M
Miss Flufferbutt
Guest
Original poster
Her days almost always start the same, and yet she looked forward to them each day. She supposed it came with the territory of having a job you love, but she could only speculate, as she hadn't really had another job (except as a shitty teenager working a shitty dead-end fast food job, but did that really count?). Angela woke up quickly, showered and dressed quickly, and quickly ate her healthy, balanced breakfast before heading out the door. Every day the same, yet in her line of work, anything could happen. And she loved it.
Walking through the parking garage to her car, any bystander would think that she was someone very important, like a CEO. Everything about her exuded confidence, from the way she walked to the way she dressed. She walked with her head high, taking long strides, and always had her back and shoulders straight. She always dressed professionally; today it was a dark gray suit with matching sensible shoes (heels were liability in her line of work, not that she couldn't wear them). Tailored to fit her perfectly, of course. Angela could only have the best, after all. Even her car was sleek and beautiful. Always kept immaculate, and rated high in speed and durability. It was even her personal car, shipped from America for her current indefinite stay in France.
As she sped off, she drank in the sights around her. Ah, France. Definitely had its charm, though she thought the high popular opinion of it was overrated. Still, she wouldn't be here for much longer if all went well. Angela had a job to do: assassinate the head researcher of the Soma Project, located at the Imperial College London. Her company was offered the job by an unknown party -- at least, unknown to her. Sometimes it was hard to tell if her higher-ups were lying or not. It kinda came with the territory.
Although she would have to take the job regardless of her wishes -- if she wanted to get paid anyway -- she got a bit of personal satisfaction out of this one. The Soma Project was a multi-nation project created by France originally created to research and implement ways to reverse global warming. Like so many before it, minimal progress was made on that front. However, the research team had accidentally created a deadly neurotoxin while trying to create something that would process CO2 into something beneficial. Their research was vague, despite the thick paragraphs of big words in all of their documents. They had to look like they were doing something.
Her unknown employer wanted to erase this mistake, and that's where she came in. Getting rid of one person wasn't going to stop any leak from happening, but it's sure scare the pants off of anyone involved. Not like she thought they would get to live for much longer, either, but killing everyone at once would be stupid and incredibly incriminating, so at least her employer had some brains.
Soon enough, it was time to begin. Angela pulled up to a high-end nightclub -- a place businessmen and women frequented for their festivities away from the common clubs. Inside, she'd find suits and well-dressed prostitutes. She sighed and exited her car, strolling to the door. She beamed as she came close, waving to the bouncer. "Mathis! How are you, my dear?" she exclaimed, speaking English. The man had broken English, and she had been teaching him new words whenever she visited. Of course, it was only to serve a purpose: so that she'd have a solid alibi. Not that she thought she would need it; but fail safes were incredibly important. Just in case.
She chatted with him for a minute before heading inside. The night was still early, only about 12am, and it was a packed Friday night, creating the perfectly packed crowd she could lose herself in, despite the security cameras. She got a table and immediately began weaving herself into the backs of people's minds. Not enough that anyone would come looking for her specifically, but enough to cover her ass. At 1:45am on the dot, she excused herself to the bathroom, where the fun would begin. In the bathroom, the stalls went all the way up to the ceiling, offering the best privacy for everyone's sexcapades and drug binges. No one would notice her disappearing here. She waited until her stall opened, and she stumbled in, acting as if she were drunk. It was time to disappear.
Walking through the parking garage to her car, any bystander would think that she was someone very important, like a CEO. Everything about her exuded confidence, from the way she walked to the way she dressed. She walked with her head high, taking long strides, and always had her back and shoulders straight. She always dressed professionally; today it was a dark gray suit with matching sensible shoes (heels were liability in her line of work, not that she couldn't wear them). Tailored to fit her perfectly, of course. Angela could only have the best, after all. Even her car was sleek and beautiful. Always kept immaculate, and rated high in speed and durability. It was even her personal car, shipped from America for her current indefinite stay in France.
As she sped off, she drank in the sights around her. Ah, France. Definitely had its charm, though she thought the high popular opinion of it was overrated. Still, she wouldn't be here for much longer if all went well. Angela had a job to do: assassinate the head researcher of the Soma Project, located at the Imperial College London. Her company was offered the job by an unknown party -- at least, unknown to her. Sometimes it was hard to tell if her higher-ups were lying or not. It kinda came with the territory.
Although she would have to take the job regardless of her wishes -- if she wanted to get paid anyway -- she got a bit of personal satisfaction out of this one. The Soma Project was a multi-nation project created by France originally created to research and implement ways to reverse global warming. Like so many before it, minimal progress was made on that front. However, the research team had accidentally created a deadly neurotoxin while trying to create something that would process CO2 into something beneficial. Their research was vague, despite the thick paragraphs of big words in all of their documents. They had to look like they were doing something.
Her unknown employer wanted to erase this mistake, and that's where she came in. Getting rid of one person wasn't going to stop any leak from happening, but it's sure scare the pants off of anyone involved. Not like she thought they would get to live for much longer, either, but killing everyone at once would be stupid and incredibly incriminating, so at least her employer had some brains.
Soon enough, it was time to begin. Angela pulled up to a high-end nightclub -- a place businessmen and women frequented for their festivities away from the common clubs. Inside, she'd find suits and well-dressed prostitutes. She sighed and exited her car, strolling to the door. She beamed as she came close, waving to the bouncer. "Mathis! How are you, my dear?" she exclaimed, speaking English. The man had broken English, and she had been teaching him new words whenever she visited. Of course, it was only to serve a purpose: so that she'd have a solid alibi. Not that she thought she would need it; but fail safes were incredibly important. Just in case.
She chatted with him for a minute before heading inside. The night was still early, only about 12am, and it was a packed Friday night, creating the perfectly packed crowd she could lose herself in, despite the security cameras. She got a table and immediately began weaving herself into the backs of people's minds. Not enough that anyone would come looking for her specifically, but enough to cover her ass. At 1:45am on the dot, she excused herself to the bathroom, where the fun would begin. In the bathroom, the stalls went all the way up to the ceiling, offering the best privacy for everyone's sexcapades and drug binges. No one would notice her disappearing here. She waited until her stall opened, and she stumbled in, acting as if she were drunk. It was time to disappear.
