident. Honestly, I was scared stiff, but I couldn't back down. Not after this wretchedly unfashionable woman tried to scare me. "I don't think you realize that I don't have keys. If you would like to go back inside and ask my driver for some keys, go ahead, but I can't help you. For now, we just need to make sure that Rory-"

"Don't you dare try to sound concerned. You're heartless and cold and would've shot him in a second. Oh wait, that's right, you did!"

What was taking Jones so long?

Suddenly, something became clear to me. She was Rory’s girlfriend. She didn't care that I shot him, she cared that he got shot. And with that thought, I knelt down slowly to check on her love.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" she said forcefully. Too bad she didn't get her wish.

I made sure my dress didn’t damage as I reached out and checked his pulse. Still good. Breathing so-so. We’d have to do something about that leg though. I glanced up to see her gun still held toward me and her face hardened. With a sigh, I stood. “We can’t just leave. There will be five dozen policemen looking for me if I do.”

Something vibrated on my hip. I looked down and she followed my gaze to a hidden pocket where my cell phone sat. Could I risk answering it? I guess I had to. With one swift motion, I pulled the phone to my ear.

“Yes?... Yes, everything is fine…” The woman’s glare suddenly changed somehow and I knew I had no choice now. “…No, that won’t be necessary. I’m going out with some friends… Alright.” I hung up and stood. “Follow me.”

Sitting in the back of the boat traveling slowly along the rivers of Venice, I couldn’t help but be worried for Rory.

“Is he alright?” I said with authority. This chick could push me around, but I was still Jennifer VanMorran. With a glare from the girl, silence followed.

This was going to be a long ride.

Skylar Watson:

With a few key strokes, I was in. The blue light from the computer screen cast shadows
through the otherwise black hotel room. I couldn’t help the sly smile that crossed my
face. It was too easy. All information from the museum downloaded silently onto my lap
top, and after a few moments, I had everything I needed. Scheduling, guard rotation,
guest lists, even credit card numbers. Everyone that had walked through those doors was
right here. Now all I had to do was-

Suddenly a gun shot echoed through the room, and I almost peed my pants. Jumping off of
the unmade bed and rushing to the window, I looked down and looked over the street below
to find the shooter.

A tall woman and a man on the ground caught my eye. Was he dead? Wait no, he was moving.
Another woman came out and threatened the other. After a few minutes, they took off in a
speedboat, going dangerously fast along the narrow canal. I grabbed a pen and wrote down
their license number as they drove off. A motorbike drove by, obviously following them,
and I wrote down that license number as well.

I saved my progress with hacking into the museum and pulled up another site to find the
owners of the vehicles. I put in my search and it came up with one name. “Jennifer
VanMorran,” I said out loud and smirked. I would have to pay her a little visit.

To my disappointment, the motorbike was unlisted. I searched other countries, still
unlisted. How could they have a license that wasn’t recorded? After a minute of thinking,
I had it. It had to be a code.

That little devil.

Brenna Harron:

I picked up the gun that had clattered to the floor, ignoring the twitching hand it had come from. Bridgette whimpered a little behind me, and I looked up to see the door shaking from its hinges. Damn. I had wanted to get that weapons chest open before they barged in on us. No such luck.

“You ready?” I whispered to the girl, trying to pull her attention away from the blood on the floor. She merely nodded in answer.

I ejected the mag on the Beretta. Ten bullets left; we could definitely work with that. I grabbed Bridgette’s wrist and dragged her backwards away from the door.

“When I pinch you, scream.”

She tried to free her arm from my tight grasp. “Wha…?”

“Just go with the flow.”

The door exploded into pieces, splinters and sawdust flying everywhere. I yanked Bridgette in front of me, my left hand twisting her arm behind her back while my right held the Beretta steadily against her temple. Man, those splinters were going to be a bitch with bare feet. But I’d worry about that later.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Gabriel’s smooth British accent floated over his guards’ coughing and hacking. He emerged quickly through the cloud of dust, gun pointed at us.

“What does it look like, jackass? I’m escaping.” I mean seriously, like he couldn’t have figured that out on his own.

Gabriel tilted his head with disdain. “You’re a bloody loony.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” I warned as his finger touched the trigger. “You wouldn’t want to harm your precious source of information, now would you?”

He snorted with disbelief. “What, are you taking Bridgette as a hostage? Brenna, darling, Bridgette doesn’t need her legs to talk.” How I wanted to punch that smirk off of his snotty little mouth. “I’ll just shoot through her legs and into yours.”

My eyes narrowed as he took a step forward. “The second I hear the report of a gun, I’m shooting.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. And if for some reason I don’t get out, I may just shoot her anyway. Just to piss you off.”

I wrenched the girl’s arm tighter behind her back, pinching the flesh of her wrist. I waited a second, my heart pounding. Did she forget already? Come on! Scream, damn it! And then she opened her mouth, shrieking with fake pain. Bridgette started to squirm in my grip and I pinched her again, receiving a sob and quiet pleading. That’s it girl, keep it coming.

Gabriel shifted the hold on his gun from one hand to two. “What are you doing?!”

“Let me the fuck out of here, or I swear I’ll kill her.” By this time I really wouldn’t have kill her, but he of course didn’t need to know that.

The Brit met my eyes, any traces of smugness having drained away minutes ago. No, there was definitely something else in those icy blues. I couldn’t decide if it was admiration, rage, or lust.

“Gerard, escort Miss Harron out.”

I nudged Bridgette along in front of me, gun never leaving her head. As we edged up the stairs, I kept my back always to the wall. Hopefully they were still under the impression that I’d kill the girl if anyone shot me. You could never be too careful.

Gabriel followed us all the way to the door, his guards trailing behind us like a funeral procession. His hand clamped down on my injured left shoulder just as we were about to exit.

“Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”

I stiffened under the pressure of his hand, making Bridgette snivel a little. “Get your perverted, prissy hands off me you fucking bastard.” It was no more than a whisper, but I knew he could hear me.

He leaned in close, hot breath dancing along my neck. “This isn’t over, love, I’ll be back for you.”

“I’ll be sure to close my windows at night. Come on Bridgette.” I shoved the girl out the door, following quickly.

“Run!” I hissed as we stumbled onto the narrow sidewalk, falling into a sprint. The stolen Beretta was still naked in my hand, and I wasn’t putting it away any time soon. I hadn’t heard the door of the compound close. I risked a look back, but saw no one. Turning around, I stagger to a slow jog with dizziness.

“Brenna? Brenna!” Bridgette stopped and dashed to my side. “What’s wrong?!”

The gun clattered to the ground as I fell to my knees, hand flying up to my left shoulder. Oh no, we did not need this right now. We were still too close to Gabriel. I held my hand up in the moonlight, cursing the glistening blood that coated it. Oh no, oh God no!

“Bridgette,” I gasped, “We need a boat. Go find a boat.”

“Brenna…” The girl knelt down, trying to find a way to stop the bleeding.

“A boat, God damn it! Go!”

Gremlin

Evelina Lombardi:

Ring.

I scrambled for my phone, pushing Sierra off the couch. It was Santino's ring.

"Ciao Papa"

"Ciao.... Sono spiacente che ho parola dai nostri amici della polizia quello. Abbiamo perso Rocco ed avete certo lavoro alto pulito. Unforchanetly non può gettare uno sguardo appena sopra il questo in modo da pulisca deve ora accadere ed allora dovete dissapear. Siete
l'unica una fiducia di I per fare il lavoro." Said Giovanni.
(Hello.... I am sorry, I have word from our police friends that-- We have lost Rocco, and you have some clean up work. Unforchanetly he can't just glance over this, so clean up has to happen now, and then you have to dissapear. You are the only one I trust to do the job. )

"Nessun non Rocco"
(No, not Rocco.)

"Conosciamo chi era?" I continued
(Do we know who did it?)

"Nessun non ancora. Stiamo lavorando sso. Spererò di avere un nome molto presto. " He replied.
(No, not yet. We are working on it. I hope to have a name very soon.)

I got the directions, and Told Sierra to gaurd the door.

Hurrying to the scene with a large suit case, I aproached the warehouse. I attached the large explosives to the suports of the warehouse, grabbed the body bag from the suitcase, and placed Rocco carefully inside. The body was tossed over my shoulder, and I made my way to the car. I set everything in the back seat under blankets, and texted the police officer "424" meaning "good to go"

Then, I detinated the bombs on the supports and drove to the drop off. There, I handed off the suitcase and the bag, and recieved a new suitcase. I placed it in the passengers seat.

"Good to see you Ms. Lombardi!" he said softly.

I kissed the man at the drop off on his cheek.

"give him a respectful burial." I whispered.

He nodded, "He was wonderful at his job."

"We have experienced a loss. I want you to find me a name, and I will personaly hunt them down. o così aiutilo che li troverò io stesso ed assicurarsi ritengono il rath di Giovani egli stesso ed il futuro della Mafia italiana" She ranted.

"Eve, You know I didn't understand that right."

"Of course, you should learn the language of your employers. Have a good evening, and get Giovanni a name."

I returned to my car and drove back to the hotel. Tomarow I would go to the museum and try to get a sneek peak.

Ring.

I answered the phone with, "Fatto!" then hung up.

an hour later: Ring.

"Ciao.."

"Hello Evie, nice piece of work- the colors were wonderful, and there was no evidence of you at all." the policeman replied.

"Do you know who? Any evidence of anyone?" I spoke anxiously.

"we have our suspicions, but no evidence yet. I'm not sure it's an Italian Job. You know? They want to believe so, but I know Italians." George said.

"By the way, on your comment earlier? I am a professional. When you have a name, let me know." Evelina replied.

"Don't you know how to take a compliment?"

"When have you ever known me to take a compliment?"

"Never, but would you mind taking me up on dinner?" George asked slyly.

"Maybe sometime when your off duty."

"Buona notte, George."

"Buona notte Evie, and sweet dreams"

Sierra and I made our way to bed, and wondered if there would be any more phone calls. Though soon, we were drifting off to sleep.

Red Lipped Vixen

Bridgette Proctor:

I ran down the sidewalk of the shoddy neighborhood we were in, no one was out. What time was it, is it really so late that there was not a single person out on the street? I screamed for help, but no one responded. I sprinted back to Brenna, who was kneeling on the ground grasping on to the side of a building.

“Brenna, I can’t find anyone for help, there isn’t a single person on the street! What else can I do? What else is there to do?” I babbled out.

“Ok,” she said while standing up, “we’ll just go over to that apartment complex and find someone to let us in.”

I helped Brenna up, seeing what had held her up in the first place. Her shoulder had been spilling blood for quite a while now and must have made her woozy. I didn’t think she had been shot, but maybe she had been. We went at a slow jog towards the apartment complex and stood at the door waiting for anyone so we could get in. An average size girl, or was it a boy, with short brown hair, came from the other side of the building and was walking up to the door, Brenna waited for her to completely reach the door before shoving the gun to the girls temple.

“Let us in, or I will blow your fucking brains out.” Brenna said in one of those voices where you know if you don’t do what they say, they will actually follow through with the punishment. The girl shoved her key into the door while staring at us out of the corner of her eye. I wanted to say something to her, just to comfort her, but I knew Brenna would snap.

“Ok, I don’t have any money and nothing very good in my apartment, but you can take it. Just, just put the gun down,” she spoke nervously, she was definitely a girl.

“We aren’t robbing you, we just need help,” I assured her.

“Let us in to your apartment and nothing bad will happen, but go NOW!” Brenna screamed under her breath, as to make sure that no one would hear.

The girl took us to her apartment and slid the key into the crappy little lock, opening the door for us to see that the area was tiny and dingy. She watched us go into the apartment, but she didn’t follow, she just stood outside the door.

“Get in here now. There are men out there that won’t give you a chance, they will just kill you. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?” Brenna questioned.

The girl, who had a striking resemblance to a young boy, walked in and locked the door behind her. She set the keys down on a horribly built little table that sat next to the door as Brenna made her way to a tiny bed. The girl sat down in a chair in the corner while I went over to see what I could do for Brenna. Her tank top was covered in blood, so it was hard to find exactly where she was wounded. I didn’t want to take her shirt off, so I just slid the strap down, revealing a round, deep wound. I turned to the girl.

“Do you have anything I could clean this out with?” I asked.

“I know you may be in a state of delirium, but does it really look like I have anything to clean that out with?” she said matter of fact.

“Sorry, um, I’m Bridgette. This is Brenna and who are you?”

“I’m Elyse,” she stated.

I nodded in response, not sure what else to say. I mean honestly, what do you say to a person whose apartment you just broke into because you held a gun to their head? Not much. I needed something to stop or at least delay the bleeding in Brenna’s arm. I took my skirt and ripped off a large chunk from the bottom. I started to wrap it around her arm, when she sat up.

“Honestly, I’m injured and I can wrap this better,” she said rudely. She continued to wrap her arm while I sat with my back against the bed. Time passed and Brenna fell asleep on the bed while Elyse sat in the corner watching us. I thought it would be good to start a conversation, maybe it would help the time go faster in this awkward situation.

“So, Elyse, you sound American, are you?” I asked her.

“Yes, I am American, you sound American also,” she responded blankly.

“Yeah, I am. Um… what are you doing here?”

Rory Devlin:

"Is he all right?"

As I slowly surface into consciousness, VanMorran's voice is the first thing I hear. I feel a gentle movement beneath me. What's with that? I try to move and find I can't. I feel like a ragdoll.

Andi doesn't reply to VanMorran's question. She doesn't like that. "Look, I don't even know who you are--"

Andi spits out a rapidfire reply. "Just shut up, okay?" Her voice is laced with acid. "Do you have a first aid kit aboard this wretched contraption?"

"I'm sorry?" VanMorran seems offended by Andi's rude comment.

"I hate boats," Andi growls.

So we're on a boat. Thinking about it, it's painfully obvious. Why didn't I realize that? Maybe it has something to do with losing blood.

Andi mutters softly next to me. "There's nothing worse in the world than boats. They should be outlawed..."

The weakness in her voice and the anger she tries to cover it up with for some strange reason makes me want to laugh. It's not like I expected anything else. Everyone has a weakness...and I guess Andi's is seasickness. Seasickness.

That's absurd.

I clench my fist to keep from bursting out laughing, and I'm pleased to find I can. Great, I can move again.

Andi must have caught the small movement, because I hear her say, "Rory?"

Yup, that's my name. I open my eyes and look up at her. Looking at the way she blinks hard and the way her head lolls with the movement of the boat, I can't help thinking of those bobby-head dogs you put in your car window. My mind, hazy with loss of blood, supplies, bobby-head Andi. Somewhere where logic still lives, I realize this isn't funny at all. But it's the last straw. I can't help it. What starts out as a weak chuckle turns into a laugh I can't stop.

God help me, I'm delirious.

"Rory, you idiot!" Andi slaps me and that just makes me laugh harder.

With a tremendous effort what must be two minutes later, I finally calm down. Even though the night is cool the air feels like fire against my skin. I sit up, but the water fights the sky for a position above my head, so I lay back down.

"What's going on?"

VanMorran is sitting ahead of me, in a chair near to the middle of the boat while Andi and I sit on a bench in the very back. "I'm giving you a ride to a hotel," she says. "And yes, in answer to your girlfriend's question, there is a kit on this boat."

Andi and I both stumble over nearly the same words. She speaks them vehemently, "I'm not his girlfriend."

"Andi's not my girlfriend," I say. I mean it. As far as I'm concerned, I'm just her friend. The only one she has, but still. Who else could possibly put up with her, anyway? I shiver when a light breeze blows over me.

Will I ever decide if it's hot or cold out here?

VanMorran vanishes into the cabin and returns with an old looking container, which she pops open right beside my head on the bench. She gets up then. Maybe it's intuition, or maybe she's just squeamish, but she backs off. "You can do it," she tells Andi.

Andi nods. She's used to this kind of thing. She kneels by the bench. Grabbing my pant leg, she pulls it up quickly, finding the hastily bandaged area with ease. VanMorran notices that it's already bandaged, and she's confused. "Hey, what...?"

I look at her. "I told you, this happened a while ago, while I was..." Whoa, my tongue's getting way too loose! Yeah, sure, this happened while I was running from a horde of cops, right after I lifted a priceless diamond necklace from a well-guarded museum. "Anyway, you don't have to worry, this is old. I'm just really clumsy, reopened it when I fell." As Andi works, I look out at the water. It's really nice, like a thousand flawless diamonds. Which only serves to remind me of the necklace. The buildings by the rivers slide by slowly. There's a humming somewhere near that I can't place.

Andi groans when she peels the bandage off.

I hear her mutter curses under her breath.

VanMorran sits forward. "What is it? What's wrong?"

When Andi replies, she intentionally addresses it to me, just to tick VanMorran off. "Rory, I think that this might be infected."

No kidding. Maybe that's why it seems so cold out here. "Just bandage it."

Andi nods.

I feel like such an idiot, down on my back. VanMorran watches with a look that I identify in the moonlight as a tad of concern, and something else. Amusement, maybe? Andi wipes coated dried blood off my leg with a wad of gauze, which she throws on the deck when she's done. What a waste.

She gets another wad and presses down hard until the bleeding stops. She adds another layer on top of that, then tapes it up. Grabbing the scattered contents of the kit off of the deck, she shoves them back in, then punches the lid closed. "There you go." Andi stands up, and looks sicker than ever. Her body sways, and she almost falls back into the seat. For VanMorran's benefit, she sits carefully down like nothing's wrong, but I don't think it's fooling anyone. But maybe I just know Andi too well.

You gotta love her. Hard as a rock emotionally, beautiful but distant--any psychologist would have a field day, I'm sure.

"Are we close?" she growls.

VanMorran seems to be pleased. "We're getting there."

I feel another tremor sweep through me. It's so cold. My mind tells me that the temperature is a comfortable sixty-something, but my body disagrees. Depending on the moment, it seems like it's either a hundred, or thirty-something. Wow. This is just great. "You guys don't mind...I think I'll sleep."

As I close my eyes, I hear the sound of the water parting to let the boat slide through. It's a beautiful night.

I slip into a restless sleep.

A Non-Existent User

Caswell
Part Four-
Cash Rulz:

Damn I hate this city already. I had to ditch the Ducati that I rode into Venice from Trento, the police frown upon driving on the sidewalks. Waterways and sewage, this place was sinking with Atlantis, and my soul was going with it. I nearly lost the boat and my prize a handful of times, but after relieving an Italian Casanova of his love pontoon I back on the case. Play it Fonzerelli cool--Heeeeey!

Make the call:
“Yo C.C., I’m on the case.”

“Have you obtained the package?” Her voice is ice through the cellular fuzz and static.

“No, the package has guest. Change of plan.”

“No change…”

“Sorry Babe. Things gone tricky.” I lit a smoke, waving off the Italian couple that screamed for a taxi ride north on the waterway. Too bad for them I was heading south on the Grand Canal. If Ms. VanMorran went south, so did I.

“You’re a shitty liar. It’s the fuckin’ girl isn’t it. Some T-n-A and you lose yer mind.” She was pissed and slightly jealous, nothing is worse than the wrath of a woman scorn.

“Ease, Biddy…You know you’re the apple of my eye. But there is something special about this one. Call it a Shaman’s vision, call it intuition…but this girl may be the key to getting to the package.”

“Holster your pistols cowboy, we don’t need you thinking with that brain between your legs. You should eat your pills.”
“Forget those things, I got somethin’ better.”

“And so do I.” Her mood was changing, I could hear the grinding of her teeth rhythmically slow its ferocity. The Valium must finally be kicking in as Colt’s voice lulls and sways into a deep house trance. “I tell you this,”

“No baby, I tell you this…” Inhale deep, allow the yellow tar to fill my lungs with Cancer as I cut the boat’s engines fearing I was getting too close. “Book us the best suite at the Hotel Al Sole, spare no expense. Bring the boys and the supplies…Oh yes I recommend you buy a boat, it is the only way to get anywhere in this cursed place.”

“Ya, what do we do then?”

“We need to get into this Galla,”

“And if said package doesn’t invite us to join her?”

“I’ll have you cut off her tongue, but C.C., we may not even need her at all. If ya get my drift. I need you to call Carlos.”

“Carlos? You can’t be serious.”

“Yup, never felt more sure. We need El-Dukee.”

“Shit. Now I know you’ve lost yer mind. That guy’s a psycho. Isn’t he doing three life terms in Sing-Sing. They’ll never let you have a maniac like that. Especially overseas.”

“Cash rules everything around me…get da cream. Remember they gave me the Chef.”

“Like in L.A., remember the Chef caused so much carnage it nearly broke D-Block to their knees? The Families still haven’t fully forgiven you for that one.”

“Yup, but fuck it after the box, who needs the Family. Just like L.A., we need carnage as a distraction, and El-Dukee will work just fine.”

“A’ight. I’ll make the call to Carlos…but I’m not promising you anything. Remember El-Dukee has a body count higher than all of our collective ages. He’s been rottin’ in prison for nearly twenty years, who knows if he’s still got it.”

“Oh he’ll have it. And it will be Heavenly.”

“OK. Be safe and we’ll see you in a bit. I’m out…”

“Out.” I slam the cell phone closed, and watch the boat in the distance. Slowly it drifts away from me, and I dream of California sunshine. I knew where they were heading, that guy who was would need medical attention, so my date with them would have to wait. I needed to find an Internet café. We were going to need some outside help on this one…someone who I’ve called on in the past. A person nearly as psychotic as myself…A person who could get El-Dukee across International waters. AKA Colt's brother Christos the Worm. I just can't let Colt know I called on her brother's hacking skills, or she may castrate both of us.

After the laughter, comes the tears…But first El-Dukee and a prison break.

P.S. just as a word of warning, with a smile I dump my medicine into the Canal. Here comes the mayhem.

Jennifer VanMorran:

The woman called Andi stumbled back then tried to cover it up and I stifled a laugh. She should’ve done some research before she came here. Through a scowl, Andi barked out a question. “Are we close?”

Still amused by her lack of sea legs, I held back my smile and nodded. “We’re getting there,” I said to no one in particular. Actually, I had no idea where we were going, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. Seeing Rory shiver and then sigh, I got up to get him a blanket from the front, but when I got back he was asleep. All for the better. I was rather worried about him. I glanced towards Andi and my worry shifted to her, but only for a moment.

“What are you looking at?” she sneered. Somehow I knew she wouldn’t take my help if I offered it. I shrugged and went to a small pocket on the wall. There they were, just where I left them. Pulling out a small patch, I threw it towards her, and like I expected, she caught it in midair. Andi looked at it then glared at me “What is this?”

“Just stop being stubborn and put it on. I don’t want your insides all over my boat,” I said casually and put the blanket over Rory. He stirred slightly and mumbled something uncomprehenable, to which I responded with “It’s alright, we’re almost there.” I think.

Walking back to my seat, I noticed the patch still in Andi’s hands and distrust on her face. “Look, it’s not poison or anything. It will help you with your sea sickness.”

“I don’t get sea sick,” she blurted out and I stared at her for a moment. She looked like a little girl that had eaten too many cookies, and here she was trying to tell me she didn’t get sea sick. I wasn’t born yesterday.

“Fine, you do what you want. I’m going to go see how much longer.” And with that, I got up and walked to the front of the boat, closed off with a curtain.

“Monsieur combien plus long?” (How much longer sir?)

“Le prochain cinq hôtel d'étoile est dans deux miles Madame VanMorran.“ (The next five star hotel is in two miles, Miss VanMorran)

“Non, nous n'avons pas besoin d'une cinq étoile.“ (No, we don't need a five star.) Actually it would be better if we didn't. I was sure there were others out there that would be expecting for us to go to a five star, and we didn't need their company.

“Alors nous arrêterons maintenant Madame.” (Then we shall stop now Miss.)

The boat gently slowed to a stop outside of what looked like a shack. He couldn’t possibly be serious. A short plump woman ran out and spoke to my driver in Italian, then tied our boat to the side. Having much more experience in French than in Italian, I made out just a few words. One night, only one room available, something about a breakfast, but I promised myself I would not take up her offer. She recognized my name and face, and I’m assuming said something along the lines of “We feel so lucky to have a celebrity here”, so I smiled and gave a gracious greeting.

Pulling the curtain back, I gathered my things. “We’re here.” I had expected Andi to wake Rory up, but instead she stepped out of the boat hastily. My eyes scanned the boat for any left items, but they rested on Rory, and I brought myself to kneel next to him. “Rory? Rory, wake up,” I spoke softly to ease him out of sleep.

“Jennifer?” He mumbled, and it took me back that he used my name so informally.

“We’re at the hotel. You can sleep inside.”

“Where did Andi go? Did she get sick?”

I laughed softly. “No, she’s alright. She went in to check things out. Come on now, let’s go inside.” I helped him up since he was still half asleep and made sure he got in without falling over. The inside had a cheesy, cozy-cottage feel, as though all of the décor had been purchased from garage sales. This was certainly not what I was used to, and for a moment I considered sleeping in the boat.

Rory stumbled and my hand went to his elbow to keep him balanced, but the sudden shift of weight made me stumble as well. I heard a crack under my foot. Great.

To top off the night, now I had a broken shoe.

Gabriel Porter:

“Sir? Could I get you a drink?”

I blinked slowly, coming out of my dreamy trance. My fingers tightened on the gun I held loosely by my side. The fucking bitch.

“Scotch.”

“Right away sir.” Gerard skittered away, leaving me alone. The rest of my troop were busy. Guards were stationed everywhere—even on the roof. Some were even out roaming nearby Venice. I had bollixed the whole operation, and now I had to fix it. Fucking bloody woman!

The butler tip toed to my side, eyes glued to the floor. “Your drink, sir.”

I took it with a curt nod, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. After a cold shower to cool myself down, I had let all the boys in the compound have it. The whole situation had been unacceptable, and sloppy. I knew by now the bloody women were in hiding, and we’d never be able to find them. But I couldn’t stop thinking of her. I could see Brenna’s eyes, their fierce intensity screaming hatred and violence. She would have killed the Delbur girl, no doubt.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back. I did not need another cold shower tonight. I had to plan. My only chance now was that wretched box! Then I could assume control over… well, everything, and make Brenna my personal slave before I ripped her to pieces.

A slight grin wormed its way to my lips. Yes, that sounded like a brilliant plan. The party was tomorrow night, and I was going in. As I tipped my head back, alcohol burned its way pleasantly down my throat.

The bitch was sinking in less than 24 hours. Then the prince would be crowned king.

Sophia Delbur:

It had been a long night and I had slept on the faux leather sofa in my office. I pulled on the extra dress I kept in the closet for emergencies, it was a gray wrap dress and nothing special but it still looked good. I smoothed down my hair, after the night’s events it had settled into a stressed out wave. I had te boys at IT post the move up date for the gala, we were ready and I was getting bored. Plus I wanted to find Bridgette, she wasn’t in the building last night and that was really unlike her. I went to security and they said everything was fine. One guard even told me how he checked out a noise, but all he found was a janitor mopping up what looked like syrup. I sent him home to get some rest.

Walking out of my office, I headed toward public relations. They had been here all night as well making sure that all of our VIPs knew of the date change.

“Do we have all of them contacted?”

A small girl with short cropped hair responded.

“Uh yes miss… oh all except for Vanmorran, she’s been out of reach since she left our museum two days ago. Even her own people don’t know where she is.”

“Well keep trying; she needs to be here tonight.”

She looked tired and upset, I was going to change me mind and send her home. It was then my phone rang. Annoyed I answered, “Hello.”

“Mon Cherie, you still don’t have a dress, I’ll have James pick you up at the front. Image, Sophia, Image.”

“Yes papa, but he better have some coffee.”

I hung up with a sigh.

Skylar Watson

I sat alone in the corner of some small night club on the canal. A cigerette was hanging out my mouth. This job was getting on my nerves, and now I needed to find my way into the galla. Of corse I had already made myself a contact at the museum, one pretty high up.

"Finally," I said, "Take off your jacket and stay a while. It is nice to meet another american in Venice," I said with a smile.

"Yes, I know what you mean. Have you ordered a drink yet?"

"No not yet," Giving a little hand signal I called the waitress over, "Assistente, vorremmo ordinare le bevande della coppia." (Waitress, we would like to order a couple drinks.)

"Sì, che cosa gradite ordinare?" (Yes, what would you likr to order?)

Brenna Harron:

I glared at the girl wondering if she had had one of those fathers that treated her like a boy. Baggy pants, unkempt hair; definitely tomboy material. I had overheard her conversation with Bridgette, and deduced she could be of some use. Unfortunately, that doubled the cannon fodder at my feet. A posse of helpless girls. Joy.

Elyse hung up the phone, looking thoroughly confused.

“Who was that?” Bridgette asked, fidgeting slightly in her chair. That girl needed to go paint a picture or something, just to shut her up.

Elyse glanced at me, looking a little peeved. “It’s none of your business.”

I leaned back a little in my chair, cocking the gun in my lap. Yeah, yeah, it didn’t need to be cocked. But they didn’t know that. It made for a great dramatic effect.

Elyse licked her lips, eyes averting to the ground. “It was my new boss. There’s a big catering thing that’s moved up to tomorrow.”

“Catering thing. Is that what they call it now?”

She clenched her teeth, tiny hands digging into her legs. “It’s some party for a museum opening. Invitation only. There are huge signs all over the city, surely you’ve seen them.” Then she turned away and muttered, “Unless you were too busy killing people.”

My eyes narrowed. Just because I wasn’t supposed to have heard the comment, didn’t mean I had to ignore it. “You think this is some kind of joke?”

Elyse turned back to glower at me. Bridgette squeaked “Don’t!” in a small voice.

“No, I think little miss attitude here needs a lesson.”

The tomboy crossed her arms over her chest with rebellion. Little bitch. She thought just because she has to make it on her own, in a shitty part of town, with no money, she knew everything. She didn’t know hardship. She didn’t know pain. She knew nothing.

I got up and both girls twitched. The gun clicked quietly as I set it on the table. As I strolled over to stand before Elyse, I slowly peeled off the blood soaked tank top.

“Do you know where we were before we came here?”

Elyse had a hard time pulling her eyes from a large mass of scar tissue on my stomach.

“Robbing someone?”
The sad part was, she was completely serious.

I chuckled, turning to Bridgette. “Do you remember where we were Bridgette?”

The other girl clenched her eyes shut, shivering a little. Tears trickled down her cheeks as the fresh memories came flooding back. I could barely here her meek “Yes.”

Elyse frowned at Bridgette’s reaction.

“You think we were robbing people, do you? Who saved you Bridgette? Who kept you from being killed?”

“You,”

The tomboy swallowed, daring to look me in the eyes. I grabbed at the poorly made bandage over the bullet wound, and pulled. Blood still oozed slowly down my chest, and I swore I could see tinges of green in Elyse’s complexion.

“I was being tortured Elyse. Tortured. You know… chained to a chair and MUTILATED!” So I was exaggerating a little. Sue me.

As I saw Elyse’s eyes flicker to Bridgette. The blonde was still crying, and I had forgotten what it was like to be a victim for the first time. She was finally exhausted of shock and adrenaline. Everything that had happened was slamming her full force, her brain fully comprehending the situation.

“She was kidnapped,” I whispered.

Elyse swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to help us-- take us to this museum party.”

Another swallow, “Okay.”

Then a sharp pain rushed to my shoulder and my left arm spasmed. I gasped, pitching forward to clutch at the back of Elyse’s chair. The girl leaped out of the chair nervously as Bridgette shrieked across the room.

“Brenna!”

“I’m okay!” I huffed, clutching the wound. “I just… need some sleep.”

Elyse clamored off the floor. “I can bandage that.”

I tested my balance, standing straight slowly. “No, I’ll do it myself. Just get me some gauze and tape.”

I walked slowly over to the table and picked up the gun. It was staying with me. “Then, tomorrow morning we’re stopping by my place.”

“Will it be safe?”

“God, I hope so.”

Rory Devlin:

A soft, "Rory, Rory, wake up," snaps me out of a feverish dream. I open my eyes to meet with glittering ocean blue ones. Jennifer VanMorran kneels in front of me on the moonlit deck. I see worry in her eyes and in the way she holds herself. But maybe the worry is more for her shoes and expensive clothing than for me.

"Jennifer?" I mumble.

She seems surprised that I would use her first name. I smile gently. Wasn't she using mine? Maybe she didn't notice. Besides, now that we're not trying to murder each other, it's a lot easier to think of her more as a human being and less as a threat.

Not trying to murder each other.... I think of Andi. At least, not me and not yet, I add mentally.

She talks as she lifts me to my feet, and though I'll never admit it, I'm very grateful for the help, even if I'm worried that I might make her fall. As we walk out of the boat I see her eyes take in the hotel, and she looks somewhere between terrified, disgusted, and resigned at the sight of it. I don't know what it's like not to have to stay in places like this, but looking at her face I get a great deal of insight into it. We get out of the boat and begin walking down a dock to the front.

I look around, but Andi's nowhere to be seen.

I wonder, why did it take me so long to notice that? "Where did Andi go? Did she get sick?" I really would have liked to see that. I hope I didn't miss it. I hide a smile that threatens to take over my face.

When Jennifer says that she didn't I sigh. Too bad. I can't wait to get her on a boat again. VanMorran's grip on me gradually loosens as we walk. I can't wait to get inside. I just want to sleep forever. My eyes want to drift closed as I walk but I wake myself up. If I let VanMorran support me anymore she'd be carrying me. I'm still conscious enough that that embarrasses me. Feet shuffling waveringly, I don't notice the knot in the dock until it's too late. My foot catches there and I almost trip.

VanMorran reaches down impulsively to grab my elbow, but I almost pull her down too.

A crack resounds. VanMorran's eyes go wide and then return to normal size with resignation as she lifts a slim foot to examine a broken heel. I'm pretty sure I hear a whimper, But I guess it could have been anything.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I apologize to Jennifer for the heel but she shrugs it off, though I can see she's not happy about it. The man behind the old desk is staring at me.

I really must look like hell.

Andi stands in the hall, twirling an ancient-looking key on her left hand, looking completely recovered. "Come on," she orders. "Miss Priss can pay for her own. You need sleep."

And she still manages to sound like a reproving mother. I sigh but follow her, lagging behind while she heads around the corner and pops the door open. Right before I get to my own room, where Andi has already settled in, VanMorran comes around the corner, key held as if it is some kind of dead animal. She takes a while turning the key in the lock, and as she walks into the room with a shudder, I mumble happily to her, "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

She must know I'm kidding but she doesn't seem to appreciate my sense of humor.

When I walk into the room it doesn't matter to me that the floor is thick with dust and filth or that the drapes are the ugliest dirty olive green I've ever seen. There are two beds and I fall onto the one Andi does not occupy, pulling the thin grimy blanket over myself. I descend almost immediately into a frantic sleep filled with nightmares.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I wake to silence and blinding light. I feel much better now, actually refreshed as I get out of the concave bed. I hear voices in the next room, and I walk over to Jennifer's. She looks elegant as always even with the dirt surrounding her. What surprises me is Andi, sitting on the bed and chatting with her. Before seeing me they both laugh.

Something is very, very wrong.

Andi sees me, grins a devilish grin and says, "Rory. We were just talking about you."

I don't like the sound of that at all.

VanMorran smiles, and she looks at her watch. "So are you usually a late riser?"

I shrug. "What time is it?"

"It's two in the afternoon."

"No way!"

Jennifer must think this doesn't need a reply. She's silent. "I guess not," she replies to her own question.

I settle down on a stained maroon chair, grabbing Andi's eyes and holding them with my own until I feel like letting her look away. I ask with all the sweetness I can muster when I feel like killing her, "So what have you been telling her, Andi?"

"A lot of nothing. Silly stories. Your ear."

Jennifer winced. "An icepick? That's all she told me really. Someone shoved an icepick in your ear?"

I wasn't going to go into it. Especially not to her. I shrug. Andi smiles at me with pride and I know that she is getting back at me for looking at VanMorran. Screw "revenge is a dish best served cold", she likes hers quick, hard and mean. I know that she wouldn't have told her anything important, but enough that I want to kill her. Enough that I sift mentally through my childhood stories and try to think of the worst one.

With the way Jennifer's looking at me, that's probably the first one she told.

If looks could kill I wouldn't care. I'd rather strangle her.

I calm myself down. What's the big deal anyway?

Jennifer gets up, batting at the back of her clothes where dirt and dust have found a new home. "Where now?"

Andi is pretty much back to herself but a bit sweeter just because she got me. "You probably have a personal driver or something." It's not quite a jab.

We head out to the front of the little hotel, into the bright sunlight. The waterway reflects it all and makes it seem blinding.

"Well, actually--" VanMorran looks at her as if she's wondering if Andi's going to take that at gunpoint, too.

While Andi mumbles an acid reply, I get up. There's a piece of a newspaper on the table. My eyes skim over it, but suddenly stop.

"Hey, the gala's tomorrow night." That was funny. I'd been under the impression that it was going to be later.

Apparently VanMorran didn't know either. She scrambles out of her chair and steals the newspaper from me. "It can't be."

Andi crowds close and looks at it. "Can't understand a word," she says, stepping back. "I'll take your word for it, though...I guess."

I glance at VanMorran. She fidgets like she's itching to get out of here. "You should probably call your driver," I tell her. "Andi and I will stay here. There's a telephone inside."

She nods and walks lopsidedly through the doors. I see her talking and gesturing with the man at the front.

Leaning against a thick log that is part of the foundation of the dock, Andi looks at me from under her crazy black bangs. A light breeze plays with them, and they blow up to reveal her eyes. "Glad that's over. You think we'll be able to get into the gala through her?"

I have to admit, it's something that's occurred to me.

"Maybe," I say. "Probably not."

"If it comes to it...Will you be able to do whatever it takes to make her invite us?"

I've thought about that too.

I reply, "Yes," without hesitation.

And I pray that Andi won't meet my eyes because I'm not sure what she'll see there.

A Non-Existent User

Caswell
Red Dawn--

I awoke that morning with a wicked headache, the bed sheets soaked in sweat and clung between my fingers. Next to me rested C.C. in her white Cami and lace panties, still deep in sleep. Her eyes fluttered dreaming of mayhem and slaughter that this evenings Exhibit would bring. I allowed myself to breathe again, air flowing into my constricted lungs. It was one of my visions again. I had them since I was a child, and they always came when something bad was soon to happen. But I couldn't allow this to get me down, today was too important. The Dukee wouldn't be here until after the fireworks had already begun, so I wouldn't kill everyone at the Gala until after he arrived.

I stumbled from the bed careful not to disturb the carmel angel next to me. Around the suite the tables and chairs were covered with freshly greased and loaded weapons, an arsenal that would make some Central American guerilla militia envy us. Between the AR-15s rested a bag of Coke. I grabbed it and headed out onto the balcony of our suite. I was a little on edge, and the blow wouldn't calm my nerves but I sniffed on anyway. Knife after knife I inhaled the white up my nostrils until my face felt numb like arctic waters. The sun was bright, warm, and blood red hitting my face as I watched the morning activity on the Canal. It seemed the whole city was readying for the party tonight at the museum; Italy's last hooray.

Suddenly my stomach knotted in upon itself, twisting into a tributary of the Mississippi Deltas. My arm hairs grew erect, and inside I feel something is wrong. I curse myself for not noticing sooner. There is a knock at the door, two raps followed by a third. Ignore it and they'll go away. No once again my shortsightedness is wrong. The pounding continues. Then the deep voice calls out in thick accent.

"Polizia..."

Fuck, who are you kiddin'. These bastards weren't cops...The pigs would have busted down the door and entered with batter-ram and badges. And not even Swat comes with hand grenades, the jingling of the grenade pins sounds like some demented Christmas tune. This was trouble. A set up. But before I could warn anyone, Khan was answering the door. The shadow of his small frame wavering underneath the door frame; now they know we are here. And what happens next I couldn't fathom; my dream was right--We all will die.

The shotgun blast blows through the door, splintering wood and littering Khan's body with buckshot. The boy's frame topples backward like a yo-yo snatched away from a child by a bully. His blood sprays into the air as the grenade comes rolling through the vacated space of the doorway. The explosion was a loud and deafening, more for flash than damage. My ears are ringing full of blood. I had originally counted eight pairs of footsteps coming down the hall, but I was wrong. In truth it was ten, maybe more. Like lightning Chaka was to his feet, poised to avenge his fallen brother. Flames burned in his eyes as he kicked his katana blade from the end table into his hand. The men entered with black ski-masks and camo-army fatigues only to meet cold steel. One. Two. Three. Chaka made sushi of the first Mercs through the door, the next two laid down by a barrage of throwing stars. The ninja was fast; yet she was faster. The girl moved like a wraith, blurring in and out of sight. Her flesh was pale and ghostly like death. Her hair was tied back the her head in a perfect blonde braid, but it was her eyes that I will forever remember most. Emerald, no more like jungle green haunting and mysterious. As Chaka pulled his blade from one of the fallen Mercs, he spun face to face with the barrel of the Wraith's automatic pistol. Like a true warrior, Chaka smiled bravely at the woman who had got the best of him, and without mercy the Wraith put the child down.

Blam-Blam.

Life played out in slow motion. Even before I could make it off of the balcony, these fucks had killed two of the only things I had ever loved in this world. I wouldn't allow them to kill number three. Colt barged from the bedroom suite, AR-15 cock-n-loaded, spraying shots all gun-smoke and panties. And in any other circumstance this would have been too hot to handle. But I had death on my mind. I snatch the Merc closest to me and twist his head around so I can see the white consume his eyes. Flooding like a drowned goat. Quickly I use his lifeless body as a shield while I make my way to the TV table. The goons pump led into their buddy and for once I am glad the Merc is wearing a vest. With my boot, I kick the end table into the air, creating a shower of gunmetal around me. My hands snatch the first weapons cascading around me, and I let out with shots. The Mercs keep coming like an army of clones. And I keep lettin' 'em have it. Plugging each one between the eyes, a regular blood-thirsty rampage. I was a rabid dog off my leash. From the corner of my eye I see C.C. dive behind the couch as a barrage of shots send feathers and plush materials into the air. That's my girl, a'ight. Not only is she wasting these guys, she's also collecting our weapons in a duffle bag for a quick escape. All this racket would bring the "real" cops, and even though we didn't pay for it, we still wanted our booty. Then it hit me. These weren't Mercs--they were Mafia. And this was Italian payback.

Shit...
The burning rips through my upper arm forcing me to focus again. Concentrate you fool, this is a gunfight and I've just been shot. Fuck-it soldier...it's only a flesh wound. As I roll to my feet another five Mercs crash through the bay window, repelling into the room through broken glass. The Ingram M-10's rattle off like typewriters, and I charge directly into their path of fire. I'm fuckin' Neo in the Matrix, can't hit me if they can't get a bead on me. That's the thing with these types: goons, mafia, hit-men, you never really feel bad for what you do to them. My thigh. Under my rib. My left shoulder. The bullets pass through me like butter, and the Coke makes me numb. Yet adrenaline and rage pushes me on. Instantly I plug each of the Mercs: two in the knee, two in the head, and one in the gut. I tackled the one I popped in the gut and together we crash onto a chair. Our combined weight destroys the chair as I lay the pistol whip to this guys face. First, I hear his jaw shatter like glass, nose smears to pulp like a juiced orange, and suddenly I'm pounding into brain purple matter. That's when I realize, I had made a mistake.

I had forgotten about the Wraith. She was right behind me, and I think how can anybody sneak up on me. Pulling my .45 from my waist band I turn and catch the beautiful vixen as she has her weapon cocked at my head. A good ole fashion Mexican stand-off. I watch her finger tense, and within those jungle green eyes she knows if she pulls that trigger, I will be the last thing she ever sees. Her face is stone, emotionless like a true killer should be and half of me believes she will fire. But my instinct tells me she saw the live grenade I am holding with my free hand, the pin dangling between my teeth. Even if she is quicker on the delivery, she dies anyway.

"You're good..." I spit the pin from my teeth, as the battle dies down.

"And so are you." Her voice is sweet, the way you think angels would speak.

Surrounded by new reinforcements, C.C. set up camp behind the strife-torn couch, duffle bag tossed over her shoulder and one gun locked upon the wraith, the other panning over the goons in ski masks. Bodies and thick gray smoke canvassed the war scene of our room, and through the mayhem the sound of approaching sirens neared. Splatters of blood webbed across the wraith's eyes as we locked in a stare down. Finally I decided if I didn't break the silence, we all would be dead our in jail. Two things I couldn't afford. I needed that box more than ever now. It was the only way to bring Chaka and Khan back from the grave.

"Giovanni?" I raise my eyebrow inquisitively, which I think is slightly romantic.

"No...Evie...And don't flatter yourself."

"Well, what are we gonna do here? I'm not going to jail in this shit hole of a sewer."

"I don't make deals with dead men."

"No. This isn't a deal. It's a proposition. I'll give you one wish when I get the box." I nod to C.C., and like instinct she already knows what to do.

"Wish...What ever could I wish for?"

"Your pretty green eye back..."

I had to be fast, or dead. One or the other, but I wasn't going to jail. I hit her arm with my gun, and her shot riffles through my ear. Close but no cigar, bitch. My free hand tosses the grenade, and pulls my boot blade, and with a lustful smile I stab the wraith in her right eye. I know the blade isn't long enough to penetrate the skull, but the damage was done. Now she will have to explain to her kids why Mommy look like a pirate with a glass eye. The bullets ricochet at my feet as I run with C.C. to the balcony feeling like some Looney Toons cartoon character. I lob another grenade over my shoulder, to eliminate any fool who is following too close, and like Thelma and Louise, C.C. and me hold hands bravely in face of the unknown. A breath from death, carelessly we throw ourselves over the balcony in escape and plummet into the Grand Canal. War has begun.

Jennifer VanMorran:

After calling Jones and my driver, I stood outside on the dock with Rory and Andi. The water edged up the sides of the hotel, vying for attention with a clap, then slid back down. I dared not look over to see my reflection; I would probably pass out.

We passed the time in silence. Andi would occasionally say something flippant, which Rory would either respond to or not, depending on the comment, and I watched a bird on a windowsill across the canal. For a moment, I felt compelled to say something, anything. Anything to fill the void.

"So…” I began, hesitating. I could stop now, not say anything. “how is your leg today?" I said, and my disruption startled the bird away.

Rory looked at me with surprise. I gave him a casual shrug. Why did he expect me to not be concerned? After all, I was the one that shot him.

Before he could reply, the whirring engine of my boat stained the air with noise. I noticed the delicately painted word "Jenny" on the side had yet another scratch. Typical.

I looked at my driver, waiting for an explanation for his tardiness.

"Miss VanMorran, there was a couple in the canal. I nearly hit them, but I swerved and-" he explained with enthusiasm, as if I cared.

"Mousier, I do not have an interest in this couple, only in leaving. The gala has been moved up to tomorrow." The words strike me in an odd manner. The gala is tomorrow. I have only 24 hours.

With that disturbing thought, I panic. I'll have to call in some professionals. I'll need a dress, makeup, hair, accessories, and a new gun, not to mention the final details of my plan had to be rethought. Did anyone feed my dog last night?

My shoe slipped off of my foot as I extended my leg onto the boat, and with a sigh, I gave up. Thud My shoes landed in the back of the boat, and I felt strangely short to be barefoot. Rory and Andi followed. I couldn’t help but smirk at the sensational disgust on her face.

“You know, if you sit up at the front, you won’t be as sick.”

She looked over me with distrust, and then at Rory. I looked away, settling myself back into my seat. Honestly, I didn’t really know where we were going next. I had to get home to work on my plans, but these two couldn’t possibly come, and I assumed they no longer had a hotel to go back to.

Without warning, a shot sliced the air, making all three of us duck. My heart jumped into my throat and then sank into my stomach. We all looked towards the front of the boat, and waited. After a moment, my driver’s body fell to the floor. I bit my lip. It wasn’t worth it. None of it was.

My eyes met Rory’s.
“Do you know how to drive a boat?”

Gremlin

Evelina Lombardi:

In shock, I reached and removed the blade from my eye. The boys that were alive rushed over.

"Ms.Lombardi..." one spoke, taking the knife from my hand.

"Get me to Dr. Riveriaro. My phone. That Bastard is a dead man" I whispered, the Italian coming swiftly to my tongue.

I stood up and hurried outside, followed by the injured and alive. Someone handed me my phone.

"Ciao Papa," I said as Giovanni answered.

"Mr. Giovanni, I am ashamed to say that Caswell is, Despite my efforts, a living person. And he carried my eye with him. I am on my way to see Doctor Riveriaro. See you there Daddy."

"Oh Darling! I will be there as soon as possible! Caswell is more than just a deadman. I will meet you there. Dr. Riveriaro has fixed much worst. "

"I can't believe I was distracted." The words fell carelessly from my mouth for all to hear.

I arrived at the warehouse the others were told to leave, and was feeling very faint. Dr. Riveriaro was waiting outside. He took me by the arm.

"Giovanni is waiting inside," He said.

The men looked in shock as they waited for further instructions. I was helped to a table where the doctor removed the eye. There was a perfectly matching glass eye waiting for my approval. Where they had come up with it so quickly, I doubt I wanted to know. Looking into a mirror, past the disorientation and screwed up depth perseption, I noticed that the eye moved just as it normally would. The feeling quickly grew on me.

Giovanni sat next to the table paitently."Should I send a team to take care of Caswell?" Giovanni spoke coldly.

"No, this is my job. And besides, more of our men would die than if I could finish it. He is skilled. I think chances are better if you could find him with out his whore. He's after the box. He thinks it grants wishes."

"You are in no condition to continue a war."

"We have no choice! This is about the box!"

"Fine. I will send Naillo to continue in your place."

"I can't let you send Naillo in my place, this is too dangerous! I am not trying to say she can't handle herself, It's just not worth it to risk your own daughter. We are talking the future of our Family. I have to get the box for fear it will fall into the wrong hands, as your daughter must stay safe for fear the future of the mafia will fall into the wrong hands. Let me finish my job Papa, and let Naillo Santino do hers."

"Fine, Finish. I want more frequent updates, and don't do anything too risky. You are not at your best right now." He did not sound happy.

"Thank you Papa!"

Finally, I found myself back in my hotel room.

"Hey, Sierra."

I picked up my phone. "George, Yes. I need you to find Caswell and just keep an eye on his movements until I'm ready to make my move. An eye for an eye kind of deal. thank you George."

If I can, I will take the eye of his whore and put a bullet in his head. He will die next time. For Rocco, and for me.

But now, it was to the museum. Time to get our own special invitation.

Forty Seven:

Bullets were hitting the brick walls on either side of me, and I held up my arm to guard my face as I ran. I had gotten seperated from Dmitri and his men some time back and was all alone now. I hoped Dmitri was alright; I'd feel awful guilty if I lost my supplier.

A bullet hit just to the left of me, sending brick chips into the side of my face. Fuck, I was bleeding now, and my lungs were on fire. I crouched down in a dark corner, having been able to elude them for the time being. Unfortunately, I could here them a few alleys over, shouting.

...

"Damn you Dmitri!" I cursed under my breath. The bastard had been trailed to my hotel and now I was in a world of hurt. I needed to get back to my car. I was running low on ammo, and I had a nice gash on my jaw.

...

The ruckus picked up. They found something. A shot followed by an awful scream. The stomach was my guess. The screaming ocntinued for a moment, Then three quick shots. To the head I presumed.

I headed towards the screams, my breath renewed for now. My guns were drawn, but ammo was low. I couldn't pray and spray.

I climbed a ladder up onto the roof tops to get a better view of the situation. I peeked over the ledge and saw what I had predicted. One of Dmitri's guards was laying on the pavement with a large pool of blood leaking out of the stomach and head.

Whoever did this wasn't a member of the police force. Someone was out to get us. I had no idea who though.

The guards were standing only a few feet from the body, sharing a cigarette. Now was my time to act. I dropped the magazines from my gun to count my ammo. Twelve in one and thirteen in the other. Fucking perfect.

I dropped down onto the second floor ledge as quetly as I could. In the process, a piece of mortar fell onto the street. The three guards looked my way.

"Fuck." I said calmly as I drew my guns.

Before the they could reach for their guns, the first one was dead. His brains were laying on the pavement. The other two scattered and began firing. I kicked in a window for some cover and dove inside the building.

Real fuckin' smoothe.

I saw one hiding behind a dumpster, shooting at me with his AK. I took careful aim and missed left and then right. He was out of range for the puny 9mm round I was using. I was going to have to improvise.

I pulled a lighter out of my pocket and threw it into the dumpster. Within seconds it was in flames.

Good, lots of paper.

The guard had retreated out of sight behind the dumpster, and the other one was nowhere to bee seen.

I dropped the last few feet to the street and met the ground with a hard thud. Immediatly, the previously unseen guard opened fire; barely missing me and sinking the lead into a nearby telephone pole.

I turned and let four shots go. Three hit him square in the chest and he slumped over with a heavy sigh.

I focused my attention on the other guard. He was running out from behind the dumpster spraying bullets all over the street. A close shot took the pistol out of my left hand with a strange burning sensation.

I let go a primal scream as the pain seared up my arm. No penetration but a huge energy transfer. My arm felt like rubber I could barely move it.

I dove behind a trash can out of instinct as rounds peppered the wall behind me. I had only a few roudns left, and was pinned down. I would have to wait for the reload.

This guy wasn't a dummy, and he knew he had me. I could hear him mythodically pacing towards me. I turned suddenly and fired, but he anticipated my slow reflexes and dodged. I was empty, and in confusion, wasted my bullets.

"Drop your weapon, I want you alive."

His mistake. He continued towards me at a steady pace. I threw my gun on the street and it skidded to a stop at the opposite curb.

He continued walking, and was only a few feet from me. Sad for him I always keep a knife up my coat sleeve.

"Get up."

I lied. "I can't stand on my own, you grazed my leg."

Grabbing my shoulder, he raised me to a crouch when I turned on him. In one fluid motion the knife slid into my palm and into his chest.

Stunned, he took a step back, howling in pain. I wasted no time in retrieving the combat knife from my boot. While he was still in shock I drove the knife through the side of his skull. It made a sickening crunch as his body went limp. His AK crashed to the ground and I dropped him. I gave the knife a pull but it was useless.

All this ruckus had drawn a crowd. I picked up the AK and sprayed at the two men standing behind me. The first one dropped and the second one dove to the ground. I shot him in the arm and stepped on his neck.

I bent down to have a word with him.

"Who are you?"

He spit blood in my face.

"Im going to ask you again, who are you?"

I was met again with a warm spray of blood to the face. So I slammed his head against the pavement.

He let out a weak groan.

"Who sent you?"

A weak gurgling sound oozed out of his mouth.

"Pooor...uh..."

"Speak up, hey, I cant hear you. And you're in no position to negotiate."

"Porter...uhhh..."

"Porter?!"

With that a crash was heard behind me and a car was approaching rapidly.

I snapped his neck and disappeared into the alley way as the car pulled up.

A few men got out of the car and began shouting, but I was already a block away.

...

I snaked my way through the back streets until I reached a parking lot. I couldn't go back to my hotel, as it was probably being watched.

I did managed to recover a rig, but I had to toss as it was too heavy. I took off my holster and replaced it with my recovered set. I now had two FN 5.7s and two hundred rounds of rock and roll.

I ran through the parking lot breathing heavily, and nursing my minor wounds. There, I found what I was looking for: A very nondiscript Citroen. A dark grey with boxy yet sleek lines.

I broke the window and proceeded to hotwire it. This cheap French crap was easy as pie to steal. Within five mintes I was rolling down the street.

I needed a place to crash. I opened up my cell phone and looked at my contact list. There were a few names but nothing that tickled my fancy. I was going to have to settle tonight. I turned off the sub street into a dark set of back roads. I came to a stop at a corner where a few hookers were advertising their business.

"Hey pretty boy, want a ride tonight?"

"Im not interested in sex. Get in the car." I said sternly.

"Not a chance, baldy."

"Bad idea," I said as I produced a pistol, "Get in the fucking car. I will make it worth your while."

I opened up the side door and she hesitated for a moment before stepping into the car. I pressed on the gas and rolled away from the corner.
She whimpered in the passenger seat.

"Shut up, I'm not going to hurt you. I will make this worth your while."

I reached into my coat pocket and produced five thousand American dollars. Her eyes lit up like the sun.

"You are going to do exactly what I say or you will pay. First I need a name and then we can go on from there."

"Tina Dolore."

"Good, you're getting the idea quickly. Now, here is what I need from you. Youre going to tell me how to get to youre house and I am staying the night there."

She uttered a small protest.

"I dont care if you don't want me to, this is what is happening. I am going to send you out for a small cache of medical supplies and I am going to patch myself up. And then most importantly you will never ever speak of this again."

I handed her the wad of cash.

"I'm going to give you this up front as a good will gesture. I'm sorry for my harshness, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. When I leave in the morning you will get another five thousand. After that I will leave and you will never see me again. You will never tell anyone because if you do I will come back and I will kill you. Do we have an understanding?"

She nodded.

"Good, now how do we get there?"

Half an hour later we had arrived and I sent her out for supplies. While she was gone I disposed of the car by pushing it down a large hill and blowing it up at the bottom. I returned to her apartment to find her waiting for me as planned.

I patched myself up and got a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet. The first drink went on my hand to clean the nasty cut on my hand. The next five went down my throat. Within an hour I was gone.

I woke up early the next morning. She was hovering over me with the telephone.

"It's for you."

Sophia Delbur:

I looked at the folder in my hands; it had been given to me as I had gotten out of the limo this around 4. It was the names and faces I needed. I studied the photos; it was going to be a fierce competition. Step one, know the enemy, I had that one covered.

“Oww, don’t pull so hard,” I screamed at the lady behind me. She dropped a fresh curl from the iron and made an apologetic noise. I could barely breathe as it was; let’s add more pain. I had been standing in my office for a good twenty minutes the corset of my red satin dress squeezing my insides. The skirt came down to my ankles, with two long slits on each side that showed off my new strappy heels. I was too anxious to be thrilled about my outfit; normally new shoes calm my nerves but not tonight. With nothing else to do I toyed with the black ribbon that laced up my front. It was 5:30 and I still had to review the caterers and make some final touches on the setup, I had two and a half hours before the doors opened.

After I finished applying a nice shade of deep red lipstick I grabbed my little black purse and headed down stairs. I went to the front door first, the Guard met me in the entrance hall. They were at attention waiting for me to dismiss them to their respective duties. I felt like a drill sergeant.

“This is the big day, I hope you got some rest.” I paced the hall, my men stood fast. “I want all doors monitored as usual, but tonight is about safety. Does everyone know the evacuation procedure?”

“Yes, Miss!” was the uniform response.

“I don’t want any heroes tonight, don’t do anything stupid. Dismissed.”

They filed out as I moved on to check the guest list. I looked outside, the afternoon had been beautiful perfectly balanced between warm and cool, not a cloud in the sky. The calm before the storm I guess.

I walked back down the main hall the decorations were simple. Large golden drapes hung low between the roman pillars, they glittered brilliantly in the light despite the fact that they were translucent. I reached the foyer sooner than I had expected. It was shaped more or less like a compass with halls going of in the major directions, the high ceiling opened up into a glass dome. It was one of the largest in Europe. I stood in the south point of the compass; my office was to the right, the west point; the east point lead to my father’s office and the security headquarters, the north went to our main exhibits. Both right and left wings were blocked off by red velvet ropes, which didn’t make much difference since the orchestra and caterers were stationed in front of the west and east points respectively. As for the north, opening was hidden by one of the many golden drapes that hung from the ceiling; it drew your eye to the highlight of the event. I had had the box moved to the north point before I left this morning; it was the first thing you saw as you walked in. There was a horseshoe of velvet rope around it.

I headed right first to talk with the orchestra; the caterers were busy setting tables. I weaved my way through the tables until I hit the empty space between the tables and the box, which I could only assume, was the dance floor. I went over the music selection and gave them a carry on. The north side curtain, the on that covered the hallway rippled slightly, I could have sworn I saw the white of a uniform. I turned that direction to follow; whoever it was didn’t have clearance, probably a lost waiter. It was then that I heard a voiced I recognized.

“Bridgette?” The girl I had been trying to find for two days looked at me from the table she was setting and almost dropped her silverware. She looked awkward in the white waitress uniform. “Summer job I see, if I had known you were in need of the money I would have set you up quite nicely here. I’m sure this museum could use someone like you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again not sure of how to respond. The girl she had been talking to seemed about her age maybe younger, definitely a student short on cash. She looked at me for a moment then spoke.

“She’s just doing a favor for me, Miss….”

“Delbur, but call me Sophia, I manage this museum. I see Bridgette quite often wandering around here. I was wondering if I could borrow her for a moment.”

She nodded.

“And could you go tell your boss to start appetizers at 8:15. Thank you.”

The girl walked away towards the long table that spanned the east wing entrance. I took Bridgette by the arm and walked her past the orchestra and under the ropes. Once we were a safe distance away I stopped.

“I’d like to show you something,” I told her. She looked at me wide-eyed and confused. Reaching into my purse I pulled out a black lace handkerchief. No one carries these around anymore but I find them quite useful.

“I’m going to have to blind fold you first.” She took a step back and gasped. Obviously this girl had no sense of adventure. “Look if it wasn’t important I wouldn’t do it, do you want to be kidnapped again, come on. You have a once in a lifetime chance to be apart of something great, will you take it or not?”

I don’t know if it was the shock or curiosity that got her but she turned to let me blindfold her. I couldn’t risk her head again; I needed her… she couldn’t know. We started off down the west wing on a path that I knew all to well. I took a right still pulling Bridgette behind me she followed silently. If she could see she’d recognized our newest part of the building, it was only 10 years old and it connected the north and west sides in a series of open rooms and hallways. You could tell it apart from the rest of the building because the walls weren’t as worn and the architecture was a bit more modern. After awhile I came to a sudden stop in a corner hallway, Bridgette ran into the back of me and fell backward. I didn’t say a word, just slid my hand over the smooth wall. We were really close to the foyer; I could hear the music floating down the north side hall. I turned to see Bridgette sitting casually where she had fallen.

“That’s okay you can stay on the floor.” I bent down and felt around till I found what I was looking for; I pulled on the intricate brass grate that covered the ventilation shafts all around the museum. This particular one was not a shaft; it was only made to match the rest of the building. I found it was I was little, after the area was built.

“Okay you’re going to have to crawl, here hold on to my dress.” I gave her a length of stain fabric as I knelt down beside her. She was still silent, but I could tell that the excitement was picking up in her. Either that or she was scared out of her mind.

It was only a short way before the ceiling opened up, I pulled the string that turned on the light and turned to Bridgette. After picking her up I took off her blindfold. She rubbed her eyes and looked around.

“Okay, no more games where am I and why have you brought me here.” She startled me, the shy girl had a pretty big bite, and I can’t even imagine where she learned that one. Well if I were her, I’d get sick of people telling me what to do too.

“Well this part of the building was redone when we added another section to the museum 10 years ago, this room used to be a janitorial closet, the door was walled off and I’ve been storing my treasures here ever since. And this is what you came here for.” I opened the drawer of the desk and pulled out a small golden cube.

“Is that…is that….” She stammered.

“Yes, Yes it is.”

Skylar Watson:

"Don't worry about getting into the gala, your my guest," He said with a sly smile.

"Of course, You were my way in from day one. I have everything I need. Maps, IDs, and my way in. Now, all I have to worry about are the others," I replied.

I sat in the leather chair across from my accomplice, of course no one would believe he was in on it and the fact that I am sitting in the museum at this moment gave me more ease.

"The rest will not let you go so easy. You know that, Sky? Your young, but your still, too, smart not to even think about them."

"I know what I am doing, it is already in the bag and in a couple days I will be done with this mission," I felt almost relieved to say that.

I got up from my chair and left the small chamber, my accomplice had done his job and now getting rid of the box was mine. It was going to be difficult of course, but I have something up my sleeve, all good criminals do.

Brenna Harron:

Elyse shrieked, knocking over her desk chair and falling to the floor in a clatter of fear and curse words. She stumbled to her feet and lurched backwards, her hands searching for something… anything. Bridgette threw open the door, her breath coming in short gasps as she raised a pair of shears. Who did they think I was? The scream guy?

I jumped off of the windowsill from behind the curtains, landing softly on Elyse’s bed. Both girls squeaked and I laughed, pulling off my black stocking cap.

“Would you put those scissors down? You’re going to hurt someone.”

Bridgette let out a ragged breath, collapsing against the frame of the bedroom door. Elyse staggered to her feet, brushing off her jeans. “What the hell was that? We could have fucking killed you!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Now that, I would have liked to see.” I reached behind me and tossed a black duffle bag into the center of the floor.

“Are you ok? Were there any… you know… bad guys there?”

I grunted, heaving another duffle. “Not a one.” My eye caught a smear of red on my thumb and I quickly wiped it on my black pants. Ok, so there had been a few of Gabriel’s men at my hotel. But what the girls didn’t know, couldn’t give them nightmares.

Elyse rummaged through a plastic bag, pulling out a jumble of white shirts, black coats and bow ties. “The black pants you supply yourself, but here you go.” She chucked a ruffled abomination my way, surely hoping to hit me in the face.

Much to her chagrin, I caught it and held it far away from me, trying to decide what century it came from. “This is as flattering as a fat girl worshiping the god of spandex.”

“Brenna!” Bridgette plucked a shirt and tie from Elyse, holding it up to her chest. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

I rolled my eyes. Elyse threw hers on over a t-shirt, tucking it sloppily into her black slacks. Slacks… shit!

“Uh, you said pants were not included?”

“Nope.”

This could definitely be a problem. I slid off the bed, jamming the cigarette that had been in my hand for the past fifteen minutes into my mouth. It was my fifth. I crouched down next to the two duffles, opening the one on top. There was the brand new lighter I had bought before my little excursion to the hotel. I snapped open the top, but my hand froze mid air as I caught Elyse’s eye.

“There’s no smoking in my apartment.” Man, that glare was something.

“In a shit hole like this you actually care?”

“There’s no smoking.”

I raised the Zippo to the cig in slow motion, holding her gaze as I ignited the wick. “Tough,” I muttered as exhaled smoke in her direction. Hey, a girl’s got to have her dose of rat poison, or else she gets cranky.

The duffle still lay open, and I peered inside. Black combat pants, black combat pants, black combat pants, black leather pants, black combat pants, aqua vinyl mini skirt. Don’t even ask.

“So what are the rules on these black pants?”

“Black, not baggy, no back pockets.”

My head tilted slightly as I reviewed my selection again.”

“Material?”

Elyse shrugged. “They didn’t say anything about that. Do you not have anything? We have to leave soon.”

“Do you have anything I could borrow?”

She nodded towards Bridgette. “I gave my last pair to her. Hell, she doesn’t even have any other clothes.” Bridgette bit her lip, walking over to fix Elyse’s bow tie. At least they were getting along. It was nice to have someone to lean on.

I shook my head, pulling out the leather pants. They were made for undercover missions, and although this was technically undercover, this was not what I had in mind. Well, fuck.

“All right, both of you out. I have to change.”

I grunted as the kitchen door whacked me in the ass. The stainless steel cart I was pushing jerked forward, and I leaped to catch up with it. The manager had put me on kitchen duty when she saw the tight leather pants. I really couldn’t blame her. Besides, it was easier to get away from a busy kitchen than bossy rich socialites. At the moment I was supposed to be taking fresh silverware to the runners who were setting up the tables, but I figured this was the perfect time to get away. My ‘gun’ duffle was hidden on the bottom rack of the cart, covered by a white table cloth. Perfecto.

The museum staff was starting to emerge from different passages of the building, and I gazed nonchalantly around. There were several tuxes, but only one lady. She was stunning in red, and I was sure she was someone important, but unfortunately her name was not Jennifer VanMorran. The girl was talking to the orchestra as I pushed my cart towards the north curtains. Then she turned in my direction and started following. Well crap! I quickened my pace, pausing by a table before ducking behind the curtain. I peaked back out to see her talking to Bridgette. Whether that was a good thing or not, it didn’t really matter. It was time to get to work. But first I needed a place to suit up.

I huddled in a small alcove in one of the art exhibits, the cart having been pushed back out into the main room with the hideous white shirt in place of my duffle. Now I was readying equipment. Two large guns hung snugly from a chest rig, while a new silenced Walther was in an inner thigh holster. Thankfully, the leather pants guarded against chaffing. A long blade was strapped to the outside of my other leg, its back up switch blade hidden in my left boot. The other held a Derringer, but if it came down to using it, I was up shit creek without a paddle; hell, without a boat. Finally, on went my gloves.

I zipped shut the bag, tossing it under a nearby bench. Eighty million dollars, or three supposed wishes. Bridgette had told me of the box, recounting several stories she had heard. I hadn’t believed in magic, not ever. Why would I start now? But then again, would Henri Delbur pay me any money if I killed the rich bitch in his own building? Both were uncertain. I’d stick with the one I knew would at least put me in a better mood. Killing was my favorite past time.

Gabriel Porter:

The Orchestra struck up another tune as I mingled my way through the dancers. Of course I had been fashionably late, but that had been hours ago, and my gun hand was itching for action. A small hand clamped around my wrist, and I turned to see a very beautiful girl. Her dress was vibrant red, and I was momentarily distracted as I watched her hand toy with the black ribbon that laced up the front.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night, would you like to dance?” She fluttered her eyelashes seductively, and I almost pulled her into the circle of my arms. But, work was first.

“I’m sorry darling, how could I not have noticed such a lovely angel vying for my attentions?”

She pulled on my wrist again, stepping closer. “Unfortunately, I’m off to the loo. Would you mind saving that dance?”

The girl beamed. “Of course!” She trailed her fingers down my hand until they fell to her side. “’Till later, then,”

How very strange. She wasn’t the first to ask for a dance, but she was certainly the first to be so forward, yet so distant. How very strange indeed. I started off towards the bathrooms, veering down a wayward hall. There, a man stepped out of the shadows.

“Sir, no one has reported back.”

“No one?”

“Well, Julian said the base was secure, but Thomas and Yakov have yet to call in.”

“That fucking slag! You’d think she would be smart enough not to go back to her filthy hotel room.”

“And the man forty seven, sir?”

“He’s on the council’s list; contact headquarters and tell them the news.”

“Right away.” The man hurried back to the party.

My fingers found my stubborn bow tie, tugging it loose and undoing the top button of my shirt. I rolled my neck around to loosen it and shrugged off my tux coat. After checking the readiness of the gun in my shoulder holster, I continued down the hall. From what I had learned, the box was kept somewhere in the wing I was currently exploring.

Suddenly, there was a sharp sting on my adams apple. I froze; palms up in surrender. There was not a soul behind me or in front of me, and yet, a knife had found its way to my neck. The sharp blade penetrated just barely, a thin line of blood threatening to spill. I swallowed, and immediately regretted it. A trickle of crimson writhed downward, pooling in the hollow of my collar bone. Dealing with knives was tricky business. For each injury, you only had yourself to blame. No shaky hands or hair triggers to be found here.

Knifes were personal, and even before I felt those thin, elegant fingers slithering along my neck, I knew it was Brenna. Her left hand gripped my jaw like a vice, snapping my face upward to meet her eyes. Once again, I was bombarded with green swirls of fury and pain, but there was something else in those orbs: Triumph.

She was suspended from the ceiling; legs locked around thick, black rope. Brenna had managed something that no other criminal at the gala could even fathom. She had infiltrated the museum not in costume, but through the dark shadows. While everyone else had given fingerprints at the door, even under aliases, Brenna was nonexistent. How she managed, I’d give a fortune to know. A true assassin at work. But it was her greed at wanting to kill me with her bare hands that would bring her downfall. How very dramatic.

I grabbed both of her wrists, pulling the knife forcefully away from my neck. She struggled against my grip, the knife slicing away at my hands. I bit my lip, heaving against her tight lock on the rope until she fell face first on top of me. She grunted, the knife flinging halfway down the hall.

I took hold of her ankle, yanking her closer so I could do some damage, but she twisted and nailed me in the groin with her elbow. A gasp wheezed out of my mouth, shortly before my jaw was nearly wrenched from my skull. I grabbed her wrists once more before her fist could strike again. “You fucking cunt!”

I threw her off me, stumbling to my feet. She lurched to hers, and I slammed my kuckles into her chest. She hissed, hand fumbling for the gun on her thigh. Once again I grabbed her right hand, but her left crashed into my nose. I shrieked, stumbling backwards.

“You bastard, I’m going fucking kill you!” Her voice was shaking with rage.

Another ragged cry came from my lips as a knife penetrated my stomach. My palm clamped around her throat, slamming her back against the wall. Her fingers grope at mine, trying desperately to pry them loose. When that failed, her hand found the knife sticking mercilessly out of my abdomen. I gasped, my hand closing tighter around her neck.

“Don’t…”

She tried to speak, but I was closing off too much air. My knee whammed against hers heartlessly, and I grinned at the crack. Brenna’s eyes widened, and I have a feeling she would have screamed if I had given her enough air to do so. I had asked around about Brenna, and a valuable source told me she had a bum knee. How very useful.

My hand fell away from her throat, and she fell forward into my arms, surely to her embarrassment. My tongue darted out to lick the blood on my lips. And what a delightful taste it was. I pushed her back against the wall, my fist once again smashing into her mouth. She yelped, and I hit her again. Again, and again, and again, until she collapsed once again into my arms. I let her continue to the ground, shaking out my fist as she plummeted down. Stone cold passed out.

I moaned, staggering a little as I ripped the blade out of my stomach. I held it, blood dribbling to the floor. Then I stopped, frozen in time.

Someone held a gun to the back of my head.

A Non-Existent User

Caswell:
The Dance of the Mad Bastard:

My eyelids flutter open.

I'm awake.

No I dreaming, or better yet I lie somewhere in between. Waiting for my Valkyrie to come and fly me off to dine at Valhalla. Eclipsed from life, I breath. Each inhale a wince of pain, the wet saltiness tickles my tongue, each exhale a new crimson ink blot for my brain to analyze. A whistling pool of fluid bubbles through the hole in my lung, I am probably dying, the slow black void stretching out to embrace me.

Then Blam...

I'm awake again.

My Angel above, all Hellfire and Fury rings from her eyes. Her lips move cursing at me in a rage I fail to understand. The table is covered with red, the white sheets sullied in brown iodine and clotted blood. The iron stole from some housekeeping cart sizzles with my gory tissue and the scent of burning flesh fills the room from my cauterized wounds. Anything to stop the bleeding. The Hotel room looks like a slaughterhouse. Morphine and Endorphines numb the bullets holes and torn flesh, while the adrenaline shots jump-start my heart again.

Bump-Bump...Bump-Bump...

The irregular beat drumming away from it's stillness moments ago. The Flatline returning to the squiggly lines, the muscle squeezes out life into my cold corpse. I sit up, looking at the zombie in the mirror. Straight from one of those Romero flicks, I can hardly believe the face that stares back at me is my own. I look at the bloody bandages that wrap my cask like a mummy, and stare at the table filled with enough led slugs to construct a blindfold for the Man of Steel and wonder how I'm alive. God, this was your mistake. You had your chance to stop me, I was a slab of dead flesh, you could have halted my carnage. No, perhaps it was the other who sent me back. His errant knight returned to watch this world burn.

On your feet ol' boy.

"Hello C.C.," My breath is wet with blood, crusty like chewing on iron-ore. "I've got to get out of these rags, we have an Event to attend.

__Four-Hours-Later___

Everything went as planned; I watch my sultry maiden with Satan eyes in action. Seduction. The guard is wooed, melting away at her rhetoric. She is wearing an erotic sleeveless low-cut black dress that clings to her curves like a second layer of flesh. The bandages upon her arm match the ones from a tattoo parlor, coveting the fresh-ink- or in our case a bullet wound from curious eyes. Sexily she raises her leg, propping her Bruno Magli stiletto up on the curb, allowing the dress to part upon her flex thigh. The nakedness of her carmel flesh yearns for the guard's tongue, or so he may believe, mouth gaped in carnivorous drool. Men what toys we are at the beauty of a woman. Goddess of the Mother Earth. Behind every powerful man, you will find a more powerful woman, believe that. Colt's fingers reach down into the black and white garter on her thigh pulling a cigarette from the concealed purse upon her inner thigh. This is it. The moment is tense, I tongue the hole I've chewed in the side of my mouth, letting the pain center my focus. C.C.'s lipstick stains the filter in cherry-apple red and through clenched teeth I see her mouth for a light.

I watch the seductress at work. Looking at her I nearly forget what she truly is. All dollied up, hair and nails done...the dress and make-up like a Runway Model, one may mistake C.C. for a lady. But in truth, I know it's different. Strip all the cosmetics away, tear off the Cosmos-Women self image and what do you have?the one I will always love: a natural born killer. And such begins the Dance of the Mad Bastard.

The guard realizes what is happening too late. With devilish sneer, the Demon in the sleek black dress drives a double-sided blade into the guard's throat. He tries to scream, his body tenses to escape the blade, but like a mouse in a cobra's grasp there is no option of flight. His screams become muffled beneath C.C.'s hand and it sounds more like gargled wet mud crying from his throat as the warm spray soaks C.C's hair in some punk rock hair dye. Gently like a babe, she cradles the guard to the ground watching the symphony of fluttering eyelids as the marbles roll to white.

"Clearance card obtained," She is panting excited near climax, she always loved the blade. It is so close:Personal. " Also walkie talkie and baton tazer..." Colt moans with pleasure into the necklace mic, and I find myself slightly erect.

Not now old boy. We have carnage to create. I move sluggish, more monster than man, from the shadows like some Frankenstein beast. No one has noticed our entrance, at least no one I notice. Be sides the spider-web of blood across her face C.C. looks like a guest of the party, and the security guard uniform I bought matches perfectly. I reach into the duffle-bag slung over my shoulder and snatch a handful of painkillers. I chew the chalky residue until my mouth is numb. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. I had already died once today...

The cell phone vibrates to life, and with a flick of the wrist I answer it.

"Hello,"

"El Dukee, good to hear from you."

"Cut the shit Caz. What's the deal"

"You're welcome for the prison break. Did you bring what I need?"

"I got fifty heads with me. Straight gangster types, their down for the crown..." His voice was harsh like the sound of severed vocal chords or a sadistic trach-operation gone astray.

"Good," I hated workin' with Mercs, but sometimes in my business the goons are needed for mindless muscle. Dumb, worthless, and expendable. But it was Lucy that I really wanted to know about. "But did you bring her?"

"Yes L.U.C.Y is with me, all 40 kilotons of her."

"Good when you hear the boom, come stormin' through the front doors."

Lucy, an H-bomb bought from some poor Russians before the Wall came down. With an energy yield of 40 kilotons, the pocket bomb was equal to about 400 tons of TNT. When it was detonated it would turn Venice into a crater 400 feet wide and 55 feet deep. Then the world will bow before their new King.

Then I heard it.

From inside, up the rear stairwell there was a commotion. Instantly C.C. bolted up the stairs to silence the caterer that may have seen our entry. But when we reached the room, the combatants were nothing from this party. They were professionals. Their moves and actions chimed in killer intent. There was no love lost between this duo. Finally the man had the girl beat, choking the life from her. And I signaled for C.C. to make her move. The psycho slammed his fist into the dazed girls face over and over again like a mad dog. Then I saw the man tear the blade from his gut, a splatter of blood showered the floor as he grimaced. Too bad for him, he never even sensed the ninja who snuck behind him. C.C. pressed the silenced automatic to the back of his dome. The man froze, as his eyes fell upon me appearing from the shadows.

"Fuck...To think it all will end like this"

Whoever he was, he was bold. Gun pressed to his dome piece, gut leaking all over the floor and the motherfucker has the nerve to act like Clint Eastwood, and for the record I know that probably isn't even his real voice.

"Sorry, for you buddy. But obviously you are someone who is not to be taken lightly," I stepped in front of the tall man, rolling the unconscious girl over with my boot. "I think she's proof of that."

"Jus' kill me you bloody cunt and be done wit it."

"Oh, so we are a Brit in Italy. Did we also come for the box?"

He spat blood to the floor and I assumed he had no more to say. I gave a nod to C.C. and she knew what to do. We had ways of making even tough sons of a bitches like him to talk. C.C. lowered the pistol and put a shot clear through his knee cap. The man dropped to the ground, sweat beaded upon his forehead, yet he refused to give me the pleasure of crying out in pain. His teeth ground within his mouth and I swore for a second he was chewing off his own tongue. Wow, this fucker's tough.

"The gut and the knee cap are two of the most painful places to be shot. Seeing you've been stabbed in the gut, and now my luv C.C. has crippled you, I figured you may like to play ball."

He spat blood into my face.

"Go fuck yourself, the Prince of Persia won't grovel before a peon like you. Piss-off!"

I pistol whip the bastard with my revolver, smashing his nose crooked, and sending teeth flying from his mouth. He just keeps smiling at me, with this shit eating grin. I let him have it, and not even a single yelp. It is as if the fucker doesn't have any nerves or a threshold for pain. He jus keeps smiling at me, and the more he smile the harder I hit him. Finally I am winded and sore, I think I have torn the stitches in my side and I am bleeding through my uniform.

"Caz, we don't have time for your ego. This one will never break. You can beat his face until it is a soupy mush of cartilage and bone."

"Ya you're probably right. Just shoot him."

"With pleasure." She licks her lips with anticipation.
It is little moments like this that may be my down fall. At the wall behind us, an elevator shaft chimes to life. Suddenly a caterer sneaking off to smoke a joint from the party emerges into a scene of carnage.

"Shit, wrong floor," The pothead yelps praying for esacpe, but flight is not an option for him.

I grab the server before he gets cute, but in the distraction the man makes his move. For a crippled gimp, he is quick and strong. Knocking C.C. off balance he moves to the elevator. He makes it to the door as C.C. lays six shots into his back. The Prince of Persia topples in through the closing doors. Colt and I unload into the elevator shaft, filling the door with shells as the server cringes in my fierce grip.

"How many floors!" I demand of the crying boy in my hands. I place the gun to his head and repeat. He wets himself and answers.

"Nine until it hits the kitchen, maybe less. It's just a service elevator..." his voice shakes at the hell fury that rings in my eyes.

"Colt open those doors."

C.C. pries the elevator doors as the cool air of the shaft hits her face, she hikes her boot up to hold the doors open in a human alphabet letter "L". I look at the server and smile, I think he already knows he is deadweight. I grab him by the balls and give a good squeeze. Like most men, he yelps and I shove the round grenade into his mouth from my duffle-bag. His eyes are terrified at what happens next. I pull the pin and shoot him with my pistol in both arms to make sure he doesn't tamper with it. C.C. adds the final touch tripping the human bomb into the elevator shaft. I take the six grenades from the ammo belt and toss them all into the shaft along with the plastic explosive. Quickly we dive for cover as the elevator doors close.

"Fire in the hole!" Colt yells burying my head with hers.

The explosion is massive, shaking the whole building with thunder. The elevator doors blow off sending metal and debris in a cloud of flame. I shut my eyes and think, it has begun now. El Dukee and his terrorist will hear the blast and come storming into the building guns ablaze. The hostage situation will draw the police, and all the attention will be on the Dukee, while I steal the box and disappear into the night unnoticed, leaving Venice under a cloud of Hydrogen fury. By the time they search the ashes, they will never even know the box was here at all. Sometimes I really believe I am a genius.

"Who the fuck was that guy?"

"The Prince of Persia?"

"Is he dead? I know I hit that fucker. I never miss,but the fucker was fast even as a gimp."

"Don't worry. Nobody could survive that Afghanistan Bar-B-Que. Not even that guy."

"What should we do with her?" C.C. coughed through the smoke and chiming fire alarms.

I looked at the unconscious girl on the floor, rubbing my warm pistol barrel against her ashen cheek. I bent next to her, and whispered into her ear. Rising I left my pistol on her chest, and looked into Colt's scornful eyes.

"What?"

"We should kill her. Tie up all loose ends."

"C.C. come on. What this mouse to the lions we are." I laid a kiss upon my Valkyrie.

"You are always soft when it comes to women."

"Don't be jealous. She's sleeping like a baby. If she does wake up, it'll be in time to greet L.U.C.Y. That's all."

"What did you say to her?" Nothing is more dangerous than a woman scorn, C.C places a blade to my throat.

"Really, this again. Honey," I hear the distinct sound of typewriters and screams of chaos and terror in the distant and I know the siege is taking place. "That is between me and her. A little something she can take to the grave. Come the party has begun. Let's find this Box."

Rory Devlin:

"So, tell me," Andi murmurs acidly. "How many people do you know who want to kill you?" She slashes a wayward bang away from her face and glares at VanMorran from the backseat of a car I...borrowed when we got out of the boat.

Whoever was shooting had been good. I was lucky that they were on land, because if they hadn't been we would not be alive now. We left the boat for yet another hotel--one much better than the cheap one we'd stayed at before. In the morning, VanMorran said she needed to get to her home to prepare for the gala.

So now we are driving. The beauty of the country I know so well flies past the car window, a blur of green grass, tan houses and the diamond glitter of water. Jennifer has pulled down the car's mirror, and she glares at her grimy reflection. She cleaned up pretty well at the hotel, though. She jams the mirror back into place and turns to Andi. "Please, be quiet."

"Ah, she says please." Andi disconnects her lap belt so she can wedge herself between the two front seats. She folds her hands under her chin and softens her eyes with an effort from the lava-amber to a soft honey sweetness. Innocent. Yeah, right.

Jennifer turns back to the mirror, and Andi hisses a breath out, fire returning to her eyes. "Come on! Don't you dare say that gunner was going for us! It was you. I'll betcha anything that when Rory said there was a guy on the roof at that restaurant, there was. I'll bet he was trying to kill you then, too. Rory, let the supermodel walk home. It's dangerous being with her."

I let my body droop in the seat and an unintentional sigh escapes me. Dangerous being with VanMorran? Andi has a fair share of enemies on every continent. She makes it up, of course, with her excellent sources. But she has been pouting in the backseat since we left, and it's really getting on my nerves. "Shut up, Andi. It might just as well have been me they were after."

She gives me her searing "yeah right" look, and she falls back hard onto the seat behind her.

I swear the car rocks.

Well, that's Andi. A little, skinny girl who makes a huge racket. Her small lips are pursed together, and I know I'll never get over how adorable she looks when she pouts. It's either that or the fact that I can actually get to her. I could dangle her over the edge of a building or shove a gun in her face and she wouldn't twitch, but here I am being civil to a woman, and she's pouting like a four-year-old. Yeah, it's probably a bit of both.

VanMorran glances out of the window, and her thin hands twine together in her lap. Andi's displeasure is acid in the air. "Take this right," VanMorran orders.

I do.

"Good, we can drop the witch off soon." Andi grips the door handle on a tight turn.

From the rearview mirror, a glazed crystal angel tinkles gently against the glass. wings like whipped cream flow behind it. It was probably a gift, and an expensive one at that. Gold paint letters are etched into it: To guide you, Nicia. It's pretty, but I need to take it down. It just makes this car more identifiable. I reach up to slip it off of the clasp but have to grab the wheel again when we encounter another sharp turn. When we're clear of it, Andi gasps. Probably only a mile ahead of us looms a mansion. It must take up a mile in itself.

VanMorran nods when she sees it, and a smile livens her glossy lips. "And here is my life." I can't begin to imagine how relieved she is that after so long running, staying in dirty hotels and fearing for her life, she is finally where she feels safe. I guess I'm happy, but the fact that my easiest way into the museum will walk away happily ever after does not fail to stay in my mind.

"Well, we're almost there," I say, just to start a conversation. Between Andi's anger and my thoughts, it's becoming hard to breathe in here.

"Yes, I know." VanMorran fidgets in her seat. Her fingers rush to unbuckle her belt before we even stop.

I pull the car up to secure metal gates and let it squeak to an unsteady halt. A man in a booth looks up. His eyes widen at the sight of Jennifer, dirty and grimy but presentable.

"Ms. VanMorran!" he cries. His body stiffens like a soldier's in the booth. "Where have you been? Jones sent the police out. Everyone was terrified that you'd been killed!"

VanMorran gets out of the car, and even though she stands at about 5'5 with both shoes off, she dominates the guard effortlessly. Her cool gaze sits him back in his seat. "You can let us through now."

The guard nervously shifts in his seat so he can open the gate. He sees the car and stops, leaning forward and squinting. "Hey...my cousin Nicia has a car like that."

I swear at myself and meet his eyes with my own so he won't see when I take the glass angel away from the mirror. The little keepsake is engraved with the girl's name. He looks hard at the car, but I get up before he can recognize it and say, "Come on. Open the gate. Ms. VanMorran has had a hard time today. Just let her through, okay?"

He glares at me, but lets us through.

I sigh, and VanMorran gets back into the car.

Andi is grinning in the back seat as we drive through, and stop at the house. "Just our luck, huh? Nicia... Wasn't that the inscription on the angel?"

I nod, and think over Murphy's Law. The gates have begun to close behind me, and I'm distinctly uncomfortable. The guy in the booth may be stupid, but it won't take him long to realize what is going on.

And it doesn't. I see the booth door slam open in my rearview mirror, and the guard rushes out.

"Okay, Jennifer. If you can get out now, I really have to get going..." I sneak a glance in the mirror as she stumbles from the front door. A heavily built man who must be her bodyguard runs out of the huge front door of the mansion. He sees me, sees the guard gesturing wildly. He pulls a gun out.

Great.

"Hey, VanMorran?" She looks at me. "See you at the gala." I slam the car into reverse and back up over the smooth asphalt. The gate is closing. The space between confinement and escape is getting narrower with every second.

The car just makes it through. I speed up when I hit the road, and Andi is sprawled in the backseat, laughing. "That was so much fun!"

"Pull yourself together, Andi. We have quite a bit of work to do if we're going to get in, and only a couple hours to do it."

"Oh, really? A way in without Princess?"

"It would have been easier that way, but I know what to do."

Andi spreads out on the seat, and her slim arms go behind her head. She meets my eyes in the mirror. A grin crosses her face and she murmurs, "You see, Rory, that's why I keep you."

~*~*~*~*~*~

"I am supposed to be here! Let me in, I was invited by Ms. VanMorran! Please. I need to meet with some people. I have a job, you see. It's the only think that keeps me afloat. Please! Officers..."

Andi's voice is a crackling echo in my earpiece. Her sighs and angry disappointment fill my ear as I unscrew the skylight on top of the museum. It's a handy little thing. I finally pop it open. The guards down below don't even hear it as I lay it carefully onto the roof beside me, and drop into the narrow space. I let one hand grip the edge, and pull the skylight down over the opening. The ground is ten feet below me. I brace myself and drop. Beyond the doors of the large, empty room, I hear laughter and soft voices. We're just in time; the gala's just getting started.

I stand up and wait until my eyes adjust to the near darkness. It looks like an office. A guard's condescending voice echoes through my earpiece.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave."

"I don't want to leave! I have to be here! Let me in, now! I'll tell on you..."

"Look, ma'am, we're sorry."

I make it downstairs and stand by the door. There are guards all over the place, but they see only what they expect to when they look at me; a guest. Andi's voice is clear on the other side of the door. I should tell her it's okay, but I don't want to. Not yet. I want to see what comes of this.

"Aww, come on. I promise--you can talk to VanMorran when she gets here, confirm that I'm her guest. Come on...let me in and...I'll owe you one." Her voice is throaty and seductive, carrying a subtle promise. I wonder if she's liking this. She loves to dominate people.

"Um..."

"Ahh, come on...no one will know, and VanMorran will thank you. Promise."

I hear an uncomfortable gasp. "Um, miss? Please don't touch me."

"Let her through, she's harmless," says a second man.

Well, the fun is over. No more begging from Andi. The distraction has had its use. Just as if I'm a guest, I open the door and exclaim, "Oh, hey! She's with me. Come on in, I've been waiting for you."

Andi walks in, sticking her tongue out at the guard who disagreed with her. I lead her down the main hall into the brightly lit main room. I am marveling that such a simple trick worked. But I've learned that the human mind is often a lot easier to manipulate than technology. And, of course, having a seductive woman in a tight dress helps a lot, too.

Andi smiles at me, but as always with her I can't say it's untainted by greed and mischievous excitement. She looks amazing in a pure, strapless white dress. It hugs the corners of her body in just the right ways, and contrasts amazingly with her dark skin and hair. Her eyes burn under aqua blue eyeshadow.

And still she looks like she'll kill you in a second.

I did what I could with her. If anyone who knows me happens to be here, they will have a difficult time recognizing me. But Andi will be a lot easier to notice.

We enter the room, and Andi gets more than a few glances. I look around for VanMorran but don't see her. Oh well, I know I will sometime tonight.

For now, I still have time to play. After all, what would the use of this be if it was all work? Of course, I love my work--I couldn't have gone this far in it if I hadn't--but I can't pass up a chance to get Andi out on the dance floor.

Jennifer VanMorran:

The drink in my hand was empty within seconds. I could feel my head getting slightly sharper, as if everything was in exaggerated 3-D. This would be my last one for the night. I had no time to be tipsy.

Frankly, I looked amazing. My dress was one of a kind, flown in from Paris. It was a golden emerald, with diamond encrusted around my bust. The neck and backlines were plunging- double sided tape is a miracle- and the layered chiffon caressed my skin with luxury. Pins and hairspray were holding my hair back into place, but rolling curls fell over my neck. I love social events.

Rory’s words had struck me. He would be here. He would be doing everything he could to get the box. Everywhere was scams, death, and criminals. Maybe it wasn’t worth it anymore. For whatever reason, I was anxious for him to show up. My shadow eyes watched the door between dances and drinks. It’s still early, I told myself over and over, until I couldn’t handle any more waiting drinks and excused myself to the Ladies Room.

When I came back out, Rory was on the outer portion of the dance floor, spinning with someone in a white dress. His partner turned, and I couldn’t help but scowl. How did she get in here? As the song ended, I stepped towards him. For a felon, he looked rather handsome.

"Mr. Devlin," I greeted with a nod and a smile. Andi snarled at me, but knew enough not to make a scene.

Rory smiled politely and returned my nod. "Miss VanMorran." He paused and I thought for a moment that our encounter was over. Men never could pick up hints. "Would you care to dance?" I take that back.

"I would love to! Thank you for the offer." Andi hesitated, obviously wanting to deck either me or Rory, but she instead turned and walked to a table with a grace I didn't know she had.

Rory's hand rested on my hip, and he took my hand with his free one. I carefully placed my hand on his shoulder and off we went. Our feet barely touched the floor as we spun and stepped in perfect synchronization.

After one spin in particular, I let out a slight giggle. "I didn't take you for a dancer. You're marvelous."

He shrugged off my compliment, smiling slightly. "Aw, well, you know what they say. It takes two to tango." I laughed again.

"Unless you're schizophrenic." Now it was his turn to laugh. We continued dancing for a few moments, until I found the courage to speak.

“Rory...” I pulled a little closer to him, lowering my voice to a whisper. My cheek gently touched his as I spoke into his ear. “I have a proposition for you. If we work together, no one could stop us. I can get anywhere in this museum, and you can break into any part I can’t get into. But with Andi... I honestly feel like she would kill me if she knew. I’m fearful of her.”

He cracked a smile. “Don’t be.”

“We’d have to get working quickly. I don’t think any one-” The ground shook suddenly with a blast that I’m surprised didn’t knock down the walls. People screamed and hit the floor with the unexpected explosion. Somewhere behind me, a waiter dropped his tray, shattering glass over the floor. The music stopped, and utter chaos ensued. The sparkling drinks and dancing beauties were ruined with in a second, and I hated those crooks even more. Shaken, I glanced around for signs of a break in or even worse, a burglary.

“Rory?” He didn’t respond to me and when I looked back to where he had previously been standing, there was no trace of the man I had been dancing with. “Rory!” I shouted, but my voice was drowned out with the thousands of others in my exact situation. Well, not exact.

On the other side of the room, Jones pushed his was through people, looking for me. Now was my chance. Kicking my shoes off and sweeping them up in one hand, I ran. Down one hall, up another, a flight of stairs, turn left, right, I had no clue where I was going. Smoke began to fill the halls and I knew I was getting closer.

The hall seemed rather ordinary when I walked in, apart from the billowing smoke and frames scattering the floor. Making my way forward, my naked foot touched something wet and slightly sticky. I looked down.

Walls tipped and the ground tilted, but I couldn't faint. Not now.

Rory. Where is Rory.

I had one last thought before I slipped to the ground in a semi-unconscious, semi-hyperventilation trance. If my dress gets stained, I'll kill them all.

Sophia Delbur:

I left Bridgette to her work with a few instructions and a variety of supplies. There’s not much more I could do to protect it now. If everything went according to plan, she would be done before appetizers.

As I walked back to the party, I went over the names and faces in my head. I was only really worried about three of them. I couldn’t help wishing I was ignorant. I wish I didn’t know about the dangerous men I had invited to my party among so many innocents. Papa, why did you convinced me this was the only way to protect it? what’s your motive?

Thoughts flashed through my head like a movie on fast-forward until I reached the noise of the great hall. Henri Delbur was making the opening announcement, something I had gladly handed over to him. I walked casually past the guests and took my spot next to the small golden cube. Those that hadn’t been eying the box were now. I took a look myself, and marveled at today’s technology. The hologram was an exact likeness. Father finished his speech and the orchestra started up.

“Allo mon petite, it’s all in your pretty little hands now.”

He handed me an earpiece and headed away. I watched him leave, surprised. This was his idea, Where was he going? A man drew my attention away suddenly; I didn’t have a chance to see where my father had gone. The man’s face was familiar and I knew that he was one-- one of the bad ones. Game on. I put the earpiece in and my best smile on while walking over.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night, can I have a dance.”

I was touching is wrist with just enough pressure to get the desired effect. He had an attractive British accent that gave me butterflies. Did he all the girls this way? He slipped out a compliment as if he had a book of them, and I giggled affectionately like I was supposed to.

“I’m off to the loo, but would you mind saving me that dance?”

Yeah, I just bet you are. That’s fine, have a look around. I have my eye on you. With one little squeeze I made sure the bug was in place, then let my arm fall to my side. Perfect. Men are still men, even if they are the leader of an underground crime organization. Got him. My ear buzzed slightly, I had to resist rubbing it.

“Thanks, Tony. If he ever gets within range of it, let me know. Have you spotted anyone els… nevermind, I see her.”

So VanMorran had decided to grace us with her presence. How very delightful. It wasn’t exactly hard to spot her the vibrant green of her dress that made her blonde shine brilliantly. The man she was dancing with was the same height as her, just because of the heels she was wearing. Another look at the man told me that he wasn’t her normal suitor. I flipped through the profiles, and sure enough, he was there. The thief. An alliance already?
They looked rather awkward together.

I pulled two more pins off the ribbon on my dress; it was going to be hard to tag them both.

I never got the chance.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Now, the third floor entrance was the most vulnerable and I knew it. I had hired some extra men, mercenaries really, to guard the stone steps that led up to it. I didn’t want my own men to die there, and I never felt sorry for the hired help. The elevator made it down to the second floor before it exploded. The surrounding staff and I got as many people out as we could. I never thought we would move into evacuation that quickly. Most were safely making their way out of the building through some underground passages, but there were many unaccounted for; ne of them being Bridgette. I couldn’t worry about her now that the blast had taken out the power on the northwest side. Tony and I were on our way to find the only person I had managed to bug.

The north side second floor was a mess. It seemed the elevator door had opened at just the right moment to send shards of plaster and metal. I looked down the shaft that was reduced to a hole in the floor. What was left of the elevator was scrap ofmetal on the first floor.

“That’s where the signal is coming from.”

Tony, my best techie, held a portable tracker. His face turned white at the sight of the blood pooling below. I couldn’t even see a body.

My eye caught sight of a pin on the floor and I picked it up. Grenade.

“Sophie, let's get out of here. This is no place for a lady.”

“Leave if you want to Tony, but I have a job to do.” I looked back down. Too bad, he was a cute one. I took the hair band from my wrist and tied up my curls. We, or at least I, was going to get dirty.

Tony was watching me suspiciously. “You’ve always been obsessed with your work, I just don’t want to see your pretty little body at the bottom of the elevator shaft. I’m not leaving, but I’ll take a good hiding spot- Museum's full of them. Keep the trackers, I’ll be in contact.”

We split. I had to find Bridgette. No, I had to find the box. When did I become so cold? I could hear screams and gunfire now. What was going on?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Alright, who put their money on the Brit as the first to go? Oh ho ho, you devil! took a bargain with that one! Paid off, didn’t it.”

Henri Delbur was smiling broadly while sorting money in a comfy hotel room a safe distance away from the museum. Men in business suits were smoking cigars and patting the man who had just won squarely on the back; some a little disheartedly.

Delbur swung around in his chair to stare out at the museum. He could hear the sirens now. He wondered briefly what his daughter would think of him once she found out what he was doing. It didn’t matter she believed in her cause, because he believed in his: Money. He felt like a little boy. Oh, the publicity.

Skylar Watson:

The dress I wore does not matter. It made me look incredible, and that is all that counts. Nothing matters beside the act you put on. I blended in, and when I would go missing no one would be the wiser.

Making my exited to the ladies bathroom, I took off the dress. I wore a simple body suit under it. I did not need a long dress to get in my way. I took out the contacts I had been wearing and tied my hair back. Off with the high heels, and into a vent I went.

"One...Two...Three..." I whispered to myself as I reached my final destination.

I could hear voices from the hallway outside the room. My heart pounding in my chest, I realized there was someone already in the room. A slight smile broke my face, I was just there for the show.

Brenna Harron:

Pitch black, as far as the eye could see. My skin was burning up, and a decent breath was had to come by. It was all so confusing—a weight on my chest, a caress of my cheek…

“The prince is dethroned. You owe me, little mouse.”

I woke with a start, my head smashing against something hard. A small cry escaped my lips. My body was screaming; tense with aches and pains. Oh, God, what was going on?

My right eye literally cracked open, the lashes crusted with goodness only knows what. I couldn’t even feel my left. From experience I could gather it was swollen shut, and the half of the vision I did have was a dark and fuzzy haze. Was I being tortured? Shit! Gabriel! I whipped my head around, and immediately regretted that decision. Fortunately, I was resting against a brick building, and not a dungeon. I could just barely see the canal from my position. How the hell had I gotten here? I certainly hadn’t walked.

The sound of sirens began to register, and I realized my hearing had only just returned. There was so much noise! Yelling, crying, running, megaphones… What in the name of St. Peter was going on here?! I moaned, trying desperately to move anything I could feel. Of course, success was limited to my left arm.

Suddenly my vision was blinded by bright light. Oh, who turned on the sun? Turn it off! Turn it off! My breath hissed as I turned my head slowly away. Someone was shining a flashlight on me. They were speaking as well, rushed almost. What language was that? I couldn’t translate in this state.

My right eye was finally adjusted to the beam, and I tried to see who was bothering the cripple on the street. But to my surprise, I came face to face with Elyse. Well, almost. She was resting against the wall too, a small wound trickling blood down her hairline. So that was how I got here. Had she carried me? Damn, adrenaline works wonders. Too bad she decided to pass out before we made it anywhere useful.

Hands nudged me, and I could feel my back being pulled away from the brick. Oh no, what were these people doing? I opened my mouth to protest, but my throat contracted with burning pain and nothing came out. Shit! No! They were picking up Elyse too. Crap! I loosed my left arm and swung aimlessly. Nothing but air.

There was a prick in the crook of my elbow. A needle? I couldn’t see the faces of these people, hell, I couldn’t see anything! NO!

A Non-Existent User

Fort Minor--

Some people tell me I need help…
Some people should fuck-off and go to hell…

I laugh to myself humming Cypress Hill, thinking that only moments ago these people danced, drank and snickered buzzed off of $200 bottles of champagne, or ate finger-foods complaining how they soiled their $1000 dress with Hollandaise sauce. The “rich”—God I hated them. So posh and reserve forgetting how the rest of the world scraps and struggles to create their profits. Oil Mongers, Business Executives, Pharmaceutical powerhouses, Stock-Market cocksuckers, a room full of white-collar criminals pedaling commerce for profit. Legal Dealers, with their rented wives, the whores who replaced their homemakers, lonely women left with the babies and snotty-nose brats at their humble abode, or vacationing in the Hampton’s. Now look at these swine. Suites and dresses torn and soiled with black soot, smelling not of Channel perfumes but smoke and carnage. Once again I laugh aloud, my mantra a MasterCard commercial.

Jerome Masio suite--$2,450
Russian mail-order-bride--$1,500
Gala invite donation--$950
The look of terror and fear across the guest’s face—Priceless.

Herded and broken like cattle, we had most of the Gala refugees rounded up in the main ballroom of the Museum. The chandelier and crystal smashed among the floor as bullet holes lined the walls creating this Apocalypse Now atmosphere. The hired Mercs with their automatic weapons and fatigues added to the ambience making the party look more like Beirut. Of course right next to me upon the balcony was my Angel of Death, her skin sparkled with specs of crusted blood and signs of war lust. We had killed many along our journey to power, and most of the bastards had it coming to them. But this was our hour of success, and inside I wept a tear for I was going to envy this moment forever.

“Now listen up,” I stepped onto the second floor open balcony from the dark doorway spraying shots into the air to gain silence from the muttering and scuttling debutants. The ricochet of falling shell casings and the reek of gun-oil kept the room to a hush. Besides the chattering of petrified teeth, I swear one old lady, perhaps someone’s Grandma in nude hosiery fainted under the stress, while in the corner, a man in a black suite wet himself yellow and warm. And I was erect at the trepidation I brought unto these disciples. “We have secured the entire building. No one will come and go without my blessing. Now if you value any part of your insignificant lives, you will shut-up and follow these few minor rules. One, if you try to run or escape, I’ll kill you. Two, if you interfere with any of our plans, I kill you. And if I don’t get what I want…”

“Let me guess, you kill us…” The smart-ass stood up from the crowd, obviously swayze from too much booze. His face was flush red as his balance rocked him side to side, his suite collar was already loosened and his tie slunk draping from his collar in a loose “Y”.

Without hesitation, I let the shot fly. Bullseye. The bullet tore through his skull showering those around him in a bath of warm crimson. As I made an example out of his insolent tongue, the screams started up again and the crowd began to sway like insects trying to escape the sun under a magnifying glass. I raised my hands, and the Mercs let out shots into the air imposing panic on the crowd once more. The herded cattle settled down again.

“Pardon the interruption, but if anyone else wants to be a wise-talkin’ hero, then the can join our recently deceased friend there. Good. Now I think you all know what I’ve come here for, so without further adieu, I want the Box. And out of you there are two ladies here who can give it to me. I’ve done my research…”

Suddenly C.C. hit me on the shoulder, and I cut off the loud speaker so her words weren’t broadcast through the whole building like my speech.

Through her wire, she was monitoring the communications from the Duke who was on the bottom levels setting L.U.C.Y. into position. For her to interrupt me there must be a problem. She leaned closer to my ear and began to whisper, the bomb was in position and armed, but the Duke had run into a few stragglers who escaped our little party. The Duke was leaving some men with the bomb while he was going to hunt some blonde American who had killed three of his men. I nodded and C.C. reported to El Dukee I gave my permission for the hunt.

“Didn’t they use this plan in a movie?” she whispered romantically licking my ear, her bloodlust turning to passion.

“Yeah, it was Die Hard. The first one. But we won’t have to deal with any John McClain interfering with us.” I turned back to the intently listening audience and clicked the loud speaker back on. “Excuse me, but this goes to all of those who haven’t turned themselves in yet, rule four: if you continue to run and play this game of cat and mouse, I will kill a guest every fifteen minutes until you are found. Hear me! Their deaths will hang upon your head, so do the right thing and turn yourself in before more needlessly die.”

I winked at Colt and she pulled a waiter from the room crying and sniveling in her grasp. I put the microphone next to her pistol and I swore the gunshot would blow the speakers with how loud it echoed over the guest’s screams. The headless waiter fell from the balcony, his corpse landed with a solid thud of bones and flesh. I could see C.C.’s excitement at the kill, her eyes rang out like a cat in heat, she wanted to kill the entire room one-by-one, but these were our bartering tools. By now the police and military would be outside, trying to assess the terrorist situation, deciding what would be the best route of action. Those fools were probably trying to contact us right now to arrange a plea bargain. But fuck them; I had fatter fish to fry.

“Now, back to business. I want the box, and two of you may know where it really is. Hear me Sophia Delbur, or Jennifer VanMorran you have five minutes to show your faces at this ballroom, or I’ll start plugging random guest. Eventually I will find someone you care about in this crowd. So save these people the pain and grief, because as you can see I am psychotic, and I won’t stop until I get what I want…”

Colt tapped me in the back and handed me the wire from her ear. Once again I killed the microphone as I listened to the battle ensuing on the other side of the wire. Gun shots and screams echoed through the wire as El Dukee barked out orders to his troops:

“Yo, we got a situation! Some of my guards ran into a couple, injected one of them with a sedative and she went ballistic like a rabid dog. A professional I tell ya. She killed four guards with her bare hands, and then three more with the guns she stole. The sedative had no effect against her adrenaline. We had them pinned under gunfire, but I think they may have slipped into the ventilation system. I got some men in there now, but it don’t sound good for them.” The Duke sounded panicked, which was unlike his nature. This girl must be something to crack the icy demeanor of the Killer-of-Killers.

“El Dukee, handle it by any means deemed necessary,” I signal C.C. to join the Duke in his hunt, it appears we just may have a John McClain in our midst after all.

I click back on the mic, “LET THE COUNTDOWN BEGIN!”
BLAM.

One guest falls into a pool of their own blood.

149 to go.

I will get what I want. One way or another.

Rory Devlin:

VanMorran comes around a corner into my view as I dance with Andi. As I turn, the lights spin all around me, swirling and glinting from crystal chandeliers, shimmering on transparent gold curtains so that the room is lit with wavering sparkles of light. I see her face fall when she realizes who I'm dancing with, and Andi, who has also noticed VanMorran, is a bit less than happy. She has lost her smile and completely stopped dancing. Her hand turns into a claw on my shoulder. I step off of the dance floor as VanMorran approaches. "It's her..." Andi growls.

"Andi," I hiss. "Just be quiet."

She knows well enough to be careful. She pastes on an obviously fake smile, but her head is cocked to the side and her eyes flare like I've never seen them. I smile genuinely as Jennifer stops beside me, and I won't lie and say I don't give her a pretty good looking over. She looks fabulous in a silky green dress that falls down her thin legs. What must be diamonds glitter at the neckline. Nice. Her curvy stiletto heels bring her to about my height. She tops Andi by an inch or so, and Andi seems bothered by that.

She stands as if she's waiting for something, and she shifts on her heels so that they click on the floor. Well, hell. "Would you care to dance?" Like she'd say yes, but it's worth the try.

She smiles and I see some positive emotion glint in her eyes. She says politely, "I would love to! Thank you for the offer."

Andi is close beside me and gets closer as I ask. Her hand, on my elbow, tightens and her nails dig in. I know she is protective of me, just as I am of her, but if she doesn't let go, I'm going to have to hurt her. I edge away from her, maintaining eye contact with VanMorran.

"Rory, I think we have work to do about now," Andi whispers into my ear. She's angry.

"Andi, no problem. We have plenty of time, and besides, Jennifer can help."

Andi bristles at my first name reference, and I turn away from her. Though her childish side amused me at first, it is quickly becoming very, very annoying.

Jennifer and I head out to the dance floor. Everything goes smoothly. She is a great dancer, though she seems surprised that I am, too. After a couple minutes she pulls closer to me. Her face gently brushes my own and her breath touches my ear as she whispers enticingly. We dance on, closer than most of the people around us. "I have a proposition for you..."

~*~*~*~*~*~

The explosion is sudden, Andi's reaction immediate. VanMorran falls away from me, landing hard as the ground shakes and drinks shatter across the merciless surface of the floor. I stand over her, looking around. Men scream and cower, and the women collapse against their husbands or dates, who are too scared themselves to care for anyone. Cowards. I can't help noticing that scattered occupants of the ballroom remain impassive. They drop defensively, but their expressions don't change. I memorize the faces of as many as I can see. These are the dangerous ones. These are the people who I will have to watch out for.

My mind does not linger on that long. I can't help thinking over VanMorran's offer. Andi grabs me and I stumble across the slick floor. There's going to be security in here soon and we don't want to be caught in the huge mess that will doubtless ensue. I take my arm from hers and glance back at VanMorran. I don't doubt she could have helped us. I wonder, would I have said yes?

The answer is searingly clear in my mind: without hesitation. But I shouldn't. VanMorran is not used to the kind of things we do. It would be dangerous both to her and to myself to bring her along.

I look again at VanMorran. Her dress glimmers in a new light. The diamonds at her breasts are like wavering stars in the blinding light from so many chandeliers. She looks shaken and exposed. She hasn't realized that I've left her. She was shocked by the blast and she is just now looking up. She sees the space where I once was, filled now by a screaming man who is covering his head. She gets up, and she runs purposefully out of my range of vision.

"We need to hurry," Andi murmurs. We run out of the room together, down a dark hall whose lights seem to have been damaged by the blast on the floor above. Smoke has begun to sift down the stairs, and there is a faint hint of it in the air, rough and caustic. Andi tears around a corner and I follow her. She slows for the briefest of moments as she reaches into her dress and withdraws a pistol. Personally, I don't have much use for weapons, considering that the vast majority of owners are killed by their own, but I knew Andi would bring one. It's like her good luck charm; she carries it with her on all our jobs. I've never bothered to ask if it's loaded, because out of all the heists I've pulled off with her, she has not had to draw it once. I don't want to think about the danger she must imagine we're in if she broke her perfect record. She hides it underneath a silky fold in her dress.

The pain in my leg, before just an ache, has increased considerably. I wonder at the terrible luck I had to get shot just days before such a big event. Couldn't it have waited a few days?

Seriously, God has a vendetta against me. I laugh wryly as we navigate the halls and the frightened guests. Security guards and impassive people, calm and cold, catch my eye as we weave through them. Frantic murmurs, mousy whines, and shouts bounce off of the high ceiling and echo all around us. The smell of smoke is fading now.

"I know this place pretty good." Andi whispers as we walk. "Yay for sources and internet and all that. Unfortunately, I really don't believe that the owners of the nice little box would display it in public view. Sure, security's supposedly tight, but there are way too many maniacs. I think the box is tucked away somewhere."

I never thought differently.

"So...now we just have to find it." Andi glances at me and grins. "That's your specialty."

I sigh as we walk through the crowd and into a dark hallway. "It would be easier with--"

I cut myself off. VanMorran. It would be easier with her. I know I could find the box, but there are way too many people here to waste time. VanMorran would be invaluable.

"With what?" Andi challenges.

"Hell," I hiss. I stop and turn around, upsetting a middle-aged man who is whimpering and scurrying alongside what must be his wife, who simply looks interested about all the chaos.

Andi grabs my arm. "No you don't..."

I jerk it away. "Look, take up your issues with her some other time. I don't care--start a catfight when everything is over with. We need her. Screw off or live with it."

I meet her eyes. Andi and I are usually in agreement about most things. Usually, we work together--alone--and pull everything off without a hitch.

Usually.

I don't know what's changed between us. I hope it isn't permanent. I meet her eyes, my cool gray ones doing nothing to calm hers, but I communicate my determination, and a soft apology to her. Something we've always shared is the ability to talk to each other like that; without words.

She doesn't soften a bit. Her arm shoots out like she's going to grab me again, but it just rests gently on my arm. She nods, just the tiniest movement. "Don't you dare get yourself killed. I'll meet you in Hell and I won't be happy."

I grin. "You're wonderful, Andi." I kiss her cheek in appreciation and she backs away, head down.

"Go on. I've learned that you're right a lot of the time. I hope emotion isn't clouding your judgement now." For once her eyes aren't dark and burning. The amber is warm and soft, and she smiles.

I run off.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lights flicker moodily as I run back. I've checked around for a while and found nothing, ad now I walk back toward where I was before. The smell of smoke and damage is strong as I get closer to the site of the explosion. My mind sifts through the pros and cons of bringing VanMorran with us.

I walk like that, just thinking, until I reach the staircase. It is silent and dark. A light, seriously damaged but still somehow holding on, flicks on and off, illuminating me and exposing my shadow one moment, then plunging me into complete darkness the next. The damage continues as I walk farther up. Bits of shrapnel are wedged deep into the walls. I see a little flicker of light, and it remains for a few seconds before dropping off again. It illuminates damage, spreading from an elevator shaft outwards. Drying blood makes my steps like walking over a syrup-coated floor. I think I see a body in a dark corner. VanMorran is slumped on the ground of the opposite wall.

God, if any of this blood is hers, someone is going to be in deep--

She stirs. She's so pale. Her skin, flush with blood before, is the grayish color of the dead. Her eyes are empty, but she moves. Her breathing is labored and thick, and though her blue eyes meet mine, she doesn't react.

She's in shock.

The metallic smell of blood and damage is strong here. I kneel beside VanMorran. "Miss Van--" forget that. "Jennifer. Jennifer, get up."

She moves, but just to curl up tighter. Footsteps echo somewhere far off. the light comes on and stays that way. I feel exposed in the blinding light after being in the relative darkness for so long. "Vanmorran!" Maybe she'll snap out of it that way. "Come on, get up, you wanna die?"

The footsteps are closer. I hope they're not coming this way but they aren't going away either.

She's not reacting.

"Jenny!" The slightest bit of recognition wavers in her eyes. Her dress is soiled in places with blood that thankfully is not her own, and she seems to notice that first.

"Rory?" she whispers softly.

"Get up, now. We need to get back to Andi."

She smiles and I pull her to her feet. Too late. The footsteps are coming up the stairs. The voices I hear aren't from excited or scared guests, I know that immediately. I don't know whose voices they are, but they aren't ones I want to be near. I pull VanMorran along with me as I race away. My footsteps are quiet, but maybe I'm pulling VanMorran too hard. Maybe she's still not quite out of her trance, but her steps are irregular. The lights flicker off as I pass the stairwell, a stroke of good luck to compensate for the bad. The men still hear.

The sounds that follow are the sounds of men pursuing us. A click echoes and I hope that VanMorran doesn't recognize the sound of a gun being readied to fire. I hope that there are dark places to hide and corners to take, that doors are open and dark and unlocked.

I hope, but I doubt. I think over what Andi said to me, and I pray that my luck will hold. I have a feeling that it won't as I feel a way-too-familiar wave of dizziness. I'm the one who stumbles now. My ear, again. The men get closer and I fight off the dizziness and force my vision to clear. I will not fall. I have to keep running, have to get back to Andi.

I repeat that in my mind as I round the nearest corner. The running footsteps are only seconds behind me, and bullets spray the wall to my left, right after I make the turn with VanMorran.

I will not fall.

I can't.

Jennifer VanMorran:

A group of harsh popping noises shattered my inner silence. The ground swayed violently, trying with all it's might to make me fall over. A memory floated through my brain, and I thought we were on a boat, perhaps on the 4th of July. I was on someone's arm, some bachelor with millions that insisted on escorting me for the night. But everything was tilted. Something wasn't right. "Are there fireworks?" my words slid by without notice. I tried again. "Fireworks?"

Without realizing they were closed, I finally opened my eyes. Rory was ahead of me, pulling me along by my arm. I was running, somewhat at least, and I racked my brain to recall how I got there. The lights had been turned off. In the night filled halls, picture frames and various items passed by without so much as a hello. And what was that popping? Someone shouted behind me and I heard myself gasp. "Rory?" I sounded strange in such a timid voice. I'm not sure if he heard me or not, but he glanced back.

"We have to run Jenny, we have to find a place to hide. Andi..." he sounded even stranger than I had. As one of his feet crossed the other, he stumbled, and putting confusion aside, I remembered what hall we were in. I knew this museum by heart, even in the dark, and I knew paradise was around the corner.

Bullets fell through walls like slushy rain, daring anyone nearby to get wet. We ran. I have no idea how, but just like that, we ran. Rory was ahead of me, so when I stopped he almost fell backwards. I glanced up at the "WOMEN" sign on the door and pulled him inside. He let go of my arm and stumbled back into a wall, dropping to the floor. My hand went to the lock and secured our temporary safety as footsteps rounded the turn.

I got down to business finding my well hidden pepper spray within my dress (though it really wouldn’t do much, it couldn’t hurt) and wetting down some paper towel. I rested it against his forehead, which he moved to just below his ear. I placed the small blue canister on the floor within quick reach. Surveying the situation, being in a girl’s bathroom seemed like an oddly dead-end place to be. At least there was a lock on the door. Women’s restrooms always have locks, just in case.

For a moment, I stopped. My breaths came in lethargic heaves and Rory's in shallow wavers. This could be it. I suppose we're both going to die now. I stepped over to him with caution and slid to the floor beside him. Apart from our breathing, we were silent. Maybe we didn't have to say anything, or maybe we just couldn't muster up the will.

Turning my head slowly to face him, his eyes met my own. They flickered shut against his pale face, and I couldn’t help being worried. My hand slowly went to his cheek. Cold. I glanced down at myself and started crying. Balling. For him, for me, for that God forsaken box and all the idiots willing to kill for it. It was the only way to let it out.

I don't know how long I sat like that, letting my tears forge paths down my cheeks, grabbing at my dress and Rory's hand, wanting it all to be over, but eventually Rory's hand rose and brushed against my arm. Slowly, softly, he stroked my hopelessness out of me, as I sat there like a bumbling idiot going on and on about how it isn’t fair. I stopped mid-sentence and looked at him, wanting some resolution of how everything was going to be okay, but he said nothing. I stared for the longest time at his eyes. So foggy, like a veil over his comprehension.

In an attempt at gaining my much needed commiseration, I moved towards him, pulling myself closer to him and letting my arms rest loosely on his chest. His cheek felt freezing against my own salt-stained and makeup brushed one, and my tears slowly came to a stop. No doubt they would spring back into action later, but for now…

“Rory…”

Without hesitation, I moved my cheek and pressed my lips against his. There was nothing left anymore, so I might as well. It felt odd to be kissing someone so cold, but I found myself enjoying it none the less, like finding a penny when you’re dead broke. It’s not going to do much, but at least you have a penny. He kissed me back only a little before pulling away.

“We’ve got to get back to Andi.”

Though I tried not to show it, I was surprised, and a little miffed to be honest. Only one boy had ever told me to stop kissing, and that was in the 4th grade when he thought girls had cooties. I opened my mouth to speak but got cut off by the humming of voices coming from the ceiling. We both looked up and our eyes immediately went to the large metal ventilation duct. We looked at each other and there was no discussing our plan now.

Within seconds, we had the cover off and were getting ready to hoist ourselves up. Well, more like getting ready for him to lift me up and then hoist himself up. Really, I don't think he's going to fit. Men just aren't as flexable as women. I wish I hadn’t worn such an expensive dress, but after we get the box, it will all be worth it.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Fourty Seven:

There was a lot of commotion inside the building; random gunfire and people screaming. It took a while to work my way behind the building and up a small maintenance ladder. There, I popped the vent hatch off and climbed through. It was a tight fit and I had to push most of my gear ahead of me. The crawl was slow and dirty. The vents must not have been cleaned in at least five years.

After ten good minutes, I found a vent opening big enough to drop through. I popped the cover off and poked my head down. It was dark, and there was no motion. I must have been in the janiters quarters. I lowerd my gear to the ground and dropped quietly to the floor.

I put my vest back on and double checked to make sure all my gear was in place. I was traveling light, but packing some heavy firepower. I was carrying my Mossberg 500 combat shotgun- 28 inches long with an eleven round capactiy and 200 spare rounds. Hopefully, I would get to use them quickly, because they were heavy as hell. My trusty Colt 1911 was backup, and there were only fifty rounds for that. I had a couple grenades and my combat knife to keep me in the fight til the very end.

I headed down the hallway and out to the main part of the building, staying in the shadows, as guards were everywhere. A small group passed, and I turned the corner. I could hear people yelling in the distance.

A lone woman was running down the hall. A small group of guards could be heard behind her. She had a rifle in her hands, and and vengeance on her face. She neared my hallway, and I grabbed her arm as she ran past.

I felt a blow to my jaw.

Grunting, I yanked her harder. "Whats your name, woman?"

"Fuck you."

"Ok, you listen to me. You're going to help me whether you like it or not, or you're going to meet my shotgun very quickly."

She tried to pull away. "Fuck off."

I leveled my shotgun at her head. She calmed down real fast.

"Thats what I thought. Now hush."

she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. A group of fifteen or twenty guards ran past as we hid in the side hallway. Her arm began to twitch.

"Follow me."

I stood up and walked after the guards who were yelling amongst themselves.

"Good afternoon gentlemen."

They all stopped dead in their tracks and turned around to look at me.

Their small hesitation would be their mistake. I level my shotgun and said hello with a spray of number 8 buckshot. The guard closest to me dropped in an explosion of pieces and blood. The woman opened fire, and two more dropped. The others still hesitated, and we made our esape. I headed back down the way we came, and into an unlocked room.

It was an office. There was a desk on either side of the door. I locked the door behind us.

"Quickly, flip that desk over..."

The woman scowled. "Brenna."

I nodded as we flipped the desks and pushed them to the back of the room to use as cover. The guards were already breaking down the door. Once the door was flung open, i said hello again.

Three dropped from my spray, and the rest flowed in. Brenna opened fire, and another dropped. More men came into the room, only to be killed by my shotgun's cry.

Bullets were pinging off the walls left and right. The solid oak desk deflected several rounds as I took time to reload. I peeked back over the table. Two more were crouching in the doorway. They were met with two quick shots, and I was rewarded with two very loud screams. The remaining guards rushed back into the hall. One stayed behind to report our movement. He was crouching behind the wall just to the left of the door. I poked my shotgun around the frame and pulled the trigger. What was left of his head was splattered on the wall.

More guards were heading our way, and we needed better cover. Atleast 50 men were now chasing us down the hall. We entered a maintenance facility, and I ducked behind a washing machine. Brenna flipped the phone desk and leveled her rifle. Two quick shots put one more guard to sleep.

A woman's screams could be heard from somewhere not far away. Brenna's eyes widdened, and she turned to me. "I need to get back out there."

I nodded and racked another round in my shotugn. They were right outside now. I opened up firing as fast as I could. The guards were just running through the service door. Easy prey; they were dropping like flies. I wished I had brought more ammo, we were pinned down and it didnt look good. Bodies were piling up at the door, and my ammo supply was dwindling.

Brenna was already out of ammo, and was hiding in the corner. The flow of guards was slowing and I relaoded yet again. Only 100 rounds left. There were at least thirty bodies outside and inside the door frame. It was time to move on. I fired three more shots and headed for the door. There was a girl stumbling down the hall, clutching her stomach. Blood was seeping through her fingers.

"Brenna?" I nodded out the door.

Unbelievable anger flooded Brenna's eyes. She ran out the door after hastily collecting some more ammo. I was on my own again. I headed towards the screams. The hallways were emptier now thanks to my little gun battle.

A lone guard was walking my way. That is, until I rearranged his face all over the wall. The report was unfortunately going to draw attention, so I ran up the staircase to my left. The only room, a closet down the hall, was locked, but I managed to kick it in. More heating vents fantastic. I crawled into the largest of the three.

A half an hour of crawling passed slowly by untill I finally came to a vent large enough to escape from. Squinting, I could see a man waving around a gun in one arm, and something else in the other. this punk was threatening to shoot everyone in the room; threatening to blow shit up. I pulled my Colt out and opened the vent.

I took great care aiming. His arrogance made him blind. He wasn't controlling the situation, and he wasn't watching his back, the little fuck.

Inhale. Steady. Exhale. Steady. Small inhale. Steady. Fire. The shot rung out, and ripped the device out of his left hand. There was more screaming. People began running around the room as all hell broke loose.

One of the Mercs yelled, "Hes in the vents!"

I backpeddaled as fast as I could. Shots hit the ceiling, and a few small rounds hit my body armor, but did no damage. I scrambled to the closest vent large enough to drop out of, and did so.

Guards were combing the hallways in large groups. A particularly large one headed my way. I barricaded myself in a room with what I supposed was priceless paintings, but it was too late. They had seen me. This was going to get ugly.

I had stumbled into the Renaissance exhibit. I saw a Rembrandt and a Raphael right above me. I checked my ammo situation. Not good. Only 60 shotgun rounds left, and almost all of my pistol ammo left. I had three hand grenades and a knife. I began to hope I would make it out of this one alive.

A large contingent of guards was breaking down the door. I guessed there were atleast twenty of them. I'm sure if they found me, they would call for backup. I racked a round and took one last look around at the room. There was atleast $40 million dollars worth of priceless Rennaisance art within 100 feet of me. If only I could steal it all, I could live like a king.

The first guard made it two fet into the room. He got hit square in the chest. And his lungs were exposed. The second made it through the door frame, if you count the three fingers he lost. The third didn't fare much better. He got a few steps before losing his teeth. The other men pulled back momentarily, and I reloaded.

They came in twos this time. The first group I split in half with one round. They were down for the count. The next group, I nailed the one on the left, and the one on the right tripped. I let him have it and he didn't get back up.

There was blood everywhere. The next guard came in and I redesigned a precious Bottecelli painting with my own mix of crimson. The flow slowed down, and I took the time to lay out all of my ammunition. The guards were frantic spraying rounds all over the room, and I had my ammo stacked, prepared to make my last stand. I looked up again at the Rembrandt.

"So this is where I die. Among the precious works of man."

I fired, ripping the chest of the closest guard open. I was being over run. Then, I remembered my grenades. Two frags and one incindeary.

I tossed a frag, and seven guards fell. One tried to move, but I finished him off quickly. They werent expecting that one. I was down to my last twenty five rounds of shotgun ammo. Guards were pouring through the halls now. Their yells could be heard over my gun fire.

There were at least twenty in the room now. I emptied my magazine, but more flowed in. I picked up my incindiary grenade. Heave ho, and the room went up in flames. My time was limited now. I fired another load of shotgun ammo. Ten rounds left. I reloaded quickly and shot the last ten even faster. I pulled out my Colt and emptied it as fast as I could. I reloaded and put it up again, but a shot hit it. I was down to one grenade and my knife.

It was time to raise the white flag. I pulled the pin on my last grenade, but didn't let the spoon fly. This one was for me. I was going to take as many of those fuckers with me as I could. I grabbed my knife, and threw it into the face of hte nearest guard. The tapestries were on fire now. The artwork was being consumed. I stood up and walked out from behind the table.

"Put your arms in the air!"

I raised my left arm.

"My right arm is broken."

They walked to surround me. There were twenty in the room now. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have walked out of this room alive. I was completely surrounded. My hand was in my pocket. More guards came into the room.

The guard apparantly in charge leveled his rifle at me.

"Any last words? You wont be walking away from this one."

I smiled. He looked confused. My smile was one of a thousand stars, from ear to ear. It was the smile of a man who knew he was going to make alot of people really, really miserable.

"Surprise."

I let the spoon on the grenade go. It was a two second fuse. The spoon hit the floor with an clatter, and I pulled my hand out of my pocket.

I held the grenade up in front of me, and laughed at the look on their faces. Wide eyed and jaws dropped, the grenade went off with a fiery vengeance.

Sophia Delbur:

I could feel the panic not only through my own body, but in the walls of the museum as well; it was like they were in pain. Bridgette wasn’t in the closet I had left her in, and neither was the box. My heart was racing. This could mean several things … after all she could have finished her work and taken it out into the open like I had said, but where was the original? It was supposed to stay here. NO ONE LISTENS.

I don’t know how long I sat thinking. After a while, I hit myself. I had tagged Bridgette earlier! She had needed something to put her hair up with, and I had given her a tracker. Of course, she thought it was a hairpin. Why hadn’t I asked Tony to get her location when I was with him? I was losing my nerve. Dead bodies are not as intimidating when they are hundreds of years old.

I tried my earpiece. “Tony, I need a location the girl Bridgette.”

“Oh yeah... cussshht... wondering who that... cusshhht..."

“Tony? Tony! I need a location!”

“East library, not moving. Sophie! cuuuuussssssssht" His end clicked off-- he was gone.

I tore the earpiece out and threw it across the desk. All that technology wasted! I wish I had more time, it would have given the good guys a leg up. At least I knew where Bridgette was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Climbing from the vent, I heard him. I didn’t know which one he was, but he was definitely a dangerous one. He no doubt was behind the explosions and killing. His voice echoed against the walls:

“I want the box, and two of you may know where it really is. Hear me Sophia Delbur, or Jennifer VanMorran you have five minutes to show your faces at this ballroom, or I’ll start plugging random guest”

Great, more death. What could I do? I didn’t have the box or Bridgette’s copy. I couldn’t save any of those people anyways. There is only one goal: find the girl. The east library wasn’t that far, just beyond the Renaissance display. I moved slowly, remaining in the shadows. I’m not a spy or a thief but I’m not stupid either.

There was a commotion ahead, so I waited around the corner until the gun fire receded. I wasn't cut out for this! Crossing myself, I turned the corner.

“NO, DON’T!”

I was too late. The woman put a bullet into the head of the young girl she was holding, the shot ringing in my ears. I don’t know if it was stupidity, fear, loathing, or simply pure frustration that made me act, all I know is that I launched myself at the woman and began beating her chest with my fists.

“How could you? Does she look older than seventeen?!” I screamed.

The woman shoved me off her, and slapped me across the face. A red, angry mark rose on my already flushed cheeks.

“She was nineteen, and dying."

I opened my mout to tell her that it didn't matter, when she clamped a small hand over my mouth, glancing around to see if anyone was coming.

"She had already been shot in the stomach, I just ended her pain. Elyse would have done the same for me.” She could tell I was shocked and hurt, but that was not her problem, was it?

“Listen, I know who you are. What I don’t know, is why the Delbur baby doesn't care when her own father is dealing out death.”

My eyes narrowed, “You don’t know anything about my father.”

“Maybe I should enlighten her highness,"

There was another explosion, this one so close it shook the ground violently under us. I knelt down and covered my ears, trying to find the source of the destruction. It was the Renaissance room I had just passed. It had been a personal favorite.

My head swam. I don’t know what this woman was mumbling about, but I didn’t have time to find out. Bridgette was close, and she obviously couldn't handle herself.

“Enough! I need to find another young girl by the name of Bridgette. Will you help me?”

“Bridgette? you left her alone?!” The woman raised her arms in frustration, “Where is she?!”

I didn’t say anything more, just lead her to the library. It was just up the stairs and to the left. The East wing was the only library that opened on to the ballroom.

The woman ran silently behind me, gun naked in her hand. I didn’t know who she was, what she was doing here, or what she knew about my father, but I didn’t care. Right now, I felt safer than I ever had since everything started.

What I saw next made my stomach churn. I could taste the vomit in my mouth, and clamped a quaking hand tightly over my lips. We had found Bridgette.

Her face was white and her eyes were big, blank, and dead. Blood was still pooling from her gaping throat. There was a Middle Eastern woman, eyes wild, holding the box in both hands, dirty blade still in her right. There was no way to tell which one it was. I have no doubt Bridgette finished her work, but did it matter now that she was dead? We were all going to die.

Skylar Watson:

I looked down at my gun, something had to happen. Someone had to do something and since Sophia looked as if she might vomit. I made my conclusion, that it would be me acting.

I edged around the corner of a book shelf, and yanked Sophia into a run behind me.

She turned, trying to escape from my vice-like grip on her wrist. "Who are you?"

"I'm with American intelligence. We need to get you out of here."

"But we have to get the box back from that woman!"

Sophia tripped, and I halted so she could catch her breath. We were out of the library, and therefore out of immediate danger.

"There are more important things, such as where the real box is."

Brenna Harron:

My eyes and gun never left the crazed woman in front of me, even though I wasn’t sure she even knew of my existence. Her eyes were locked dead on Sophia. Boy, this was not going to turn out pretty.

The woman, whom I quickly nicknamed Bitch, stepped closer over the corpse of Bridgette. Sophia stumbled a small ways back and opened her mouth, about to say something naïve and stupid, I’m sure. I was just about to knock her out of the way and take care of this Rambo chick, when someone else took over. An arm snaked out from a book case and yanked Sophia out of sight. Bitch really had a fit at that. She dashed forward, determined to chase after, but I had other plans. No one that insane was going to run freely around with a knife if I had anything to do about it.

I aimed for the only target that made sense at the moment: That cursed gold box. I shot it right out of her hands. It skidded to a halt a mere six feet away. Yeah, that’s right Bitch. Come and play with the itty bitty assassin. I’m way more fun than a defenseless girl.

The woman turned, eyes wide. She looked at me, and I mean really looked, for the first time.

“You!” I could barely hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears.

Me? “What? Do we know each other?” I eyed her hand wrapped loosely around her knife. What else did she have on her, and where was it hiding? “You know, maybe you’ve seen me at the shooting range? Uh…”

Bitch scowled, pacing around my left in a circle. “I told him to kill you.”

Yes, well it wasn’t an unusual order. I raised an eyebrow, lowering my crosshairs to her heart. Then, I remembered something. It was just a snatch of the memory, but at that moment it wouldn’t leave my head. “You owe me, little mouse.”

I didn’t even have time for a mental shrug as the woman launched herself at me. Putting herself too close for a decent shot, I was forced to give her the ol’ left hook. Unfortunately, that knife of hers was faster. Just barely missing my eye, it sliced down a good half of the right side of my face.

I grimaced, diving backwards to fire. A bullet nicked her shoulder, I was pretty sure, but it certainly didn’t slow her down. Bitch charged for another swipe with the blade, but this time I caught her with a kick between the legs and an elbow to the ear. Me? Play dirty? HELL yes!

The woman grabbed a chunk of my hair and yanked my head to expose my throat. Gritting my teeth, I clamped both hands over her knife arm, and wrenched my head out of her hold. I could hear hair ripping, pulling mercilessly from my scalp, but I threw all of my energy into staying that knife from my jugular.

Her hand finally loosened enough so the blade clattered to the floor. Bitch’s knee nailed me in the stomach, and I heaved my shoulder into her chest, riding her to the ground. There we brawled, matching blow for blow, until I spotted my gun on the floor across the room.

She was on top, landing a devastating punch to my nose. I yelped, clipping her throat with my forearm and flipping us over. I took a handful of those glossy black locks and slammed her head into the ground. Her hand momentarily loosened from my shirt, and I stumbled to my feet and ran. I could hear her getting up behind me, but the gun was only three feet away.

The knife came whizzing through the air, and would have had me right in the back if I hadn’t bent down to scoop up the walther. I spun around, ready to shoot, and just about fainted.

Soaring through the air was a grenade. I jerked my legs into the fastest sprint they could muster, running straight for the bitch. She crouched, covering her head. Diving, I covered my head and landed painfully on my side, just barely curling into a ball as the explosion filled the room.

What was that crazy bitch thinking?!?! I rolled onto my back and squinted through the dust. The stupid grenade had blown a hole through the freaking floor! I covered my mouth to stop my coughing, and looked around for the mad woman. Of course, she was quickly found when her fist landed right on my jaw from out of nowhere.

I lashed out, hitting and kicking anything that I could find. My eyes were clouded with dust and blood from the knife wound. Bitch took advantage, gaining the upper hand. I was once again on my back, trying to block any blow she dished out. And just to torment me, I could see the gun lying once again across the room.

A scream tore from my throat as Bitch clamped down on my previously re-wounded shoulder. Of course, it was an unexpected present for her, to find a wound to play on. She ground her hand in, as I tried desperately to dislodge her. Would everyone stop prodding at the shoulder?!

I’m pretty sure at that moment I bit through my lip with the effort, but I had miraculously managed to wedge my foot between her and me, enabling me to throw her off. I did so, scuttling to my feet.

The woman was right behind me, having not been detoured for long. I dove as a last resort, my arms outstretched to the gun. My back slid across the floor, my fingers just barely grasping the handle when she dove on top of me.

My eyes widened as I realized we were gliding right for that hole in the floor, and not slowing down on bit. Bitch must have seen the problem as well, but she was way more interested in getting the gun out of my hand. I struggled, trying desperately to slow us down, but I could feel myself sliding out over open air, and before I knew it, we were falling head first through the hole.

We tumbled, both of us yelling as we descended towards the people below. Bitch had loosened her hold on me to just my shirt, and as we landed, she was the one on the bottom. We crashed onto a body, which unfortunately saved the woman from nasty head trauma. I took her split second of impact to clamp a hand around her throat and shove the walther in her mouth. There was no way she was escaping a bullet this way.

Her eyes flashed with anger, and I could feel her preparing to retaliate, but I shoved the gun up into the roof of her mouth. The moment she flinched, I was pulling the fucking trigger, and splattering her fucking brains. Bitch obviously got the point, and froze. I slowed my breathing, and looked to see where we had crash landed.

We were in the ballroom, of all places. There was an equal scattering of dead and live people, all of the later quivering on the floor. There were a few guards standing around, all looking towards what seemed to be a wayward guest standing in the middle of a pile of bodies for directions.

There was a vicious looking gun in his hand, and I did not want to be on the business end of it. Between the cornrows, and the the completely neutral look on his face, I had a hard time deciding if he was the type of person who would let me escape if I took Bitch as a hostage, or just didn’t give a shit.

Of course the woman, being the annoying bitch she was, decided for me. She freed an arm, trying for an escape. I pulled the trigger of the walther, shattering her jaw into her brain. Whoops... there goes my hostage. Plan B?

A Non-Existent User

Caswell:
Dramatic Irony-

Irony. Webster says: incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result. I watch as my fiery angel is splattered over the hall, and the one…the one I allowed to live is holding the smoking weapon. I can’t believe my eyes. Deny the validity, it can’t be true. Soon I will awaken from this dream.

But I know this is wrong.

I feel the rage flooding over me, clouding my actions as the world rolls out in frames per second. Swallowed in slow motion like quicksand, my face reddens, and my breaths are hard and fast like shards of splintered glass. Focus. I must see through my blind fury, or this vixen will waste me too, then what hopes will I have of gaining the box. Things were not going as I planned. It seems that is the thing with plans, they never work out as one thought, there is always a clog out of place, some x-factor or anomaly not accounted for. And here was mine. But before I could fix anything, revenge must be had. For C.C., for Chaka & Khan, for my wasted life…everyone was going to die. Starting with her.

It is true. I had saved her. Killed her nemesis. And that is probably even the gun I gave her she is holding steaming in gore and flesh. The speckles of C.C.’s blood rained onto her ashen face, as her eyes gazed upon me. Surprisingly she fails to tremble; there was nothing that this girl feared. Not even me. I would have to change this.

The shots rang out from my cannon, my finger squeezing the riffle to life before my brain could justify. The girl was quick, leaping to action like an antelope dodging a hunter’s aim. She sprung across the room, avoiding my wild fire as bodies of innocent victims began to fall in the bullet ballet. Then the gun drew dry, the hollow click echoed through the ballroom. With a smile the girl turned, reaching into her side she pulled a set of throwing knives. The blades launched at me, whizzing through the air, quickly I spun my riffle in front of my face and diverted the two headshots into the stock of the gun, but the third was a different story. The blade tore into my right shoulder, burying deep up to its hilt. I winced in pain as the girl smirked at the success of her plan. She must not have many shots left in that shooter, or else she would have plugged me off right then and there. Or maybe this had become personal. Our own perverted game of cat and mouse.

Then I felt it. The warm crimson drooling down my chest. It happened so fast I didn’t even see it coming. I had been shot! The bullet tore warm through my gut, leaking my fluids upon my waistline. Slowly I turned to face a nervously shaking smoking gun. Damn Mercs…Those bastards can never be trusted. Why settle for half the payment when you could have the whole pot of gold. I look into the faces of the two Mercs; standing with pistols drawn bore down on me. I guess with Colt out of the way, and knowing how wounded I was, they figured I couldn’t put up much of a fight. Two balls, who swore they smelled some good ole pussy. But they got their parties muddled up.

“Fuckers…Dyin’ ain’t much of a livin’, boyz. You gonna draw those pea shooters or stand there all day.”

The insult drew them into action. You could tell when their teeth grinded together, and I could see their trigger fingers tense up. But I was liquid mercury, or so the drugs would have me believe. As I pulled the pistol from my pocket, I dropped the Merc to my right, but I was slow to get at the one on my left. The bullet tore off my ear in wet red burning fury. I stumbled backwards, off balance like a drunken Irish fool on Patty’s Day, then toppled down the spiral staircase, allowing the cold marble to embrace me. It was pandemonium for sure. The screams and scurrying of victims like ants, chaos reigned and my world was becoming fuzzy and black.

No! Not like this…The great Caswell couldn’t go out like this. My head throbbed; I had loss a shitload of blood in the past twenty-four hours. It was impossible to think straight. The merc came at me firing away, yet like all other fucks his aim was horrible, the shots veering wide right. Mine was not. Steady old man, I tell myself, squinting through blurry vision. I blow through his kneecaps, one followed by the other. The merc falls into a cripple squat, and before his momentum can bring him down the stairs I lay a shot smack dab between his eyes. Now that is the way you plug somebody.

I had become cocky. In my prime this would never had happened. She had snuck up on me, placing and long cold blade against my neck. Only a Native American and a ninja ever snuck up on me, this girl was amazing. I deserved to die at her hands.

“I saved your life…Brenna, right. That is what he called you right before I killed him.”

“Save it. You can’t talk your way out of this.” She meant to do it, her tone was fierce, and she would not take the risk of leaving me alive.

“But,” I stalled her the best I could, jabber about my dead mum, and my rough upbringing creating the villain that knelt before. Some crap about a victim of society, she never saw the pistol pressed against my chest. The cannon would blow through my chest and into hers and together we would leave this world.

Then the guard’s walkie-talkie kicked on…

“Ahhh…” The voice was feeble but instantly I knew who it was. “Caswell…Caswell. I was ambushed…”It was the Duke, and from the sounds of things he was hurtin’ pretty bad. “They stole the detonator. I couldn’t do anything, he pried it from my hands….”

The radio went dead as an echo of gunfire rang through the speaker…Sorry El Dukee; it only seems just that we all go out together. I cock the hammer back…

“What detonator?” She presses the blade tighter against my neck, drawing a trickle of blood from broken skin.

“Oh L.U.C.Y. Nothing to get yer panties in a bunch, luv. Just enough of a bang to reduce Venice into thermo-nuclear rumble. That’s all. I’ve made my amends with death--have you?”

I pull the trigger. The blast blows through my chest, as the force knocks her away from me. Unfortunately the shell was so powerful the blade nearly severs my head from my shoulders as she flies into the wall. Warm blood sprays from my neck as the purple blue blood soaks into my clothes. I fall backwards, arms spread angelic, readying for my death pose. I look at the maiden as she shakes her head slightly stunned, and I curse myself for not accounting for every factor. Brenna’s vest had taken the brunt of the blast, maybe a cracked rib or two, but she would live. Blood trickled from her lip, as she wiped it away with a grimace.

And like the hero she was, Brenna was off. As for me, I lay her in my own pool of blood, listening to the whistling tune coming from my neck. Then I see her face, returning for me like a Valkyre to the battlefield, and I know it is time. Her hand white a soft reaches out for me, ushering me the way to the everafter. I take it, and soon I know we will be a family again. I close my eyes, and allow the black to swallow me as I whisper her name…
Colt, my love….

Rory Devlin:

I'm not sure how it happened, but it doesn't matter anymore. Dizziness swirls around me, but the touch of her moist lips is heaven. I really don't want to pull away. I'm not sure if I could, even if I wanted to, anyway. Maybe we can just stay like this forever. VanMorran's face is still stained with tears. I'm shocked to see her so weak.

But she's not used to this kind of thing, I don't think. I've been weighing risks and considering how much my own life is worth to me for a long time. I know what I'd do to save it, and when I'd stop. I have thought death was pretty close more than a few times, and it's kind of lost its edge.

I caress her face with my hand until the fear melts away from her pale features. My sight returns to its normal clear self gradually. The ringing in my ears ceases, and I realize how much time we are wasting.

I hesitantly pull away from VanMorran's warm embrace. "We’ve got to get back to Andi.”

She looks a bit shocked as she pulls back and straightens herself. She stands without a word, but when she's up, she opens her mouth.

Voices, loud and angry, stream from the ceiling, cutting off whatever words she would have spoken. Coming closer? Neither of us knows, but backed into a bathroom is not the best place to be, either way. We enter the ventilation shafts. They're very narrow, so we have to crawl on our hands and knees. The vents seem to echo with pounding explosions with each knee we put forward. Not for the first time in my life, I thank God that I'm short.

Some kids in school teased me about it when I was younger, but they grew up to be the kind of stupid and completely unaware idiots who actually believed what they heard on the news, so what do I care?

I smile into the darkness.

Vanmorran, barefoot now, crawls behind me, but I think she's going to have to let down her hair soon. The curls and pins are scraping the top of the vent, and besides the creaking sounds, the scrapes like fingers on a chalkboard put us both on edge. She stops for a moment after a few more steps. I don't think she can stand the sound much more, either. She lets her carefully arranged blond curls fall free as she takes out the pins. Then we continue.

VanMorran is uncharacteristically silent as we make our way through the shafts. Cool air washes over us. Each time we crawl over a grate that passes a room, we go as slow as we can, adrenaline burning our veins. Really, climbing in these things is not nearly as romantic as it is in films.

I hear the lightest sound of cloth behind me as we pass one of the grates, under which is two people. One of them looks suitably dead, and the other is just a fair head standing over the dead one. A girl? Maybe, maybe not. The person begins running away down the corridor. We need to go really slow, anyway.

The sound of cloth grows louder, only it's not VanMorran, as I had hoped, because the alternative is so much worse. The sound grows louder, accompanied now by the grunts of abused metal.

A bit of noise I could have handled.

A neighbor in these crowded, claustrophobic vents...I'm not too sure about that one. The person can't be any less than twenty feet behind us in one of the connecting tunnels. Well...the person seems to be moving with relative ease, so it's probably a woman. Maybe...

"Rory...get moving!" Jennifer urges.

"Wait, just a second." I hope I'm right...

The person moves around the corner, almost slamming into Jennifer and I. An angry voice hisses, "Rory, where have you been? Some crazy nut started chasing me, so I had to leave." It's Andi, thank God. Her eyes rake over Jennifer. "VanMorran."

Jennifer doesn't seem as tense as she usually does around Andi. She just nods and grins. "Hi, Andi. We'd better get moving, right?"

Andi growls, "Yeah." She gives me an exasperated look that is all to easy to read. Too bad she was in one piece, the look said.

I just smile back at her. "Jennifer's going to be working with us, Andi," I whisper as we crawl. Andi does not reply. "Look, you're great, I'm not denying it, but VanMorran can get us what we need. She knows her way around this place. Unfortunately, a lot of the time we could have spent planning was spent...doing other things, so she's our best bet, whether you like it or not."

I don't think Andi's too happy about that, but she doesn't disagree aloud, a definite plus. "There's an open grate up here where we can drop into a room. When I had to get up here through it, there was no one else in the room, but be careful." Grudgingly, she added, "Both of you."

I got to the grate she was talking about. It was completely dark, and when I looked down, the air in the room wafted up. It was thick with the bitter scent of blood. "You sure this is the right room, Andi?"

"Positive." Andi nodded, and the wild strands of her black hair bounced. The sounds of someone tearing through the vent behind us--clanging metal, screeching with the contact of something hard, and the sound of labored breath--made Andi push into Jennifer, and she pushed into me. "Oh, hell! That's him." Andi's pursuer would be around the corner in seconds. "Hurry, Rory!"

I didn't need to. Andi's push had me teetering over the edge, and I dropped to the ground. Andi pushed Jennifer through the grate to the ground behind me, and then she jumped, too. She sighed, and the man came around the corner just as she landed in the silent darkness beside me.

Maybe not so silent.

Another person had been crouched in one of the corners where the smell of blood was strongest, and he stood, rays of wavering moonlight from outside of the window illuminating a face and body specked with blood, and a smile tinged with the tiniest bit of insanity. A gun was held in his hand, now pointed at us.

Andi winced and murmured, "Oops."

Jennifer VanMorran:

The man’s gun clicked. I felt my heart sink. Such a shame. We all stood still for a long moment. I knew Andi could whip out her little gun and have him dead in an instant, but she didn’t move. Finally, I was the one who broke the ice.

“Do you have the box?”

The man looked at me, his stained teeth clamped down in a sharp grin. He nodded slowly and I breathed a sigh of relief. With a fluid motion, my body turned and backed up to the man’s side. A gun came to my hand, and with a bit of regret, I pointed it at Andi. Her eyes went wide, and Rory lowered his head.

“You little bitch.”

The man hollered at her offensive comment directed solely to me. “Do you want me to just shoot them now, Jennifer?”

“Listen. I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this. Honestly, I didn’t expect-”

Rory cut me off, but he might as well cut my heart too. “I can’t believe you. I... I saved your life! I can’t believe I felt sorry for you.”

When I looked away from him, Andi had her gun out.

The man’s arm tensed up, obviously about to shoot, but I grabbed his wrist before he could do any more. For a moment, I had no idea what to do. So many meetings of what we were going to do and how much I would pay and all of the endless nights of maps, schedules, guns. It really hadn’t been meant for killing. And then when Rory showed up... I couldn’t go through with it now.

There was a long pause. I was still surprised that Andi didn’t have us dead yet. I took a breath. “Enough of this.” My gun lowered. “I don’t... I mean, I was never planning to shoot anyone. I think once is enough.” I glanced at Rory, but was too ashamed for even considering it that I looked away quickly. “Listen, if we all band together, we can use the wishes together.”

Andi kept her gun pointed at me. “Show me the box.” The man hesitated. “NOW! You and your money, taking us for a ride the whole time. The only thing keeping me from shooting you now is that damn box, now show it to me!” He fumbled through a pocket and pulled out a precious golden box that fit in his hand. Andi’s eyes were drawn to it. The man looked at me with pride, wanting a reward. I looked at Rory. He looked back at me. It was too much. I quickly turned.

The lust for the box had not gone from Andi’s eyes, and she reached out to take it, but the man smarty pulled it back. She looked defiant. There was a mix of anger and excitement dancing in her eyes, and I was more afraid of her in that instant than I ever had been. “Open it.” The man looked to me for approval, but Andi did not appreciate his lack of conviction. “I said OPEN IT!”

Rory’s eyes still pierced into me. I glanced up and in the darkness, he said coldly, “Make a wish, Jennifer.”

I closed my eyes, figuring that if Andi was going to kill me, she would have done it already. And I had led them to the box. Wasn’t that all that mattered? Silently, reaching down into the depths of my soul, I did the only thing I could do.

I wished.

Sophia Delbur:

I was sick to my stomach and running… running with a woman I’ve never met. It’s a theme of the evening. Her blonde hair way pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Ugh blondes, I thought. I turned down the next stairway not waiting for the girl to follow.

“Where are you going?” she asked. She certainly doesn’t miss much does see. Was she sent here to protect me, I doubt it. Then she should leave me alone.

“I need to get the box, she had it and she’s down here.” Wonderful the master mines Arabian princess handling the box in a brawl with the other trained woman killer. I can picture it now.

“Don’t bother.”

I turned back at the woman who ruffled through her pack and pulled out another glowing box. My eyes lit up.

“Where did you find it?” It didn’t take me long to retrace my steps back to her.

“There’s no time we need to get somewhere safe.”

We started back down the dark hallway, just like the hallway we were in before it. I was like a kid following a stranger with candy. Strangers are dangerous.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Gentlemen, Gentlemen!” Delbur slammed his fist loudly on the money counter. Some hundred-dollar bills floated to the floor. One strong breeze and the room would rain money.

The gambling room was in an uproar. Several men in business suits or sports jackets yelled at eachother. Caswell, dead!! He was the most popular among the men by far.

“You promised us good sport, I’m waiting,” one over eager gamer yelled.

“Oh boys the fun has just begun, I’m sending my men in now to clear out all of Caswell’s men if there are any left. This will keep out the police until morning… and we must not forget of the bomb. The key players left are now on a time limit.” Claimed Delbur with a callous smile.

Applause erupted. Henri looked at the men and all he saw was money.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This is security head quarters, we can talk here… let me see the box.” I told Skylar for that’s what she said her name was.

“Fine but I have important matters to discuss with you.”

She handed the box to me. I felt each side of its intricate design, it was good very good, but it wasn’t real.

“This isn’t the real box.”

“What! How do you know?” The look on her face showed only a trace of concern she was trained well.

“Well it is identical but the real box doesn’t open like normal like this one does,” I slid the top off to show her. “It has three stones on it which you have to press in a certain order in which to open it, like a lock.”

“Who else knows this?”

“Other then myself…the man who broke into my house and stole my notes, he had no name just a number, 47 I believe.”

“Is he in the building?”

“They are all in the building, everyone that is after it is here.” Her intelligence should have told her that. I felt like punching her.

Skylar looked troubled she had something to say and it was eating her.

“Sophia I need to tell you about your father you should sit down.”

I looked at the women, American Intelligence, what could she possibly have to say know about my father.

“Miss Delbur, you father is dead. He has been for 3 month, his body was found on American soil, barely identifiable.”

I just looked at her dumbstruck. I was all out of tears. It gripped me but I felt no pain my father and I were close, we were not without our secrets and problems. I lowered my head to say a prayer, crossing myself I sighed.

“Sophia, this is important the man who has been impersonating your father. His name is Alec Loren, an international conman. We believe he is after the box as well. Do you know where he is?”

“No, he left before this all began.” Figures.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“To top the party off boys, I myself will go into the museum and become a player. I’ll leave my second man Vince here to collect your money, and instead of telling you what is going on. I will be wearing a camera.”

“You devil, you’re either an intense thrill seeker or an absolute idiot. My money’s on the big guy to be the next to die.”

“Farewell gents.”

Rory Devlin:

“Listen. I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this. Honestly, I didn’t expect--” Her voice is soft, beautiful, as if she didn't just betray us. She continues to speak, maybe making an excuse...maybe. I don't care. Jennifer points her gun at both of us, unwavering, and I have never felt so stupid.

“I can’t believe you. I... I saved your life! I can’t believe I felt sorry for you.” I'm not hearing anything around me anymore, not seeing anything. God, what an idiot I'd been! How could I have been so stupid? I'd thought...I'd always thought that I'd been able to see that kind of thing. Andi stares at me, as if to say that she knew that this would happen, and I don't have to be too smart to know that she had seen what I had not been able to see through my haze of feelings.

Behind me, Andi pulls her gun out, the weapon moving in her hands as smoothly as if it was a part of her body. She points it directly at VanMorran, and I flinch. VanMorran's own man raises his gun, but after a few moments in the painful silence, she lifts her hand to touch his gun and lower it until it points at the ground.

“Enough of this,” Vanmorran whispers, lowering her gun. She continues to say that she had never planned to shoot anyone, and I want to laugh, because whether she knows it or not, holding a gun often means that you have to shoot someone, no matter who they are to you. It happens too often. Maybe she'll shoot someone else; maybe it will be me or Andi, or someone far into the future, but those things beg to be used, and whether by accident or intention, they get used until you decide not to use them anymore. She finishes speaking, saying hesitantly, “Listen, if we all band together, we can use the wishes together.”

And if it works? It might, but what will I wish for? What do I need, and what does it matter? Andi demands to look at the box while VanMorran eyes her curiously. Her gun rests at her side, held loosely. VanMorran seems genuinely shocked that she actually pulled the gun on us, but Judas Iscariot had been pretty broken up about what he'd done, too, so many years ago, and that hadn't turned out well.

"Make a wish, Jennifer," I hiss, and get to my feet. The big, bloody man's gun jerks my way, but I don't stop as I walk to the door and out it. Once outside, I lean against the wall. I'm can't see or hear if VanMorran wishes, or what she wishes for. I don't think I actually care, anyway. She can do what she likes.

Closing my eyes in the darkness that flickers with flames and sparks, I think about what brought me here.

So many people have died. This whole blood-spattered museum is a testament to the carnage that people wrought in search of an artifact smaller than my fist. People from every shadowy nook of the globe are here, killing indiscriminately for a supposed power. Power is what drives others to take control of those who can't do anything about it. Power is pain.

Anyone who gets this and steals the wishes will have that power.

As much as I hate to realize it, I'm afraid of what all of the people here will wish for. I'm afraid of what I'd wish for. How would the world change? What could the scum of the earth like us possibly do to benefit the world? We'll ruin it, all of us. But I guess that anyone, whether house wife or assassin, would only create chaos when in possession of something so powerful.

If I could have one wish, I'd wish that this whole box never existed. But then...really, what would that change, and how much would things be different? How much would any wish affect the world we knew now?

I'm philosophizing too much. There's only one universal truth, and it's a simple one.

Life sucks. We're screwed if we do something, and screwed if we don't. Well, I guess all we can do is stay alive and see how events play out. If nothing else, it should at least be interesting. I turn in the beautiful darkness that wavers with flames, and pause at the door.

What's an enemy, anyway? At least she didn't kill me. I laugh wryly, and the sound is tinged with acid. I can't bring myself to walk back in there, though; not right now. In a bit, maybe.

Skylar Watson:

The box being a fake was one thing I secretly cursed my self over. Now, I realized I should have contacted Miss. Deblur before the party. She was smart, her homework had been extensive. In some ways better then my own. How could I have not taken, 47 into consideration, he was enemy number 1.

I kept willing myself to think of something, anything that we could do. For now we were safe, but soon the museum would be crawling with more people who wanted "the Box."

"We need to move. Do you know where the real box is?" I watched her hoping for some answer.

Brenna Harron:

I ran, staggering against the wall. During the past 48 hours I had been tortured, beat into unconsciousness, buzzed with a shot of adrenaline, forced into an intense shootout, forced into intense hand to hand combat, fallen through the ceiling, and been shot in the chest. I wasn’t the suicidal type, but if death would end this chain of fucking painful as hell encounters, I would be happy.

My body collapsed, and I fell to my knees in some unknown hallway. I supposed it was as good a place as any to take a rest, so I caught a breather while fumbling to get my shirt off. What was left of it made a slopping noise as it hit the marble floor. My fingers then clawed at the Kevlar vest, desperately unzipping it and flinging it off. I couldn’t breathe worth shit with it on.

My ribs gave a searing jolt, and I knew if I stayed on the ground much longer, I would not move at all. So regretfully, I found my feet and continued jogging towards the nearest exit.

I could see the small emergency door just ahead, and quickened my pace. Fresh air was just about the only thing on my mind besides getting out of the fucking museum of infinite doom. So with one last drop of vigor, I flung the door open and collapsed on the concrete outside.

“Shit!”

I lay on my back with my eyes halfway closed, contemplating if it was worth the energy to turn my head the few inches it would take to see who was out here with me. Sure, what the hell, I could use a parting conversation before someone’s bullet found its way into my skull.

“Hey,” my voice cracked as I struggled to sit up a little, “You have a cigarette I could bum?” What I would have given for a smoke.

The man, who was leaning against the wall, stared blankly down at me. His mouth was set in what looked like a permanent frown, but the tense stare was softened a bit by the shaggy brown hair that found its way into his eyes. He was kind of cute, actually.

“If you don’t have a smoke that’s fine. But boy, I would just about sell my soul for one.”

I looked at this guy, standing there in his angsty macho-ness, and couldn’t help but grin. Then I giggled. And you know I’ve hit a low point when I start giggling. The giggle turned into a full blown laugh, and I was all but rolling on the ground with hilarity, clutching my stabbing ribs.

The man’s cold demeanor softened and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. This only made me laugh harder. I laughed until it turned into a hacking cough, then I struggled to not choke on my own blood. Shit, I was in poor shape.

“Are you after the box?” It was a dreamy voice, with a tinge of violence.

“You mean that gold piece of shit everyone’s running around after? Nah.”

His eyebrows furrowed. I’m sure he was trying to figure out what the hell I was doing here all bloody, if not for that wretched whatever it was. Perhaps I’d even tell him why I was here. I’d always wanted to pop out and say, “Haha! I’m here to kill you!” Even though I wasn’t here to kill him… necessarily.

Did my mind finally snap? Had I lost it?

The door I had stumbled out of what seemed like hours before opened once more. A man stepped out pointing a gun straight at my heart.

I squinted, trying to see who it was. “Shit, Delbur, is that you?”

The man leaning against the wall had stiffened, ready to pounce. The intruder merely glanced his way, saving that sadistic smirk for me. “You’re over due at the gates of death, mon cherie.”

I coughed again, not bothering to wipe the blood from my lips. “Hey, before we do the whole gate of death thing, do YOU have a cigarette I could bum?”

The looks on both of their faces was absolutely priceless.

Sophia Delbur:

“I’m not going to kill you petite, and you certainly don’t look well enough for a cigarette. Your job is still uncompleted, and this just will not do.”

Two men stepped through the doors to stand by the man masquerading as Henri Delbur. He learned over to one and said, “Drug her up, let her rest, and for God sake clean her.” the possibility of being “takin care of” seemed like it didn’t matter to Brenna anymore. At this point her life was in the hands of whomever.

“Don’t worry, love, in two hours you’ll wake up a little sore, but much much better. Think of it as a bonus: you get to live.” Alec gave her a smart wink as she was thrown over his man's shoulder.

The imposter then turned to the short man leaning against the wall. He was physically unharmed, but his emotions had taken quite a beating. Alec could tell, because he liked to break people. He was damn good at it.

“Hello, I’m Alec Loren. You must be my little thief.”

The man looked at him, dumb founded. Alec’s accent had disappeared, but his grin had not. Alec was smiling like an idiot because he had finally shed his disguise, and that was the cue. Vince, his second in command, would now take care of all the betting party guests. Their money was all Alec's, the rich dead bastards. This was his greatest scam of all time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Of course I know where the box is. The camel color bitch took it, and I was about to go get it when you showed me the copy.” I was really annoyed.

“So the last place you saw it was in the library?” Skylar was collecting her things, it was time to move.

“Yes, but it could be anywhere. I’m guessing we are going to go look anyway.” She nodded and I discarded my heels. “Lets go.”

It didn’t take us very long to reach the ballroom. The sight was gruesome, and the smell made my insides roll. Bodies littered the marble floor that was now stained in blood. Some I recognized as guests, but most we my guards and Caswell’s men. The walls were cracked with the stress from multiple explosions. Bullet holes made a fancy display of it all.

I moved toward the ruble directly under the hole in the ceiling. My feet were dusty and caked in blood, but it was a small sacrifice for mobility.

She was there, brain matter splatter all around her, her arm was outstretch and her hand was open. Skylar bent down to examine the body.

“Looks like her hand was pried open.” She pointed to some bruising around the bodie's wrist.

“Well whoever it was, most likely male, he went that way.” I pointed in the direction of the west wing.

“How do you…” Skylar stopped as she saw what I was seeing. Footprints in blood. The prints looked huge, around a size 14 in men’s. This guy wasn’t all too smart. Skylar drew her guns and got up from the floor. I’m glad she didn’t offer me one; I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

The west wing was in as good of shape as it could have been. The footprints were steady, but you could tell the blood had been steadily drying on his boots. The prints were tacky, and started to uneven his steps.

The trail led to one of the offices. I looked at Skylar waiting for instruction.

“Stay back,” she said as she kicked the door open. There were three people in the room, all surprised at our intrusion. I recognized one right away.

“Vanmoran!” I was too busy staring at the gold box in her hands, completely oblivious to the man and woman who had their crosshairs trained on both me and Skylar.

Skylar Watson:

Red, bright red crosshairs. I wanted to give a slight laugh, but nothing was funny about this situation. In fact it was a terrible set up for us. Then it hit me there was the box. In all it's glory, how in hell was I going to get that.

At this moment no one was going to live through this. I pointed my left gun at the woman, the right went to the men. No matter what happened there would be bloodshed and a lot of it. Then a better idea hit me, shoot the damn light. What you cannot see you cannot kill.

Whispers could be heard from one side of the room. What the hell did I care if they were freaking out I needed to get behind them, I needed to get to Miss. Vanmoran.

Sophia stayed deadly silent. One thing I had come to like about her, she was smart and knew when to keep her mouth shut. In fact she was just good at surviving.

I quickly and quietly moved to the far side of the room. Now, everyone was in front of me. That should level the playing field.

Rory Devlin:

For a precious few moments when I found my way out, everything had been silent, but now the whole place bustles with activity and voices. The woman leans against the wall across from me, illuminated in shaky artificial light and specked with sweat and blood. She'd probably be pretty if she wasn't caked in filth. A cigarette? I laugh softly.

Another man steps out beside her, cooing to her casually, as if he's her best pal. The man gestures to a friend, who grabs the woman and slings her body carelessly over his shoulder. She seems so small now, bleeding and limp, struggling weakly.

I can feel the eyes of the man on me. His gaze has a cool, practiced quality that is meant to throw people off balance. I don't look up until he speaks. "Hello, I’m Alec Loren." His voice is soft and tinged with a dark humor as he looks directly at me. "You must be my little thief."

My little thief? I glance up at him through half-closed eyes, wondering what he's doing here in clothes that aren't tainted with blood and dirt, why he's grinning with such a deep satisfaction in the middle of all this bloodshed. Then I realize that I really can't guess and don't really care. Soon enough, all these people are going to realize that, in the room right beside them, a young woman holds the subject of all this havoc. When that happens, I suppose we're all either going to run or meet a rather quick end.

I don't think I can run away, though. I won't leave Andi behind in the middle of all that, and even though I'm not really sure what to think of VanMorran right now, I can't let anything happen to her, either. She's got a gun, maybe some experience with it, but.... Hell. At least she has one, right?

No. I need to get back in there! I hear a muffled crash from somewhere inside of the room, then corresponding footsteps. Loren has turned to leave, but I wait a moment until the lights above me flicker. In that brief darkness, I tip an invisible hat to Mr. Alec Loren's departing back, open the door, and disappear inside, whispering a silent prayer for luck into the the living darkness. Beside the now-closed door, I watch. Two women have entered. I recognize one as Sophia Delbur, but the other one is unfamiliar. A blonde with locks of hair that fall over her face and glimmer in the moonlight from a window, she has dark eyes, and her stance is that of a tense professional. Her eyes dart everywhere. They land on me, but look right through me to the wall. I feel a too-familiar respect and enjoyment of the darkness, of the ability to observe in complete obscurity. The blonde woman moves to the other side of the room, gaining an advantage.

This is the beginning of the end. So many people with a common goal are trapped in the same room, and they are willing to kill to obtain that goal. Forget the planning and the arrivals, forget the carefully adjusted façades...these next few minutes will shape some lives and end too many more.

The box, ethereal in the blue light, stands watch in the center of the room, clasped in the hand that doesn't grip VanMorran's gun.

Brenna Harron:

It was the harsh lights of the room that initially woke me, and then the swimming memories of the past twenty four hours had me sitting bolt upright.

“Oh mademoiselle, you should not be up yet!”

I turned to look quizzically at the unknown woman beside me. She was reaching for a syringe, flicking the tip with dull tradition.

“You must rest; let the medicine take its proper course in your body.”

This strange French nurse, or whoever she was, started to approach. Like hell she was going to fucking drug me up. I was in a strange room, with goodness only knows what coursing through my veins, and was damned nicotine deprived!

I grabbed her arms, wrenching the needle from her sweaty hands. Before the woman could scream for help, I jammed the injection home. She shrieked and toppled to the floor, syringe dangling from the side of her neck.

I hopped off the table I had been passed out on and crouched down. The nurse was hyperventilating, jerking sporadically on the floor. My hands deftly searched her, stopping only to slap away convulsing limbs. A twinge of a grin tugged at my lips as I found what I was looking for: a pack of cigarettes. It was just my luck the French could never be found without them.

I lit up, tucking the rest of the pack in the back pocket of the pants I wore. They were standard military and just about two sizes too big. Whoever had been ‘working’ on me had failed to find me a shirt. I decided it would be best to ignore the obvious fact that I had been undressed and showered by anonymous hands. I took a long drag and eyed the cabinet in the corner of the small room. It was worth investigating for something useful, or at least a shirt.

The doors jerked open, and my eyes widened at the sight of my old clothes. They were wadded on a middle shelf. Unfortunately, both shirt and pants were torn and slimy with blood. I scanned the rest of the shelves, my eyes finally coming to rest on a large trunk on the bottom.

I kneeled, flipping up the latches and yanking the top open. What I saw made me nearly pass right back out.

“Eighty million dollars in cold hard cash.” I flinched at the voice, hearing the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked behind me. God damn it, how was everyone managing to sneak up on me these days?!

The barrel of the gun brushed the back of my head as I stood, and a masculine arm creeped around to encircle my bare waist.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet.” The man had stepped so close I could feel every inch of him, his lips tickling my ear as he spoke. “But I guess my plans will just have to commence a bit early.”

Staring at endless trunk of one hundred dollar bills, my mind finally wrapped around the situation.

“Delbur?”

He chuckled, gun pressing more painfully as I tugged at his hold. “Hardly, though I have assumed his role. My name is Alec, and I would not test my willingness to hurt you if you do not obey.” At this comment, I snorted.

“Conner, hit the lights.”

A guard at the door with a semi automatic flicked the switch. The harsh artificial glow fizzled out, and the imposter turned us to face the back wall. There was a window, which I soon realized to be double sided mirror.

I could see the room full of people, most of them sporting guns which were aimed. Sophia was there, as well as VanMorran and the short man. The golden box, in all its shining glory, was sitting on a table in the middle. What the hell was going on?

“It is so simple…” I shivered as his cold fingers traced languid circles on my skin. “Just kill Jennifer, and you can take your bounty. You have seen the money, and know I do not lie.”

The barrel eased from the back of my head, and he held the gun steadily in front of me. I grasped the cool metal. What choice did I have? The man was offering me a gun and eighty million dollars. I could smell the crisp bills behind me, and knew what I was going to do.

I ejected the mag and found a full clip. Alec drew away from me, his lingering fingers giving me the chills.

“That’s a girl.”

He disappeared in the shadows of the dark room, and I could hear the door of the room click quietly closed.

Jennifer VanMorran:

There were too many people in the room now. I couldn't breath. Even with all of them, I held my gun professionally. When I saw Rory, I had no idea what to do. So many choices- kill, be killed, run, wish... well, not that many choices. All I had planned for was in my hand, vibrating slowly. It filled me with a sense of peace, all the while possessing me with desire. I couldn’t let go.

Without warning, the window in the dark room that I had not previously seen shattered with a gunshot. Like a little girl, I screamed. I pulled back with shock, taking my hand with me, and freezed until I realized the box was in midair. The entire room seemed to leap forward, but, just like our fates, it fell. Through the hands, arms, guns, legs, skirts, down to the floor. It had to be in slow motion. I receded to meet my back to the wall. The box kept falling. How could a slight moment go on for so long?

Before I had realized anything had happened, the ground shook. There, in the middle of the room, was the glowing box with its top hinged off. Without warning, the floor roared with such force, such violence, that all of the inhabitants of the room fell. I tumbled onto my side and a searing pain pierced my shoulder. Glancing at it, I was not surprised to see blood in a round bullet hole near my collarbone. Damn, someone would have to pay. I had gorgeous collar bones.

The door opened but I didn’t see who entered. I physically couldn’t. It seemed as though gravity’s pull was multiplied, for no one could sit up, like they were being sat on by their fat uncles at a family reunion. The ground didn’t stop trembling, but the rest of the room was still- nothing like a natural earth quake. A woman on my right started screaming. I first thought she was upset over the shaking, but then I felt a pull on my entire body, smashing me into the ground and nearly collapsing my lungs. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t muster the oxygen. Someone’s voice rose over the gasping.

“Wish, damn it!”

Sophia Delbur:

This is what it had come down too; all of the death, destruction, and deceit had taken us all to this point in time. A woman had jumped through the shattered glass of the two-way mirror. The man of VanMorran's I didn’t recognize ate bullets before he could even bring up his arm. The shooter was ubelievably quick, and when the dust settled Jennifer Vanmorran was on her knees--Brenna Harron’s gun flirting with her temple.

I smirked. “Wish, Bitch! It’s not going to do a damn thing! There is no box, the original was lost centuries ago.”

Everyone in the room was staring at me. Rory the thief looked like he had had one too many surprises for the night. The girl next to him, which I could only assume to be his woman, shook with rage. Skylar analyzed her next move; eyes flickering in thought.

VanMorran was the embodiment of despair from either the realization of the night’s events or the fact that she was going to die soon. Indeed the women standing over Jennifer was Brenna. She looked like shit, clothedin only baggy pants and a sports bra. Her cuts and scars reflected oddly in the florescent lighting. I suspected the only reason VanMorran wasn’t dead yet was because Brenna was uneasy about the violently shaking floor.

I wandered back to stand in front of the door, wondering what had possessed my assassin to dive through the window, when the answer came up behind me. Alec’s hands folded around my stomach. His body was close enough, I could feel his arousal. I resisted the urge to lean my body back against his.

Skylar was the first to react. “Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Tsk Tsk, Ms. CIA was loosing her nerve. I stepped forward, and Alec moved with me like one unit. We were that close after three months.

Skylar’s eyes widened at the sight of Alec. He had washed the gray out of his hair, and taken all of the plastic and makeup away from his face. He nuzzled my neck just to infuriate her. Out of everyone here, Skylar had trusted me. She shouldn’t have. What did she know about me? obviously nothing.

“I have no problems blowing you both away,” It was more of a growl then a statement. Ms. CIA agent had her guns on us, but she wasn’t serious. I spoke up before her hands could slip.

“You’re a cop, Ms. Watson You can’t shoot unless attacked or threatened. Plus, have you given any thought to why the ground trembles? The foundation of this building has taken one too many beatings. Any moment we could all topple into the river and be crushed under the weight of the museum! One bullet could jeopardize us all!”

Vanmorran spoke, her voice barely above of whisper. “You… you did this? But why? If we have anything in common, it is our love of artifacts and history! Everything is destroyed, all of those people!”

She was now crying into her trembling hands, “You killed them! You killed them all, you two-faced whore!”

She spat out the last words and attempted to rise, but Brenna slapped her across the face with her gun. No hesitation, no second thought, just smack.

Jennifer fell back down to her knees and stayed there, blood trickling down the side of her mouth. I bet that was the first time she had been hurt tonight.

My smile faded, “I did not kill those people! Corrupt and ruthless men did, and now those men our dead. I just did the world a favor!”

Skylar looked at Alec then at me, “And your Father, what about him? You knew he was dead?” she shook her head not understanding.

“I said all the bad men are dead.”

“Except for the one behind you.” Even confused, she was quick. Her cool composure made me angry.

“Alec saved me from my life as the Museum prostitute! He has more for me than anyone ever had.” This was true, and oh, I loved him. Passionate, dangerous love.

“Miss Delbur, you are deluded. Excuses will not change the fact that YOU are the reason innocents are dead!”

“If you two are finished…” Alec stepped in between her gun and me. Not the smartest thing to do in my opinion.

Jennifer looked up, seeing the man for the first time. “And you’re behind all of this too… of course you are! This,” she raised her arms slowly, wary of Brenna’s weapon, “is definitely your style.” She was finally regaining her composer. Snaps for her.

Alec looked at the blonde woman and flashed a bitter smile, “It’s been a long time, Jen.”

“What did you have to gain from any of this?”

I had known that Vanmorran and Alec were connected, but he never told me what happened. Dangerous men keep secrets.

Hmm, what did Alec and I obtain from our escapade? He got rid of the monster that had plagued my life since I turned 14. I had loved my father and trusted him. He used me and abused me, and when he was finished he lent me to his friends. I was too scared to run. Wherever I went, he’d find me. I’m sure I made him too much money to lose. I guess in his own sick way, my father loved me. He had left me everything in his will.

The rest was Alec’s idea. He got rid of my Father and his partners, and I would help him in his con. Each player, as he called them, was here for a reason. Of course, only Alec knew the reasons. He never mentioned a death count, and I had honestly never meant to hurt anyone. I just wanted out of this life.

Alec was jabbering “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a helicopter to catch.” He turned to me and grabbed my hand.

“Like hell you are!” Skylar advanced on us,guns raised.

“I’m afraid we are! And you, my dear, are going to let us.” This made her nostrils flare and if looks could kill, we’d be dead.

Alec pulled a timer out of his pocket. The red LCD light counted down from 25 minutes. “This is courtesy of our cornrowed friend. He thought it necessary to stash a high level explosive somewhere in the building. I believe he said it was powerful enough to demolish 5 square blocks maybe more. Pity, I leave it in your oh so capable hands, Miss Watson.”

With that, he dropped the timer and we left together; his arm pulling mine.

“What you told me... that no one else would get hurt... in fact, you told me no innocents would have to die! What about those two girls?” I pushed him off me, outraged. We were about at the entrance, and I could already hear the whir of helicopter blades.

“My love, you made a deal with the devil. This is what happens when your wishes are granted!”

Skylar Watson:

Quickly grabbing the small phone from my pocket I dialed, not caring who heard. Pressing in the code, a voice appeared on the other end.

"You want your criminal don't you? He is heading outside as we speak." I said in slow, steady english. "Watch out, Mr. Caswell saw it fit to place bombs throughout the area."

Then I took a moment to look around the rest of the room before I exited, running down the hallway after Alec and Sophia. Did they really think I was some sort of a moron? That box was going no where and niether were they.

Rory Devlin:

Orange numerals count down on the abandoned timer. Minutes, seconds, hundredths of seconds are lost with every gasping breath I take. I believe he said it was powerful enough to demolish 5 square blocks... maybe more. Great! My mind is working wildly, trying to piece together everything that's happened in the last few minutes. So quickly, the whole world has been turned upside down. Oh, and to top it all off, that world is either going to collapse from instability or explode because of some conveniently-placed bombs.

VanMorran now sits upright, and rather than looking sickly and hurt, like most injured people would have the sense to do, she just looks disappointed. God, that girl doesn't know her own strength. I feel an urge to go to her, but there is no time. If we get out of here alive then we can all meet over drinks or something. If we live. I spare a glance at the timer, which has just turned to 22:00. Numerals spiral downward.

21:58...21:57...

It's ironic, almost. Where before we were all enemies, a few short moments have provided us with a goal that overrides everything else; the goal of survival.

VanMorran reaches out to the box, still clasping her shoulder with a free hand, and she grabs it. Flipping open the lid, she stares inside, and the determination on her face falters. Her strength seems to wilt, and the box falls from her hands. A tiny reflective glass shield had fallen away to reveal a small blue bulb...the source of the light. If any of us had held any doubts about Alec's speech, they were stripped away. We had all been used. Hundreds of people were dead, innocents included, for something that was not even real.

In that moment, only seconds after the girl called Miss Watson vaulted from the room, Brenna does the same. Instead of following Watson outside, though, she goes right back into the room she entered from. She vaults effortlessly through the shattered window, and I can see her scrambling around, tossing items away...searching for something.

Whatever it is, she doesn't find it. She's pissed. When she runs out of the room, her anger is a palpable thing in the air. "My money..." She mutters a string of acid cursewords and draws her gun, following the route Watson took out of the room and to the roof, where the thump of helicopter blades is still painfully loud above the beat of our hearts and our gasping breaths.

Now only Andi, VanMorran, and I are left. The numbers on the timer continue to tick down. I have thought about a lot of things before, but being blown up has never been one of them. I've always been naive enough to think that if I died, it would be by a bullet. Maybe being blown up would be quicker, though.

I don't really feel afraid. We have to get moving, I know that. I glance at the timer, and the display mocks me: nineteen minutes, dropping steadily. That won't be enough time to get away. The explosion may well be less disastrous than Alec said, but it may be even worse. Our only option is to find and disable it. The ground shudders violently as I stand to my feet, forcing me to grab at the wall to stay up. "We need to find Brenna or the Watson woman." If no one else, it's them who'll make it out. They're the only ones who can help, and if they don't... I don't dare spreak my thoughts aloud. "We need to get out of here now."

I walk to Jennifer and lift her up, careful of her wound. I wish I was just a bit taller because it takes more time than I'd like just to get her up and balanced. I let her arm rest around my shoulder to support her. There's a thin sheen of sweat on her face, and she glances at the timer, squinting to see. "I...everything's a bit blurry. What does it say?"

I wince and hold her tighter, willing her to look away as the timer flicks to seventeen minutes. "Uh...we have time. Andi...come on."

Andi stands up, avoiding the dead body of the man who had nearly shot us when we came in through the vent. His blood has spread over the carpet, and each of Andi's footsteps sends the scarlet liquid sprouting up around her shoes. Her face is expressionless, but I see her eyes wander to the timer. She glances around to all the windows, and then out the door. "Good riddance," she murmurs. On second thought, she snatches up the timer. We start forward, heading up the hallway to the roof of the building.

When we arrive, the helicopter is already pulling away. Everything is blurred as the blades throw pieces of debris and trash around the building in a violent funnel of air. I look around and see what has happened to this place because of tonight's activity. Police cars are strewn all over, lights flashing against water and rock, casting off of any reflective surface. Policemen and bystanders fight to get to the museum, where pieces of a collapsed doorway blocks their main entrance. I'm not quite sure who's winning, the cops or the bystanders. Some of the police seem to be in the building, but they're leaving now.... Maybe they heard about the bomb? Maybe that's who Watson was calling. She is some kind of cop, right? I'd say she's an agent, though. She's too competent to be a cop.

The helicopter gets farther and farther away, and when the battering wind stops, I look up. The colors on the 'copter are the colors of the police here. Alec and Sophia won't be stopped from leaving. In the light from all around, I see Alec speaking into a radio. He must have been talking to the police, because in one moment the police are just looking around randomly, and then their spotlights are focused on us. Alec waves cheerfully.

The helicopter continues to head off, uninterrupted. We're screwed.

"Don't worry," mutters a female voice. I'm not sure if it's Brenna or Watson, but whoever it is, the voice positively drips acid. "I think Delbur put up a bit of a fight—I got here a bit before they did, just in time to leave them a little surprise on their helicopter. They won't get far."

Well...at least that's taken care of. Now for the bomb and all those police. This should be loads of fun. Andi glances at the timer held in her fist. "Fifteen minutes, people. We get moving or we get blown up. Any ideas where this bomb's gonna be?"

Brenna Harron:

Alec paced the helicopter slowly, grinning as he spoke into the radio. My Italian wasn’t quick enough to understand the whole conversation, but I caught enough of it to know that he had the whole police force deceived. The bastard even waved to the group below: the thief, VanMorran, and his woman Sophia.

The CIA agent took that moment to come out of hiding.

“Waving goodbye Loren?”

Alec turned slowly, smirk still playing mischievously on his lips. “Miss Watson? Is that you?”

“Don’t move.” The woman had snuck up behind him “I will not hesitate to shoot.”

Alec’s hands rose mockingly in the air as he arrogantly rolled his eyes. “Now how did you manage to get on my helicopter?”

“Put your hands on your head and slowly get down on the ground.”

Loren quickly shifted his weight and swung at Watson’s gun, but she was faster, catching his arm before it could land the blow. She threw him mercilessly into the side of the helicopter. But before I could warn her, one of Alec’s men ducked out of the cockpit with a gun.

I shot without thinking, splattering brain matter all over the helicopter controls. Unfortunately, my reflexes had been too slow. The CIA agent was also gasping on the ground, clutching her bleeding stomach.

Alec rolled over to stare at me with utter shock. “Brenna?!”

I slid out from my hiding spot, walking quickly to Watson’s side. The middle of her gut was gushing innards by the second. Unfortunately, it could take hours for her to die. I stared apologetically into her knowing eyes before pulling the trigger.

Loren flinched as a skull shard sliced his cheek. I strolled over and picked him up by the collar. Whatever his cronies had put in my veins was damn good stuff.

I flung the bastard into a seat, gun held lazily at my side. “Surprised?”

The man was slowly regaining his composure, a small smile worming its way on his face. “How did you get on my helicopter?”

“Very carefully.”

The pilot stuck his head cautiously out of the cockpit door, ducking back when he saw my glare. “I would suggest you keep flying,” I called after him.

Turning back to Alec, I plopped down in a seat across from him. “You really want to know how I got here? Hold on, let me think of the saying... ah, yes! Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Loren raised an eyebrow. “Sophia?”

“Well, magicians rarely tell you how it works. But yes, your sexy femme fatale gave you away.”

He opened his mouth, but I stopped his lips from moving with a single finger. “Ah, ah, ah, I’m not finished yet. Now under normal circumstances I would have taken my money and ran. But for some reason, my eighty million wasn’t where I left it.”

The fucker merely blinked in response.

“So when I found you and your kitten arguing on the flight deck, I took my chance. Unfortunately for you, I don’t see any money. Eighty pounds of flesh will just have to do.”

Alec fidgeted. “The money is in the cockpit, you are quite welcome to it.”

“But I haven’t earned any payment. Surprising as it is, I have yet to kill anyone!”

He rolled his eyes to the bloody mess on the floor that used to be Watson. I sighed, “Ok, I haven’t killed anyone for fun yet.”

Loren pursed his lips, looking around desperately for a way out of the situation. I slid playfully out of my seat, dropping down to straddle his lap. Had I lost my mind? I really, really think so.

The barrel of my gun trailed down Alec’s jaw line. When he attempted to move his head, I caught a chunk full of his hair in my fist. The butt of my pistol cracked sharply against his skull.

“I only have two bullets left, and I have to really make them count.”

Loren chocked on his own blood and saliva as it ran down his chin. “Please Brenna, I’ll give you anything!”

“Oh? And what will you give me?” I slammed the heel of my hand into his nose, breaking it cleanly. “To stop the pain?”

He screamed, struggling to get away, “Anything, ANYTHING! I have money! Millions and millions of dollars!”

“You’ll give me anything I want?”

“God, anything you could ever dream!”

I cocked the pistol, scooting back on his lap to aim it properly. The barrel pressed threateningly against his crotch. Insanity was the best thing to ever happen to me. Why hadn’t I tried it before?

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,”

“I doubt he’s listening, but sure, try anyway. And you said I could have anything?”

His eyes were wide, and the blood pouring from his nose was warm on my exposed skin.

“I want your money.” He shook his head furiously. “And I want your car, and your house.”

“Yes, you can have everything!!”

And just when I thought his eyes could grow no larger… “I also want your nuts.”

The report of the gun was drowned out by the scream that ripped from his throat. It was an absolutely terrible sound, full of gurgling blood and torturing agony. Alec’s body convulsed uncontrollably under me, and I slapped him to keep him conscious.

“You damn well better stay awake for your demise, Loren! You deserve this! You know you fucking deserve this!”

The helicopter pitched sharply left, and I tumbled backwards off of Alec. My anger boiled over. “Keep flying or I’ll rip you to pieces!”

The dying man tried to stand, but was not capable. I hopped back to my feet, standing in front of the bastard. “One more shot left, Loren, and you know it’s the parting one!”

I could make no sense of the noises that were coming from his mouth. Whatever he was trying to say, it wasn’t important. His time had come, and nothing was going to stop it.

I pried his mouth open farther, shoving the barrel of my gun in and angling it up. There was nothing I could say to him that summed up my anguish, my rage, my pure madness.

The trigger pulled easily, and I rode the last throes of his shuddering body.

Sophia Delbur:

A policeman approached me. “Miss Delbur?” It was then that Rory turned around; he looked at me like his night hadn’t just been full of surprises. I gave him a nod; we didn’t have time for this.

“Miss Delbur, your father told us what has happened to the facility. These people behind you are to blame?” The police chief had not expected me to be hanging out with the criminals, didn’t matter I was one.

I guess Alec was going to leave me a way out, maybe somewhere in his twisted being he did love me. I sighed, the exhaustion of the whole evening was setting in and it wasn’t even dawn yet.

“No,” I told the chief, “the man in the helicopter was an imposter. He organized this, and the other men involved are dead. Unfortunately, we have more pressing matters. there is a bomb in my museum… there are 500 rooms and we have 10 mintues, if that.”

The man’s eyes widen slightly but his body showed so other signs of reaction. He pulled a walkie talkie to his mouth. “Send all squads in we need the entire placed scanned, there is a bomb. I repeat there is a bomb.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The paramedics were patching up Rory, Jennifer, one other woman I didn’t know, and me. Everyone looked rather reluctant, letting the police take over… probably seven minutes now. Rory was holding the LCD timer. I still don’t know what possessed him to keep it: a count down to doom.

I was answering questions from a lower police officer that looked like he’d rather be in the action also.

“Do you have any idea where the bomb would be Miss Delbur?” he asked me like it was something you asked someone at a dinner party.

No, I thought. I don’t think like a criminal. Alec did. I tried to think of him and what he would do. Some random things I remembered from stories of cons and heists.

“If you want to make something to fall, you hit it at its weakest point.” He had taught me self defense, and I had thought it was cute. Turns out nothing about him was cute. So weakest point... what was the weakest point that could be accessed? SHIT!

I stood bolt upright and the paramedic blanket fell off my shoulders to the floor. I grabbed the police man tight on the arms for balance. I was staring at the North side of the Museum street side.

“East entrance! It’s a water entrance! It leads to the building supports!”

As soon as he starts speaking into his walkie talkie, I take off running. I didn’t know what I was doing, but who else was going to get there in time? I glanced behind me. The policeman wasn’t following, but Rory, his woman, and VanoMorran were. Why, I had know idea. We were all crazy.

Rory Devlin:

Andi stands on edge. I stand on edge. The paramedics all want to look at us, but I can't bear not doing anything at all while my timer ticks down with each second. I think they're wondering if I'm crazy, because I can't take my eyes away from it. The neon numbers plummet.

Every second we sit here is one more lost, one more room the bomb might be in that we won't be able to search. I glance at the timer and it mocks me with its glare.

8:34:24...

The numbers spiral downward.

Eight minutes until this museum and all the people around it are gone. Eight minutes...

It won't be enough.

I look around at Sophia, Andi and Jennifer, and for the first time, I feel doubt. The explosion will be unavoidable. It's going to take hundreds of lives with it. No one could possibly evacuate fast enough to escape this. It's not right.

Sophia suddenly starts. The navy blanket they'd draped around her shoulders flutters to the ground as she stands up. There's a look of surprise, determination, and absurd accomplishment in her dark eyes. "East entrance! It’s a water entrance! It leads to the building supports!" she says. She does not wait. She starts running.

Delbur knows where the bomb is.

The police start chattering into their radios, but no one goes forward.

I get up from the back of the ambulance and Andi steps around it. VanMorran follows.

Sophia turns around to look at us as she runs, and I think she's smiling.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we follow behind her. She's left the front entrance and we're running along the sides now. The ground slopes sharply downward, grass dissipating until there's nearly none, and then there's just water.

Sophia continues to walk. "We need to hurry! The bomb will be down here! The support pillars are probably the museum's weakest point. If they collapse, then the whole museum will inevitably fall. I think...I think that's where the bomb will be."

We take a downhill journey, and stop when the ground drops off into a snaking river of still water. It wasn't too deep, and we didn't have any time to do anything else.

Six minutes.

We walk in. The water becomes deeper as we wade through the entrance. The air becomes thicker with the taste of age. The walls are cold grey stone, and massive pillars rise from the water. Slimy green climbs up them for several inches, and minuscule cracks are visible even from as far away as we stand. The light in here is nearly nonexistent, a sort of forest-green glow that manages to give the barest light and only that. The rising sun's rays cast through the water to a few feet into this arched entrance, but it does not dare go farther.

"There..." Sophia breathed. Her eyes settled on a large device strapped to one of the support beams. Thank God...it looked like there was only one.

One, however, could still kill. One could take us all out.

A nearly forgotten orange light illuminates the water, and I look down, fearing what I will see.

Less than five minutes.

But we'll disarm it, right? We'll catch it in the nick of time and everything will be okay. That's how it happens in the movies.

Unfortunately, life is a heck of a lot stranger than fiction, and people die without any reason. Innocent people. Movies suck.

Shouldn't there be a "cut here" arrow, or at least a red wire to debate about?

Oh yeah. We don't have a knife.

God hates us.

"How long, Rory?" Delbur asks, hesitance in her voice. Maybe she doesn't want to know. Hell, I don't want to know. Why am I still holding this countdown to our death?

"Four minutes."

Sophia takes a deep breath. "I think...I may know a bit about this kind of thing. Being with Alec for so long did yield some help, after all. Does anyone have any sort of tools? I'm not picky...anything." Sophia's voice is strong even though it quavers. I remember something that some wonderful wise person said once.

Courage isn't the absence of fear, but the ability to face it.

Or something like that.

I suppose she's courageous.

Andi's slender hand reaches into the strapless top of her dress, and she pulls out a small, velvet roll from between her breasts.

God, what else is she hiding under that dress?

A smile comes to my face, unbidden. Andi shoots a glare at me. "In case you didn't get inside," she explains. "Every good girl's gotta have some tools."

Sophia takes the case and adopts a professional expression.

"I can help you," Andi murmurs. "My brother was in demolitions in the army, and we made bombs and blew up the neighbor's chickens."

Sophia still stands in front of the device. She has no visible reaction, but she allows Andi to step in beside her.

"Caswell was stubborn and rather unusual in life. I have no reason to believe that his handiwork will be any different," Sophia muses, cringing as she twists the screws off of the bomb case.

VanMorran backs up and I wince. I can't tell what the hell is going on for my life, but the timer says all that I can't. Time is running out.

Two minutes.

Each second stretches out to an agonizing eternity filled with thoughts that play over and over in my mind. It's really quite ironic the things you remember and realize when you're certain that death is near. For instance, I'd always told my mom that I didn't know where her favorite box of jewelry was—the stuff she wore to parties; the jewels that cost more than most cars—and I'd really been telling the truth. I only now remembered that I'd buried it under the dog house when I was ten.

Sophia and Andi lean over the open case. I can't see what's going on inside, but I can see the tension that shows in their eyes. They have this one chance and no more.

For everyone's sake, I hope that they make it.

All around us, people are running from the museum, as if that will help. No bomb squad could arrive in time.

It's just us...

One minute.

The timer seems to me as if it's moving too quickly. The three digits drop to two and it counts down from fifty-nine, its neon glare permeating the cool air around us.

"Hurry..."

The frantic whisper comes out of my lips unbidden. For a moment I had forgotten VanMorran's presence, but she is slumping as she stands, and I take her hand and hold it tightly. For some reason, it feels better this way.

"Hell." I drop the timer into the water, and its orange glow disperses, fading as it reaches the murky bottom. It doesn't really matter how many seconds we have left. It might be better not to know.

"I think..." Sophia begins. Her voice trails off, and Andi picks up with a smug smile.

"We're done. It's no longer nuclear, thank God."

A loud beep fills the room, and every eye turns to the device. I scramble for the timer at my feet. There are no longer numbers there, but two words.

Nice try.

The words dissolve to nothing, replaced with numbers again.

00:10...

00:09...

"Oh, shit," Andi says. "A secondary device?"

I don't need to ask her if we need to run. Still gripping VanMorran's hand, we run through the water. I didn't realize how slow going it was on the way into this cavernous entrance, but the water seems to flow against us on the way out, as if it's trying to slow us down. My clasp on her hand breaks as we finally scramble onto dry land.

Not a moment too soon. Vanmorran starts running away, and I look frantically around, searching for...

Andi! She starts running toward me.

When it happens, we do not even see the explosion for a moment. It feels like the ground has been jarred and pulled from beneath our feet, sending us falling and rolling down a grassy slope away from the museum, and into the water. I catch a brief glimpse of the other two girls before they're swallowed up in the fiery light. Did they run? Are they alive? I wish I could see.

Then...cold. I sink beneath the water, staring helplessly as the once cool surface light turns a bloody shade of orange-red. I can't move—I only watch and flail helplessly as debris from the museum soars through the sky and plunges into the water all around us.

And there is no sound. It would seem more real if I could hear screams or the crackle of flames, but there is nothing. Even the rush of water is vague. I can hardly hear it, even though I feel the bubbles rushing frantically against my skin. Wispy tendrils of scarlet snake through the water. Andi!

I look frantically around, calling her name and trying desperately to paddle to the surface.

God, which way is up?

Which way am I swimming now? Why is everything suddenly so dark?

Something tugs at my arm, pulling me down, and I fight against the steel grip. It won't let go, and it pulls me down and down into wavering light until I break the surface. Surface? I open my eyes to flames and water and clouds of dust and swirling smoke around what was once the beautiful museum. The familiar feel of warm life rests on my shoulder, and distant echoes reach my ears. I turn to see white. Even though it's just as soaked as I am, it's still beautiful; breathtaking. Andi...

I try to take a breath only to cough up water onto the hard surface I've been dragged onto. My eyes rove over it. A boat. Andi dragged me into a boat. Her fingers grip the side of my head and turn my face up to hers. She's talking, but it's garbled, so distant that I can't make out her words. Her slender hands come away from my head and I look in shock at the water-diluted scarlet running from between her fingers. She looks scared.

The blood... "Andi, are you all right?"

She looks at her hands and kneels down next to me. Her mouth is moving in the careful way that a person speaks when trying to hold back fear.

And then it hits me.

My hands touch the side of my head. Trails of sticky warmth cut through the cool water there. I follow them to my ears. Oh, God...

Was it the explosion, or the way we were driven into the water so quickly? I can't hear a thing. It's finally happened. The damage inflicted a few years ago has finally taken its toll.

Maybe I should have spent my time learning to lip-read rather than stealing things.

There's a thought.

I lean back onto the boat. I can't hear the waves lapping against it, but I'm sure there are some. Andi approaches me hesitantly and puts a hand on my shoulder before returning to the front of the tiny little boat.

I like the silence. No more noise but the noise in my own head. It gives me time to think.

After all this, we came away with nothing.

Nothing but our lives and some more time.

After obsessively anticipating the end of that proverbial time, it seems a bit more important. It's not something to waste, I suppose. There's still time...for all of us.

_______________

White against black, words flashing across the screen as a shapely reporter strolls through rubble, makeup perfect against the backdrop of chaos.

Amazingly, none of the criminals involved were taken alive from the hellish nightmare that stole the lives of so many innocents.

Disaster teams are still picking through the rubble of what was once a majestic structure, now only a macabre gravesite.

Many lost their lives, but rumor has it that many more could have died. We'll now hear from...

"Turn it off, Andi."

She looks at me, and nods mutely. My eyes catch a face on the screen, and I shake my head. "Wait!"

VanMorran and Delbur are shown. I don't even bother to read read the captioning along the bottom. Sophia has a gentle smile that softens her appearance. I look at VanMorran and smile. Her shoulder looks a bit stiff under the form-fitting blouse and short skirt, but the look on her face is confident. She's been through so much, but she still looks poised, a bit broken, but ready to take on the world. I wish I could hear her voice.

"You can turn it off now," I whisper to Andi.

I sigh and fall back onto the hotel bed. We'll leave out of this place tomorrow carrying even less than we arrived with. The box was a fake. Everything was just a controlled disaster.

Why is it that I feel we've actually accomplished something, then? I feel...different.

Maybe I need to stop thinking about it and just accept it.

I see a brief flick of VanMorran's face before the TV screen goes black. Andi drops the remote onto the bed, but that confident face lingers in my mind. So few of us made it out of that place. So few out of such a large group of people.

I'll see her again, one of these days. Maybe we'll all meet again.

"Hey, let's get out of here, Andi."

She can hear me even though I can't hear myself, and she starts. Her lips form a word that I don't have any trouble reading. "Where?"

"Somewhere. How about getting some lasagna?"