We must be Killers.

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  1. [​IMG]

    From left to right; Agent 0, Agent 444, Agent 4, Agent 17, Agent 01

    Handler Sean J Butler, The Headmistress of The School


    S i g n ☾ U p s
  2. Location: Baltimore City
    Time: Thursday evening, 6:10 PM.

    Sean pushed through the gaggle of people crowding the sidewalk, his brief case gripped in his hand, his suit jacket unbuttoned and his tie loosened. It was hot, very hot out. The heat combined with the humidity made Sean feel like he was trekking through the amazon rather than walking the steaming streets of a busy city. He reached the chosen location soon enough, entering a blessedly air conditioned coffee shop. He flipped the sign on the door to closed, locking it behind him, walking past the quiet individuals who stood behind the counter. They looked young. Too young. Was the FBI employing children now? Christ. Aside from the youth on their faces, he saw the slightest hints of fear on their faces, their backs against the wall, hands twitching for the gun that wouldn't be on their hips.
    Ah, so they had already arrived.
    He wasn't surprised, those freaks were never late--to anything. But Sean was, he always was. Sean walked into the back of the coffee shop, past the kitchen and through a little door that read 'Storage'. Inside the large room were five folding chairs and a step ladder that looked as if it had been used to change many light bulbs in the past. He grunted in acknowledgement, eyes glancing over the four familiar figures in the the room. There should've been five, but 01 was away on active duty. According to Sean's superiors, the runt would be back no later than Monday.

    He's been working with these kids--because that's what most of them were, kids in their 20s running around playing who's the best hitman. Sean knew there was more to it than that, but in his mind that's what he glazed over this with to keep himself from focusing too much thought on the topic of the GBC. Anyways, where was he? Right. Briefcase.

    Sean leaned back against the step ladder, unlocking the briefcase with the six digit password before taking one thick red folder out with one hand, shutting the briefcase and setting it on the floor with the other. One should feel unsettled if not uncomfortable in the presence of four killers, but Sean's been working with these kids for too many years, as their handler, he quickly became somewhat at ease in their presence. Not because he trusted them, but because he knew them. Despite what the general assumption was, these freaks had personalities. Mind you, they were very little and strange personalities, but they were none the less there. He knew them, they were predictable to a certain extent, he knew what to expect from each and every one of them and that was the source of his ease--predictability.
    Now, first, protocol.

    "You've all been contracted through the GBC by various clientele. The terms of these contracts will remain undisclosed unless you choose to accept." The words fell out of his mouth with a tired sigh, one hand shoved in the pocket of his slacks the other holding the red file beneath his arm. No matter how redundant, protocol was protocol. "Do you accept?"

    The resounding "Yes." Echoed in the room, and Sean licked his lips, opening the red file, before taking out four of the five individual manila colored files. He passed them out, sitting the one remaining file that belong to One on the step ladder. They were a team, but not a team. Assassin's didn't work in teams, maybe pairs, but never teams. So honestly, after all these years, he still didn't know what the hell this was. He pulled the little remote out his pocket and pointed it at the wall, clicking it and turning on the high powered projector inside it.

    Sean glanced at Seventeen and sniffed before going over her assignment. "Anatoly Vsevolod," he began. The Russian's picture popped up on the wall, he appeared to be sitting in a diner with a friend. "He's 37, married, works as a car salesman in Siberia. He moved to Siberia 5 years ago with his wife and 5 year old daughter, Izana, his wife's name being Evette. 5 years and a few months later, they have another kid. 2 1/2 year old Viktor."

    "The Mother works as a tabloid writer, the kiddies stay with her parents when they're working." He pressed a button and flitted to another slide, one showing a image of his wife, Evette. The file in Seventeen's hands gave more details, such as birthdates, addresses, license plates, allergies, social security numbers and so forth. It should've bothered Sean how casually he was discussing the topic of assassination, mind constantly drifting, eager to go home so he could just relax and cool off with his own family. Strange. Came with the territory though.

    "Your target is the woman. 45k. Your Deadline is the 27th. You have four days to complete the job, Seventeen."

    Next, was 4's mission.​

    He clicked the remote, clearing his throat as he did so. "Jean Song, 45, a french arms dealer who has come to lay roots in the USA. His younger brother, Marionette Song, 30, is a recently elected politician in France. Their mother and father still reside in France." This was more like it. Bad guys who looked like bad guys and did bad things. It soothed his brain. Sean idly wondered where these influx of missions had come from, but he didn't think too much about it. This lot has always been popular within the GBC.

    "Your target is Jean Song. He's currently in Boston and our sources say he has a scheduled shipment coming in at the Docks--the details are in your file. Jean Song cannot get his hands on those weapons, understood?" Sean arched a brow and clicked the remote again. He flipped the page in the red file. This used to be all automated, individual contractors would be contacted by an automated system and their missions read to them. For some reason, he liked this much better, despite the dangers it posed.

    "Kill Song before he gets the shipment. 65k. Your deadline is the 28th. Five days to complete the job, 4."

    Sean wanted to yawn. He's been working all day, on his feet all day. He was definitely taking a nap when he went home. Maybe force the kids to take one with him so that his wife could have some rest. Instead, he pursed his lips, clicking the remote again. It kind of sounded like one of those dog clickers used to train--expect a projected image came out rather than a dog treat. Next was 444. Funny kid. Word was, the GBC could wipe memories. But Sean wondered, why couldn't they wipe accents? Same went for Seventeen. Strange things.

    "444, your mission is located in New York. Your targets being Hou and Jacob Price. Married 9 years with three kids--Leonard, Naomi, and Nicholas. Leonard is 15 and a product from Jacob Price's first marriage, Naomi and Nicholas being twins and 6 years old. The Client wants both of them dead. They live in a heavily guarded penthouse, and your client even went as far as to find you a way in." Sean spoke dryly, flipping through the red file, until he got to the back page where and ID was stickied. "You're going to be Michael Evans, babysitter extraordinaire." The sarcasm dripped from his words as he threw the ID at the agent.

    "The catch is, you've gotta kill the new baby sitter before they get to the Penthouse. Lorraine Black. Anyways, 75k to kill em. Dead line is the 25th. You've got two days buttercup."
    Lastly was Zero.
    "And for you Princess, you're doing a retrieval for The School. They've been doing some recon in search of some new students and found a decent batch. They want you to get the kids. All 20 of them. Then you're going to meet at a rendezvous and hand the kids off, understood?" Sean flipped through the slideshow of the kids, the mission itself not needing much explanation. "They're all spattered across Virginia, Maryland and New Jersey. 140k. You have a week and two days to bring them back to the Rendezvous site."

    "The GBC also told me to mention, that if any of you freaks finish your missions early, you are to assist zero in the collection of the brats. Of course you'll be paid, but you aren't to follow him to the rendezvous site." Sean shrugged. Orders were orders. He noted with mild irritation that he would have to bring 01 up to date when he returned from his ongoing mission.

    "Questions, Concerns?" Sean asked as he turned off the projector with a final click of the remote, closing the red file and sitting on the bench.

  3. Agent 4
    Agent 4 flicked idly through the contents of the manila folder that Sean had handed to him, apparently ignoring the handler's presentation. When Sean came to his mission, he briefly raised his eyes to watch the slides on the wall, but his eyes returned to the folio without any other acknowledgement as soon as Sean had moved onto 444.

    "Questions, Concerns?" Sean asked with his final click of the remote. Agent 4 looked up from the paperwork and stared silently at the handler for a long moment, then closed the folder and stood, his chair's metal legs ringing with the sound of the movement like nails on a chalkboard.

    "Next time let's do this on the other side of town." His voice was low and had a raw, raspy edge to it, and the look in his eye made it clear that he was angry about today's meeting place. Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel and walked out, letting the storage room door slam behind him. He walked up to the counter of the coffee shop where the barista had just placed a take-away coffee cup. As he took hold of the steaming cup he left a $10 bill in its place and nodded to the coffee shop owner. Agent 4 sipped at the coffee as he unclicked the latch on the front door, pushing it open with his hip and he walked out into the hot summer's day.

    The GBC agent walked confidently but not too quickly a block west of the coffee shop before turning north along a side-street. Another block and a half and he entered a three-story brick building and took the flight of stairs to the top level. His key fitted silently into the lock of a door that read "3C", and he opened the door to his one-room apartment. Agent 4 threw his keys on the bench and grabbed his laptop on his way past before sitting at the table on the single, wooden chair. His browser opened up to Google, where he typed "Jean Song" and he set about researching his next assignment.
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  4. Jean Song

    Location: Boston, Massachusetts. Time: 9:19 am.

    Jean considered himself a right genius. The Port of Boston would be busy the day of his shipment, which meant that he and his boys would blend right in. Lots of people broad daylight, nothing would be able to sour this. Not even his big sister--especially not her. Jean sat on the Water bed, three blonde haired women strewn across it and he couldn't remember how they got there. Must've been a wild night. Cocaine lines were lined on the coffee table in the center of the room, more blondes passed out on the mattresses on the floor, a few on the couch. Jean grabbed his robe and pulled it on, tying it around his waist, snorting a line as a pick-me up for this morning. He turned on the news and pulled out his PDA, looking to see what he had scheduled for today--aside from partying.

    "Vas t'en de mon chemin," Get out of my way Jean hisses as he slapped the blonde on her thigh, waking her up and shoving her half naked body out of the way so he could sit down on the couch. Thin gold chains were around Jean's neck, a knife on his hip tucked into the waistband of his boxers. Outside the house the guards were standing by, alert as always. He had arms deal to make today, more like a presentation. Sit down with a few gentlemen, show them what he was selling, make a few deals and the like. But that wasn't until later on. After flipping a bit through his PDA, Jean stood and dressed himself in yesterday's clothing, snapping at the blonde women until they rolled over and out of his path. He exited that room and told the guards outside to clear it of the women. He was going to get breakfast, he wanted to talk to his sister. He needed to know more about this shipment coming in.

  5. [​IMG]
    'Next time let's do this on the other side of town', Sean mouthed mockingly behind 4's back, making a face and shaking his head side to side as he did so. The door slammed shut and just before it did, Sean yelled behind after him. "Have a good day at school, Princess!" No, he didn't have a death wish, but he did enjoy antagonizing these freaks. Sean snorted and packed up the briefcase, leaving shortly behind 4. If the others had questions they knew his number--hell, they probably knew his address, his social, and what size shoe he wore. Not that he cared. But still, he knew reaching him wouldn't be a problem. He left the coffee shop, and headed back down the sidewalk towards his car.

    It was finally time to go home.

    Location: Baltimore County, Sean's home.

    Time: 9:01 am.

    First day of school, Christ, time was flying. It was baby Christie's very first day of Kindergarten so that meant his wife was stuffing her backpack full of unnecessary items, leaving Sean to wonder if she was going to give his 5 year old daughter a can of pepper spray next. He looked on with a small smile,Christie's hair was in little pony tails and such, smiling so hard that he wondered if her cheeks were going to fall off. "Okay, Christina, baby. Daddy is going to take you to school because mommy has to get to work, alright? C'mere, give me a hug and a kiss. Have a great first day! Don't talk to strangers, listen to your teachers and eat all the carrots in your lunch. I'll be there to pick you up." Christina was give a big hug and a wet kiss on her fat cheek, bouncing her head. "Okay, mommy."

    "C'mon girl," Sean hummed and offered his hand for Christie to take. She did and Sean kissed his wife goodbye, and carried Christie's lunch box that had some unrecognizable character on it. They were in the car and heading to the elementary school, Christina non-stop trying to convince him that having Ice cream sandwiches for breakfast was perfectly healthy.

    Honestly, he was only half listening.

    Out the car and into the school they went, Christina squeezing his hand tighter and tighter the further they walked inside. Sean glanced at her face and sighed, standing outside the classroom with her. "Come on baby girl, don't be like that. You'll be fine." Sean poked her in her ribs she grinned but the expression didn't last long. "You're gonna leave me here?" She asked in a rather loud whisper and pursed her lips. "Just for a bit, then mom is coming to get you. Your a big girl, Christina. I already told you what to do if someone picks on you." Sean hummed as he straightened her shirt of the imaginary wrinkles.

    "Punch em in the nose,"

    "Till what?"

    "Till it bleeds or they're cryin'."

    "That's my girl. Now go have fun, your teacher looks nice."

    With that, Christie walked more confidently into the classroom, brightening when she saw her friends from pre-school.

    Sean went to work from there, yup, she was going to be just fine.

    • 3 . 5 6__P M
      M O N D A Y

      There was something strange in the air.

      Agent 01 could feel it. Something was changing, something big and something hard. He didn't know what it was and the very thought of not knowing made him bristle. But such thoughts weren't appropriate now, he thought as he settled the bipod on the edge of the roof top, there were bigger things he needed to focus on. One eye shut and the other wide open, he peered into his scope and moved the barrel slightly, aiming it.

      "Target acquired," he said outloud to no one in particular, his words only a empty echo in the air. His finger moved onto the trigger and was halfway through pulling it when another figure moved. The thing was, Agent 01 was far, far, far from his target. His target, Matthew McColoson, was standing by the large window of his apartment, doing his business. He had no idea that Agent 01 was ready to pull the trigger and shoot the bullet through his balding head. But something stopped him. Maybe it was that thing in the air or maybe it was the little girl that so happily walked into the apartment, which he saw ever so clearly in his top-of-the-line sniper rifle, and hugged her daddy. The little girl was small, probably no more than five years old with pretty little blonde pigtails and a toothy grin. It was, however, only a moments' worth of hesitation because a half a second later, the man was on the ground and the little girl was screaming. For a moment, Agent 01 remained still, silently assessing the situation. The little girl, he thought, would grow up with a hardened heart and a soft spot for her father. She would eventually unearth the secrets her father had hidden, his secret lab experiments, his drugs, and the little girl would be torn. He knew. He'd seen it before. He'd seen it so many times. Agent 01 didn't know why he was pondering about it now.

      Gathering his belongings, his rifle in his guitar case along with the files and whatnot, his daggers tucked into his pants, Agent 01 quietly slipped away unseen. He was usually messy with his pursuits, as much as he hated to admit, but today, Agent 01 had received a severe beating from the authorities for his messy fashion. He'd taken care that this mission was finished neatly and without a mess. Once outside on the street, Agent 01 slipped on the white bowl-cut wig he liked so much and fastened his black leather jacket. Agent 01 ducked his head from the security cameras fastened to the poles and slipped away into a darker alley way, leading into a more run down neighborhood. Here, Agent 01 unlocked the chain holding his motorcycle to the telephone pole and slid onto the seat. His hands on the handles and one foot pushing him off, Agent 01 was very soon zooming away back home. His mission was done and completed. Now it was time for the payment.

      For as long as he'd known, the GBC had been his home. Agent 01 didn't know where he'd been before the GBC or his own name before, but that didn't matter. It really didn't. Agent 01 tried to tell himself that such information about his past was nothing important. He was raised, after all, to know nothing but to obey the GBC's orders like a good little dog. And he did. Agent 01 and a handful of others were one of the better agents. Sure, Agent 01 had more of a history of messy missions (though he completed them each time), but Agent 01 was a valuable sniper and support. That in itself made him swell with pride. He liked being praised, Agent 01 thought. For sure, his handler would praise him for such a good job on today's mission. And he was on time, too. Just on time. In ten minutes, he would arrive at the headquarters and his handler would praise him lavishly.

      Agent 01 parked his motorcycle and adjusted his wig, pushing his bangs in front of his hair in a disheveled fashion as he headed toward the big glass doors. Once inside, Agent 01 headed up the big marble stairs and into the room where their meetings were usually held. Here, he spotted his handler. He looked happy. Agent 01 guessed the man had probably just picked up his kid from school. She was a cute little thing. He wondered if that cute little thing would grow up to take after her father's footsteps. It certainly would be amusing. Licking his lips, Agent 01 cleared his throat, his hands unconsciously searching for something to hold.

      "Payment," he said. Then, he remembered this was an appropriate time to smile. People liked that when the other person smiled. It made them feel at ease. Agent 01 vaguely remembered spending hours standing in front of the mirror perfecting his smile so that he came off as open and friendly. In any case, Agent 01 flashed a sweet smile and then lowered his voice to a softer tone, "The mission has been completed. I'd like my payment now." And like he always did every time, Agent 01 tried to strike a conversation with his handler, Sean Butler. He made his eyes grow wider, as if he were interested, and leaned his body forward slightly. Body language, he thought, was the key to everything. With his voice pitched higher to show interest, he asked, "How's your kid? What was her name - Christie? How is she?" He smiled slightly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Oddly enough, though, Sean never seemed to care much for his chit chat. He was a challenge.

      Though his hands, by then, had found comfort in twirling around a soft eraser between his fingers that had been wandering on Sean's desk.
    #6 Henri, Aug 24, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Aug 24, 2015
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  6. Agent 4
    Location: Boston, Massachusetts. Time: 6:37am

    As the plane touched down on the tarmac at Logan International, Agent 4, sitting in coach next to a rather large businessman with a body odour problem, unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, opening the overhead locker to retrieve his briefcase.

    "Sir," a concerned male flight attendant called from a few rows back. "Sir, please take your seat. The captain hasn't turned off the seatbelt sign." The agent stared hard at the man, but reclaimed his seat impatiently, neglecting to refasten the restraint. The man sitting next to him stared at him for a moment but was ignored, as Agent 4 popped open the case and pulled out the manila folder that his handler had given him two days prior.

    He had spent the last two days hauled up in his apartment, obsessively researching everything he could about his next target, Jean Song, and his sister Marionette. Most of what he found out about the man came from the deep web, where the arms dealer goes by the handle Le Guépard - The Cheetah. Intercepting some of his recent communications, it appeared that the deal was happening on the 28th on his private yacht which was currently moored at Boston Marina. He was expecting delivery from someone with the handle El Futbolista - Spanish for The Footballer. He hadn't managed to find out much about the business partner, not that it mattered much anyway since the two would not be meeting as planned.

    In truth, Agent 4 had spent most of the past two days researching Marionette. A politician residing in Nice in Southern France, she seemed above board and didn't appear to have anything to do with Jean's business dealings. Her profile was very public, and indeed nothing about Marionette appeared in the deep web, as far as he could tell. The fact that she had just given her acceptance speech to the French parliament in Paris overnight meant it was unlikely that Agent 4 would encounter her on this mission, and he had the most unusual feeling about that cold, hard fact. He struggled to place the emotion - disappointment perhaps? Certainly he recognised in her a certain grace and beauty, and the way she delivered that speech was fascinating to him. So bold, but elegant at the same time, how she promised she would bring about prosperity for the people that had elected her. He had listened to her speech four times on the short flight from Baltimore - he was ... inspired? ... by it.

    The Boeing had finally come to a stop, and Agent 4 stood once more and pushed past the passengers three rows in front of him to get to the door first. He tapped his foot impatiently while he waited for the attendant to open the door. "Finally!" he said under his breath as the door opened to Logan Airport, and he pushed past the attendant without waiting for him to make way for the passengers to exit.

    The GBC agent walked at a brisk pace through the airport and out the front doors. He picked up his pace as he took Hotel Drive and Harborside Drive to the Hyatt and entered the lobby fifteen minutes after exiting the plane. As he approached the front desk he noticed a couple being checked out by one of the staff, but another presently waved him over and smiled. Agent 4 did not smile back, but walked up and asked for a room in his low, raspy voice. "I'd like a view of the harbor if that's possible."

    "Of course, Sir," said the clerk, typing away on her computer. "The only harbor view room I have available is a deluxe suite, room 2416, Sir." Her accent was French and he glanced at her name tag which read Antoinette.

    "That will be fine, thank you Antoinette," he said, handing over a Platinum American Express Card. Antoinette presented him with a configured card for his room and pointed him to the elevator. As he entered the lift, he once again opened the file on Jean and read while he waited for it to open again. He walked without looking up from the file to room 2416, and opened the door. Setting the briefcase down on the desk, he opened it and put the folder back neatly, pulled out his hand-held scope and used it to look out the window, searching the yachts below for his target's boat.
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  7. [​IMG]

    Location: FBI HQ
    Time: 3:56PM
    In all honesty, Sean couldn't help the flare of irritation that ignited in him when he heard his daughter's name pass through 01's lips. The surge of protectiveness and instinctive hostility could be likened to a predator coming to close to the prey of it's young--flight being the favorable choice with the only option to fight. Sean's office was large with a decent view of the streets below, two leather chairs in front of his desk for guests and a couch back against the wall with a glass coffee table in front of it. Sean stood and resisted the urge to curl his lip, instead choosing to close the blinds.
    You could never be too sure about who was watching.

    He glanced over 01 again--he was a strange one. Passable for normal, for safe. No, 01 was just as much of a threat as the others, looks and behaviors aside.

    "She's fine." His tone was short and clipped as he sat back down to the computer pulling up a webpage as he did so. He was searching for proof of death, with a target that had been as well known as the one 01 had gone after, it was bound to be in the news--and it was. Brains blown out of his skull and onto his little daughter--poor thing.

    "The money is being wired to your off shore accounts, check them in exactly.." Sean glanced at his watch. "Two minutes." He had never been to handy with a computer, so the wiring process had been fairly simple. Press a few keys, type a few things, click a button here and there.

    "Also, 01. You've been contracted again, the terms of the contract with remain disclosed unless you choose to accept." Sean said in one breath, folding his hands neatly, head slightly tilted. "Do you accept?" After receiving 01's confirmation, Sean proceeded to take out 01's Manila folder.

    Ah, so he was working the same mission with 0. Sean found that strange and unusual. He can't ever recall the GBC enlisting two assassins for the same job... Actually, this felt wrong. Very wrong. Like something was happening just over his head and all he needed to do was look up. How frustrating. He frowned a bit as he glanced over his red file that contained everyone's missions.

    "You're working with 0, the details are in the file. Children. Help 0 retrieve them, don't go with him to the rendezvous spot. Understood?" Sean was frowning at a spot on the wall, the busy sounds of the FBI head quarters was nothing but white noise in his ears. Sean fanned 01 away, his mind slipping to something much deeper. All of these agents, being enlisted at the same time. The targets looked unrelated--or at least that was the way it seemed.

    Sean knew that tonight would be a late one at the office.

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    • 4 . 0 0 PM

      "She's fine."

      Agent 01's smile faltered. Sean was such a hard nut case to crack. All Agent 01 wanted was to get closer to the man. Make him feel more at ease with him. But perhaps it was because he was his handler and knew all about Agents like him that made Sean disinterested in striking up a normal conversation with him. Agent 01 didn't think he was all that bad. He tried to be as 'normal' as possible, blending in with society the best he could. He could make men and women alike swoon over his feet but Sean was immune to his boyish charm.

      "She - "

      "The money is being wired to your off shore accounts, check them in exactly two minutes."

      Agent 01 closed his mouth, jaw tightening, fingers squeezing the eraser. Fine. If that's how Sean wanted to work, that was fine. "Also, 01. You've been contracted again, the terms of the contract with remain disclosed unless you choose to accept. Do you accept?" 01 only gave a curt nod and immediately, he was presented with his new mission. He would be, 01 discovered with mild surprise, working with Agent 0. He remembered with a vague bitter taste in his mouth the last time they'd met. They'd met just a few months ago right in this very office. 01 had thought that 0 looked quite dashing with his cool nature and tattoos curling around his neck, dipping beneath his clothing. The pair had been standing side by side as Sean went over their new mission details. In a matter of few seconds into the meeting, Agent 01 found himself against the wall with a gun pressed beneath his chin. He'd been surprised, of course. Agent 0 had been saying something - something about not touching him. Honestly, Agent 01 thought Agent 0 was being paranoid. He'd never touched him. He was sure he'd remember if he did.

      When Sean finished briefing him about his mission - which seemed easy enough, really - Agent 01 tried for another attempt at being friendly. He put on a smile as he began making his way to the door, holding his hand up into a small wave. "Tell Christie I said hello."

      6 . 00 PM

      Agent 01 arrived just in time. He'd taken it upon himself to call Agent 0 and had discussed a meeting place to determine the best route of recruiting all the children in the most efficient manner.

      The meeting place was an abandoned warehouse. It was just off the road to Dover in Delaware and long since abandoned. Agent 01 stepped into the building, sunlight shining through the broken windows and rooftops, casting a lean shadow across the dusty floors. He checked his clock once and then turned to see that Agent 0 had arrived.

      He remembered to smile.

      Then waved. Pitched his voice higher. Jogged over to Agent 0.

      "Hey!" He paused in front of the man, giving him a once lookover. "You made it."

      He walked over to where two metal chairs sat beneath a cracked window and took a seat. Agent 01 pulled over a dusty little box between the chairs and placed the manila folder containing the information on the children. Once Agent 0 had sat, 01 opened up the folder and quickly flitted through its contents. "You have a plan, Zero?"
  8. [​IMG]
    Location: West Ave, Baltimore City.​
    Time: 5:00PM

    Children. He's been assigned to deal with children--future students of The School. He hoped the GBC knew what they were doing because for once he wasn't sure if he did. Currently, Zero was walking out of a crack house, the stench of cigarette smoke and other drugs clung to his clothing. He had a toddler by the ankle, the child screaming his head off, snot and tears soaking his face, another kid thrown over his shoulder, kicking and crying. Zero pursed his lips as he carried the first to kids to the car he had stolen. He would have to get a bigger one at some point, but for now the sedan would do.

    He needed a smoke.

    Zero tossed the girl that was over his shoulder into the back seat, she looked about 8 or so. He shook the toddler a little to get his attention. "Hey! Keep it up and I'm putting you in the trunk. Stop crying, you should be thankin' me." The brat just screamed louder. The little girl tried opening the door, but the child safety locks were on. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "He's jus' a baby! He don't know what your sayin'!" She shouted. Her hair was wild, skin dirtied and clothing sizes too small.

    This was drawing too much attention. Zero put the boy in the back seat with the girl, driving away from the crack house that was now littered with dead bodies. He had to make peace with these ingrates. If it wasn't obvious by now, Zero was terrible with children. But what was he suppose to do? They were dirty, crying and probably hungry. He didn't know if they were related, by he did know that they had been traded for drugs. The crying only grew louder and Zero was seconds from smothering the both of them in the backseat. Instead he pulled over to the side of the road.

    "I'm not going to hurt you--" he began with a sigh, the girl cutting him off. "You killed all them people!" She hiccuped and rubbed at her eyes, the little toddler, sitting on his knees in the seat. He only had on a diaper and a long sleeved night shirt, skin just as filthy as the girls. He was now crying quietly, finger in his mouth. "I didn't kill you. I'm taking you somewhere special in a week or two--" he struggled over his words, trying to phrase things simply enough for a small child to understand.

    "A School. A nice school, with lots of other kids. But not yet, there are other kids that are going and I have to find them first. Do you understand? The girl still looked terrified, but not as much, the tears slowing a little. "I've never been to school before..." She worried her bottom lip and sniffed again. Zero said nothing in response, pulling off from the side of the road. "Are you hungry?" Both of the Children perked up at the sound of food. According to the file, the girl's name was Melanie and the boy's was Thomas.

    Despite his overall ineptness with Children, Zero felt something akin to ...pity?... for them. They were just kids, they didn't ask to be born, they didn't asked to have shit parents and they certainly didn't ask to live in some shit Crack house in Baltimore City. Zero took the two children to a house he had in Baltimore County, it was brought pre furnished, and he had stocked it with beds. Over the past two days, he's brought food and clothes for the kids.

    The toddler--Thomas, reeked. Zero didn't know how to change a diaper.

    The two kids were set at the large dining room table, Zero going to the cabinets and emptying a box of fruit roll ups onto the table, followed by A box of donuts, Gusher's fruit snacks, A head of cabbage, fruit cups and carrots. He gave them cups of water and the two stared at him for a while. The little girl looked hesitant, as if she was waiting for him to take it all away.

    It made him uncomfortable.

    "Well? Eat!" He snapped and with a squeak from the girl, she was ripping open fruit snacks and a fruit cup, the little boy grabbing one of the big horse carrots and gnawing on it. Zero sat on the granite counter top in the kitchen, looking over the red file to see who was next. Then, his cell phone rang--or at least one of them.

    Time: 6:29PM
    Location: Warehouse.
    01 had called him. Apparently Sean Butler--their handler, had assigned him to his mission. The rat bastard. He brought the brats along, the little boy hobbling along behind them, the girl always stopping to check on the boy, half carrying and half dragging him. So when Zero entered the warehouse, they weren't behind him. "Hi!" 01's voice echoed in the warehouse, only receiving a two fingered wave in response.

    "So do you have a plan?"

    Zero scratched the back of his head, "Yeah I do. A plan and two of the Children already," he cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder. "Melanie?" he barked, walking towards the stair case, brow furrowed. What where they doing? "Down here!" she called in her tiny voice. They were on the landing. With a sigh, Zero bounced down the steps, grabbing them by the back of their shirts and walking back up the steps and into the warehouse. Thomas looked content, his face clean giving that Zero had tried wiping it before they left. The same went for Melanie. He had fruit roll up stuck to his fingers and was currently sucking his entire hand to get it off. Melanie squirmed in his grasp, wearing a new t-shirt that was three sizes two big, and a pair of shorts that surprising fit. The little boy only had on a pair of socks and the girl was wearing Zero's Adidas slippers.
    Thomas still reeked of a only god knows how old, dirty diaper. The both of them were still terribly filthy--except for their faces, and Mealnie's curls were all over her head.

    "Two down, Sixteen more to go." He said with a sigh. He dropped Melanie onto her feet, and she reached her grubby hand into his pocket. "Hey! Do you have any more fruit snacks?" She was extremely loud and before Zero could grab her she was examining the pack of smokes and the lighter she had pulled out. "What's this?" Zero sat Thomas down on the floor, the toddler deciding to crawl away towards the window. "Those, are mine. Thank you very much." He hissed at her, and she ran after Thomas.

    "I lied. Don't have a real plan. So far I just find the kids, kill whomever has them, take the kids, and keep them on my property in the county." Zero said with a shrug. He had to keep these kids alive, and healthy. It was harder than he thought it was going to be. He looked up at them, taking off in a half sprint to cross the warehouse. "Don't put that in your mouth, Thomas. Melanie, what are you chewing?" He took the nail from Thomas and Melanie continued to chew, lips wet with spit.

    "Gum." She answered.

    "Gum? From where?"

    "I found it stuck to the bottom of that chair over there."

  9. [​IMG]


    Location: Samara, Russia
    Time: 7:26 AM

    Agent 17 was standing in her hotel room, the classic looking room. It had two beds, a bathroom and a closet nothing more. She was watching out her window with her binoculars as she saw her target walk into their house. It was a mother of two kids, and a loving wife. 17 hated these missions where she would leave a child an orphan, it was horrible to her although she never thought about it too long. Those feelings never really came into mind when on a mission the only thing that she thought about was her target. Sometimes though her love for kids would slip in and cause for hesitation, which almost messed up her mission once. After getting the scar on her hand she never hesitates, 17 nodded to herself it was time.

    Although it was time she realized she hadn't gotten dressed appropriately, looking down at herself she was in pajama's and slippers. Laughing she realized that the only reason this wasn't appropriate was because she couldn't hide her throwing knifes or her gun easily. Going into her suitcase she took the throwing knifes and threw them on her bed, and then set her revolver next to it. Digging a little more she pulled out a skirt, a white shirt, a leather jacket, and her long brown boots. They were perfect for hiding her revolver and because she wore them so much she had sewed in a pocket for it.

    17 removed her dress quickly and threw the heels into the suitcase, she knew she was going back to America as soon as this mission was done and wanted to get home fast. Pulling on the blue skirt she placed her throwing knives on her thigh, just hiding from view of the public. 17 was throwing on the leather jacket as she put the revolver in the waist of her skirt and threw the shirt over it. Then she looked at herself in the mirror, a girl's greatest flaw, vanity. Once her hair was fixed she left the hotel and took the elevator down. Imagining what life would be like if she had her own little boy, when suddenly the ding of the elevator brought her back to reality.

    It had taken her a day to get her research together and flying there and finding a hotel and everything took another day. Today was her last day to kill this target if she didn't she wouldn't get the money and time was ticking. Approaching the lobby doors the bellman spoke to her,
    "Where is such a beauty going." The bellman added a wink as 17 looked over at him, he had broken Russian and knew he moved from America.
    "To go kill someone" She said with a flip of her hair as the bellman laughed thinking it was a joke.

    17 made it to the house, as she suspected there were guards at the back door. Walking up to them they had their guns pointed at her and tried talking Russian to their ear pieces, but 17 thought ahead since she saw security and had a small device that messed with their ear pieces making them talk to no one. "Excuse me, I saw you fine gentlemen before and was wondering if you" Eva spoke to them as she flung her hand at the one guard, her knife landed precisely in his throat as she ducked and kicked the other guard down before doing the same throw of a knife at him. It was always handy to carry knives in your sleeves.

    17 picked the knives up and washed them off in the gardens water before putting them back on her wrist. Stopping by the dead bodies she took their ear piece and turned off the device so she could listen in to the conversation the guards were talking about. Entering the home there was no talk from guards as she readied a knife. Her heels were making the clicking sound as she heard a female voice. "Hello? Who's there why did the guards not stop you" The familiar click of heels started walking across the floors as she herd sneakers running fast behind her. Knowing it must be the kids she didn't hesitate as she threw the knife at the corner just as she saw in the reflection of a mirror that the women would turn. It landed straight in her throat. The women grasped her throat as she pressed the ear piece. The child screamed as they turned the corner and 17 heard it in the ear piece she stole. Cursing she knew they were on their way.

    17 walked out through the backdoor before she saw two guards, coming on both sides of her. Taking a knife from her holster on her thigh she threw it but despite expertise in the area, everyone misses. Cursing she threw the other one landing in the one guards throat. Jumping down she rolled down the hill, before she sat on her knee and pulled out her revolver, turning up she shot the guard who was chasing her.


    Location: Plane
    Time: 7:40 PM

    It was a successful mission and she was on her way back home. The memory of the child's scream was still haunting her as it reminded her of something but she couldn't place her finger on what exactly. The plane ride was bothersome to her even though she was sitting in 1st class the seats just felt uncomfortable. Gulping down some alcohol she looked at the flight duration. Her plane was landing soon as she looked at the all too familiar airport.
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  10. Jean Song
    ] This, by all means, was Jean's favorite part of his job. His Boat was bigger than most homes, the women accompanying him to this event were more beautiful than the average woman, his suit the best of the best. The yacht was anchored in the harbor for now, guests boarding and the like. Business would be conducted under the guise of a party, the festivities on the lower levels and the dealings on the upper. Jean sat on the upper level, champagne in his hand as he laid out the weapons for sale. Automatic weapons, grenades, bombs, knives, hand guns--he sold it all. Another blonde--one who name he didn't know the name of, actually he couldn't ever remember any of their names, was sitting on the sofa in a brilliant dress, toying with the small hand gun Jean had laid out on the table. The Frenchman's face darkened some, snatching the weapon from the wench and snarling.

    "Tu es fou , ne pas jouer avec cela!" 'You fool, don't play with that!' Jean reprimanded her as if she was a simple child, voice unnervingly soft. The woman braced herself for a hit, eyes squeezed shut and breath caught in her lungs. "Pardon..." 'Sorry...' She muttered, only to have Jean sit down next to her, his glass of champagne resting on the table with the guns. "Come," Jean sniffed in English, beckoning her closer. "Let me show," the blonde curiously inched a bit closer to get a look at the gun in his hands. He showed her where the bullets went, how to take off the safety and the way to aim it, she happily egged him along--like she was paid to. Jean then grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her closer and tucking the gun beneath her chin. Immediately she began to scream and struggle, clawing at his hands. He pulled the trigger with a laugh the spray of blood and brain matter just out of his reach, a bit of it getting on his chin.

    Jean was laughing when a server came running, laughing as he stuffed his face with the crackers and cheeses on the severing tray, leaving the server to clean up the mess. Laughing, laughing, laughing, everything was always a joke. Life was a game and he was the halftime show, a entertaining joke.

    Marionette Song

    Marionette walked quietly through the halls of the hotel, not stopping until she reached room 2416. This was the upper most floor, composed of large and grand suites. All of them having been brought out by the guests attending her dear baby brother's Yacht Party. Save for two rooms that is. One room had been booked by herself and the other? Well, she had an idea. Marionette was far more clever than anyone ever gave her for--which was surprising in itself given that she was a politician. Being cunning liar was practically in her blood. She didn't quite know what was in Jean's. The brunette mused that acting on impulsive would have unsavory consequences if executed incorrectly, hence the reason she was accompanied by two guards. Well, her driver and a close friend. Benjamin and Patrick were the closest ones to her and had thus dropped everything they were doing to accompany her to America. She was on business as far as her French Government was concerned, nothing more and nothing less.

    Benjamin reached for the gun on his hip, pipe trapped between two hard pressed lips.

    "Tsk," she tutted placing her hand on top of Benjamin's own to halt the movement. The pencil skirt she wore had pockets and she pulled a Room card from one of them--the woman at the front desk, had been of French origin herself and when spoken to in her own native tongue, she was much more complacent in handing over a second room key. She had claimed to be the occupant's wife, all smiles and crinkled eyes and the woman simply handed it over. Simple. Easy. Hell, she wasn't even recognized. Perhaps she wasn't following the French News too closely. Chanel perfume clung to her skin, faint but present. Smoke saturated her clothing--Benjamin was a heavy pipe smoker and said smoke stained the inside of the car that he drove her around in. No matter the reason for her lack of recognition, the point was Marionette was entering the the hotel room.

    She then came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

    How exciting.

    She sharply angled woman simply smiled, walking over to the small bar and pouring herself a scotch--compliments of the hotel. Marionette sat down in a chair in the corner of the room, glass clutched in her hand, her amused smile never leaving her lips.

    "Donc tendue," So tense. Marionette said in a breathy laugh as she sipped the scotch her two companions waiting by the door, one outside and one in.

    "Ne suis-je pas le droit de voir ce que je vais payer pour?" Are I not allowed to see what I'm paying for? Marionette arched a single brow in question, rolling up the sleeves of her white collared dress shirt. Marionette laughed softly into her glass, eyes dancing over the rim. "Continue, je ne vais pas vous distraire." Continue, I won't distract you. Marionette shooed the assassin, her hired gun. She's always wanted to see one in action before...
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  11. [​IMG]

    Baltimore City → Albany, New York.

    6:27 PM.

    "My client is a fuckin' saviour."

    Agent 444 decided to research his mission in the cab to New York, seeing as though the meeting in Baltimore City caused him precious hours in his mission. Two days can go fuck itself and to the right. The trip from Baltimore to New York is a three hour drive, so it should be enough time to catch up with that babysitter. Does he really have to kill her? What if she's cute?
    Nah, not even interested.

    444 grabbed the laptop out of his bag and began to research the people he was supposed to be murdering. Unfortunately, he already knew all of this information when it was given to him at the meeting. Feeling a bit frustrated 444 slammed the top of his laptop shut.
    The taxi driver looked at him from the rear view mirror. The driver was a woman, how peculiar, you don't see a female driver every century.
    444 just winked and wiggled his eyebrows. He wasn't flirting, he was just playing along. Kind of giving the driver a message like, "Yeah, I know you saw that baby cakes. I know. I'm ferocious. Also, keep your eyes on the road you fuck."

    As though she read his mind, the driver just rolled her eyes and continued to drive down 444's destination.

    There was one thing he learned from his research, so it wasn't all that wasted. The babysitter, Lorraine Black, was also a "babysitter extraordinaire" and currently buying things for the children.
    And the fuckin' taxi was stuck in traffic are you fuckin'---

    "Sorry sir, you're going to be a little late to.. Wherever you're going."

    "How late we talkin' here?"

    "About... A couple hours late."

    "Well fuck me five ways from Sunday."

    The woman laughed at his remark. What on Earth? Did she think he was joking? There was a serious matter goin' on over here. The fuck woman. Run into cars or whatever. 444 huffed from the news and just waited in the taxi.
    She's lucky he didn't kill her.

    After a few small conversations and long ass hours, 444 arrived at his destination. A hotel, right near the residence of Hou and Jacob Price. What? A manly man's gotta take all of his manly shit down at a manly hotel. Fuck off. 444 stepped out of the car and headed over to the driver side's window. The driver rolled it down and 444 smiled.
    "Told ya I wasn't gonna kill nobody!"

    Ms. McGiggles laughed again. Such a cutie. 444 walked away from the taxi and entered the luxurious hotel. He checked in, walked into his room, and bellyflopped into bed. He didn't realize he was going to fall asleep in an instant and was going to waste the day away. Leaving him a mere few hours to complete his mission.
    1 sheep, 2 sheep, red sheep, fuck sheep.

    The sound of his phone ringing from a social media notification woke 444 up with a jolt.
    "The fuck?... Hnng.. What time is i--- OOOOOOOOOOOOH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK FUCKIN' SHIT. Are you kiddin' me?!" 444 was extremely late. He missed Lorraine, which meant that she already took care of the kids for one day. No matter, the Prices were going to be out sooner or later.
    He hoped. 444 rushed to change into a more "Hello children! I am a fucking babysitter! FALL FOR MY DISGUISE!" kind of look. Once he was done, he walked out the door and into the streets of New York, hurriedly rushing for a taxi with a stress stick in his mouth, inhaling and exhaling the smoke of death.


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  12. Agent 4
    Location: Hyatt Boston Harbor, Massachusetts Time: 11:45am

    It hadn't taken long to locate Jean Song's yacht - it was the biggest boat in the marina. Agent 4 had been watching Jean's movements for almost two days now and he had come to know his routine well. Party all night, crash around 7 am, up again around midday, pour a long vodka soda and start all over again. A number of people had come and gone from the yacht over that time, and Agent 4 had photographed and fastidiously documented them all, but none of them stood out as a candidate for El Futbolista.

    The GBC agent was watching the yacht from the window through his hand-held scope and sipping a freshly-made cup of coffee when he heard the door to his room click. Certain that he had put the Do Not Disturb sign out, he immediately assumed the worst, and took out his pistol from his shoulder holster as he ducked behind the door. As the woman entered, Agent 4 leaped out behind her and pointed the pistol directly at her head.

    "Donc tendue," she said calmly, looking directly into Agent 4's dark blue eyes without any sign of fear, and he was surprised to realise that it was Marionette. She continued talking as she entered the room, and he kept his gun on her as she helped herself to the bar. Agent 4's heart skipped a beat as he looked upon her beautiful face, and her voice had a melodic and rhythmic quality to it, like music, and the agent felt hypnotised by her presence. It took him a few moments to realise that she was not alone, so he lowered his pistol slightly in an effort to appear less intimidating.

    "Ce que le baiser faites-vous ici?" "What the fuck are you doing here?" he whispered in a barely audible but menacing tone, and he stared at the woman for a long moment.

    Then he smelled it. Stale smoke on leather, but not coming from the woman - she was too far away. Agent 4 turned to eyeball the man standing not a few feet from him by the door, and he could feel the blood rushing to his head.

    "Quoi?" asked the man as the agent took a step towards him. Without thinking he slammed the butt of his pistol into the man's left temple, knocking him to the ground. Enraged, he kicked the man hard in the chest, and Marionette began screaming at him in French to stop, but the agent seemed oblivious. The door opened once more, and a second, larger man entered the room and pushed the agent back with his hands. Agent 4 raised his weapon and aimed it at the new intruder.

    "Donnez-moi une bonne raison pourquoi je ne devrais pas vous tuer tous, ici et maintenant?" "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you all, right here and now?" the agent demanded, looking from the politician at the bar to the two men by the door.
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  13. Marionette Song

    Location: Four's hotel room.
    Time: 11:45am

    The agent reacted like a wild animal that had been backed into a corner.

    This was all so exciting, invigorating, it got her blood pumping and her heart racing. Marionette sipped her scotch, glancing at Benjamin. He'd be alright, a small head injury, nothing too serious. "Donnez-moi une bonne raison pourquoi je ne devrais pas vous tuer tous, ici et maintenant?" Marionette decided to remain standing, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Eh bien, je laisse tomber mon verre." Well, I'd drop my drink. She breathed, swirling the glass and the ice in it. Two cubes, just enough not to water it down. Patrick and Benjamin looked at her wildly, their lives in her hands. "Et sur une note plus grave , vous ne serez pas payé." And on a more serious note, you'd never get paid. Marionette hummed sitting down the glass and into the chair. "I've hired you to kill my brother, Mr. Four. The shipment date has been moved up to tomorrow evening and he cannot get his hands on the package." Her English was thick with a french accent, the words flowing together, sharp sounding and venomous.

    "Do you understand the seriousness of the situation? My brother is receiving information not more drugs or weapons. This information is dangerous, a danger to you and I and everyone else whose dirtied their hands with the GBC. Understand?" She chopped off the ends and beginnings of the English words, talking quickly yet harshly. What she wouldn't reveal was that she was planning to run for Minister of France, this coming election year. Marionette had been working with the GBC, discussing on how to make the organization global. This project was big, very big. Hence the reason the organization was having the best of the best--

    "Kill him, Mr. Four. If you fail," Her voice took a dangerous edge as she closed in on Four who looked momentarily frozen, eyes on Benjamin. Her words venomous but laced with something sweet. She saw the chance to snatch the gun from his hands--mind you, a feat in it self. Trained killers. She tutted, hand gun held out of Four's reach. She had backed him against the wall, close enough to kiss him, close enough to bite, close enough to smell. There was something...wrong, but Mr. Four came back to reality soon enough. Marionette took apart the hand gun, piece by piece by piece, dropping said pieces into the palm of his hand, as well as the bullets. "--I'll find you, then personally take care of your...retirement." Marionette smiled a brilliant smile and turned to leave. Throwing back the scotch in a gulp, she left out of the hotel room in three long strides, her heels leaving indentations in the carpet.

    Hitmen didn't retire. No, they killed until they were deemed useless by the GBC. Many of them were then taken out by younger assassins, others, the more intelligent ones, fled, and never looked back.

    The door slammed shut and they were gone.

  14. A n a t o l y > V s e v o l o d

    "They killed her..."


    Location: Sibera, Russia.
    Time: 7:23PM

    Anatoly has always been a skeptic--about everything, he didn't trust his government, he didn't trust the news, and he didn't trust the nutrition labels. He didn't believe Evette. His own wife, when she came to him about writing that piece--about the secret assassins. He couldn't, he wouldn't but he should have. His precious Eve. Hiccuping sobs resounded in the privacy of his bedroom, her pillow pressed against his face. How was he to explain this to his children, to little Viktor? To Izana? The funeral had been this morning, Izana wouldn't cry, she hadn't cried since he told her. He'd have to speak to her again, tonight. He had to make sure she was alright--he was all they had left now.

    But Viktor, he wouldn't stop crying. His mother was gone and that's all he could comprehend. He had screamed and cried during the funeral, demanding his mother repeatedly. No one silenced him, no one stopped him. Everyone wanted her back. Even the owners of L corp, the publishing company that Eve was going to submit the article to, came. It was short and sad, and he needed a drink. Rather that getting shit wasted, Anatoly stood and sniffed, going through Eve's desk, careful not to disturb it too much. He found the half written piece about the American organization of Hit men and began to read. He couldn't make sense of it, but he assumed the gist was that the Americans were hiding something. Anatoly recalled the interview Eve had set up, with some woman. A teacher, but the woman wouldn't name the School she taught for.

    How confusing.

    Anatoly placed the half written article on the desk and left out the bedroom to check on his children. His eyes were red rimmed but dry as he entered his daughter's dark room. Izana was laying on her side and staring out her window, her stuffed animals on the floor and the dress she wore to the funeral was thrown over the end of her bed. "Izana," he began quietly and sat on the edge, mouth open but no words came out. What was he supposed to say? The 10 year old sat up, crawling across the bed to sit in his lap, wiggling until her head was tucked under his chin.

    "Mama--" she whispered, voice steady. "She's never coming back?"



    "You saw, Izana. You saw her body. She's dead." Harsh, but how else was he suppose to say it.

    "Some one killed mama,"


    She cut him off and looked up at him. "I saw who killed her, I did. She had long hair and she was pale, tall." Izana began and tears started to roll down her face. "She killed mama and everyone--my uncles,"


    "I saw her papa! And I'm going to hurt her! I-I'm going to do what she did to mama and she'll never hurt anyone again!" She screamed and pushed off his lap, standing on the bed and pointing her little finger at him. "I'm going to burn her papa, burn her so she can feel what I feel." Her voice had become a whine, a broken sound that made his heart bleed.

    He should have rebuked her, told her that what she had said was wrong but Anatoly simply looked at her. He sympathized, he understood, and he shared the same passion. He wanted revenge, and he was going to get it. "Papa? Can I sleep with you?" She had balled up on his lap again, face in his chest, voice muffled. He wrapped her arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "Of course." Izana sniffled and scrubbed at her puffy eyes, "Viktor too?" he nodded and picked her up, her bony legs wrapping around his waist.

    "Yes, Viktor too."


    Location: Sean's home.
    Time: 7:53pm

    After getting word of the completed mission, Sean wired Seventeen her money. No contact, no face to face. Just a text and that was the way he liked it. He gave her new orders, to assist Zero. Do what he says, complete the mission in a timely fashion--the same old, don't follow him to the rendezvous site. Things were moving along, he had good things to report back to his superiors, all was well. For now. Sean was home, with his wife and kids, curled up on the couch with them watching some movie. He wasn't paying attention, actually he was falling asleep, jerking his head up when Christie shouted his name. "Daddy, don't fall asleep again, you promised you'd watch frozen with me?"

    Ah right.

    "I'm not sleep baby girl, I swear."

    "Mhmmm," His wife hummed with a slight smile on her lips. "Sure you aren't."

    The movie was paused and four eyes were on him. "Daddy, don't you know that frozen is the best movie ever?"

    "Yeah, 'Daddy', it's like, the best movie ever." His wife mocked, making a face at him while her back was turned to Christie, the mocking was lost on her.

    "See! Mommy understands."

    "Yea, that's cause mommy is the best. I'm gonna go get more snacks, don't press play with out me. Then it's bed time Christie."

  15. The Price Family
    Jacob was in the kitchen with Leonard, the two helping fix everyone's plate while Hou sat in the dining room, wrangling the twins and getting them seated at the dinner table. They were at their lake house in Albany, on Raquette Lake. Sure, it was a long way from civilization, but it was great to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city every once in a while. The were leaving tomorrow for home, though. Recently, they had flown out to Russia to attend a funeral--such a sad one, and after that they had taken the kids out on the lake. Honestly, they were uneasy about returning home. Hou and Jacob had discussed it, that woman Eve's murder. She had been writing an article about hitmen--a secret organization of them here in America. They hadn't taken her seriously then when she had proposed to have it publshed, but now, after she had been murdered...well, it only made them think.

    Would they be next? So perhaps staying in the mountains would be the best idea. The was only one way to get to this Island on the lake, and that was by boat. Every boat could be heard, miles away, giving that the sounds bounced off the lake. They would be safe here. The boat landing was 10 minutes away, so if they had to run, they would. Put the kids on the boat, drive to the landing, hop in the car and drive as far and as fast as they could. Hou wouldn't let anything happen to her children or her husband. She'd stay behind if she had to, she would do anything for her family. Anything. The shot guns were all over the house--mounted of course to keep them away from the twins, but The Price's came from a long line of Hunters. Jacob had taught her how to hunt. She'd slit the throat of a moose, the same way she'd slit the throat of someone who was trying to harm her family--effectively and with little emotion.

    Such thoughts had darkened Hou's face, a little hand was pressed to her chin.


    Hou beamed. "NOM NOM NOM," She attacked playfully until the two were screaming with laughter, going after Leonard next, jabbing him in the sides with her thumbs. "Mom," he complained, but she was relentless "C'mon mom I'll drop the food," he had cracked a smile and swatted her hands away once he put the twins plates down. "You can't handle this boy," She playfully put up her fists, more childlike than her own children. "Mom, sit and eat your vegetables."
  16. Agent 4
    Agent 4 was left reeling from the encounter. His mind was spinning in a dizzy haze, he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. It was the first time in all his years at the GBC that a hirer had sought him out while he was on the mission, or at least the first one to find him. Marionette had questioned him as though he had ever failed an assignment, and disarmed him as though it were his first day of training. Who was this woman?

    As Marionette had leaned into him, the agent couldn’t place the familiarity he felt when his nose caught the faint scent of her perfume. He thought she was going to kiss him for a moment, and his heart raced at the possibility, but instead she had turned it into a threat. The sound of the hotel room door slamming behind her had awoken Agent 4 from his daydream, and he now realised that she was gone.

    He felt foolish now, obsessing over her the way he had in the past few days, as though she were something away from all of this death that he saw each day. In all his research into Marionette she had become his beacon of hope that there were still good people in this world, even ones related to criminals such as his current target, but it turned out she was just another killer. Or worse, one who would hire someone to kill her own blood.

    Agent 4 fell to his knees and began to silently sob. He covered his eyes with his hands and crouched in the corner of his hotel room, hopelessly alone, tears streaming down his face as all the pain of the last 30 years working for the GBC came flooding back to his mind all at once. On and on he cried as he remembered every single victim, recalling their faces in strictly chronological order. Death does not discriminate, and neither does the GBC, so long as you can afford their services, that is. Over the years Agent 4 had killed people of all races and religions; young and old; male, female and transgender; hetero, gay and bi; rich and poor; famous and mundane. The list was long and without bias.

    After what seemed an eternity, Agent 4 finally recovered his senses. His steely resolve returning as he got to his feet and he walked back over to the window, resuming his post to look out at the yacht below. He could see blood on one of the windows, and a man attempting to scrub it clean. Jean was standing next to the man, laughing. What had the politician distracted him from seeing?

    The GBC agent decided on his course of action in a matter of a few minutes, which was very unlike him. He immediately began packing his belongings and wiping down the room, a task he had performed so many times before it was now as natural as breathing to him. Satisfied, he walked out the door of his room to the elevator and descended to the lobby. He approached Antoinette, the woman who had checked him in earlier that week, at the front desk.

    “There’s been a change of plans, I need to check out a day early,” he said to the clerk, attempting to appear in a hurry.

    “Oh I certainly hope everything is ok, Sir.” Her French accent was thick, and she smiled at him in a friendly manner. “Did you enjoy your stay with us this time?”

    “Yes, it was fine, thank you Antoinette. I have been called away on an urgent business meeting.” The agent rifled through his coat pocket until he found his cell, and took it out as though about to make a call.

    “Will your wife be joining you?” asked the clerk, looking around for someone. The agent looked up from his cell as a flicker of surprise flashed across his face, but he was quick to recover.

    “No, she left earlier this morning.” Agent 4 watched her closely as he spoke, attempting to gauge her reaction to his words, but she just smiled and continued as though everything was normal.

    “Very good, Sir. Thank you for choosing to stay with us at the Hyatt. Can I ask the concierge to organise a cab for you?” she asked.

    “That won’t be necessary, thanks.”

    Agent 4 walked briskly out of the hotel lobby and out onto Harborside Drive. His pace increased as he found Hotel Drive which led him back to Logan International Airport. As he entered the building he checked the boards for flights. The next flight to board was United Airlines to Santa Fe, New Mexico via Denver, Colorado. He ran through the airport to the United counter and bought a ticket with cash, looking around to check that he hadn’t been followed.
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  17. Marionette Song
    Location: Outside Airport Terminal

    Time: 9:04 PM

    She really didn't feel like killing anyone this evening.

    Honestly, she was ready to go home, take a nice bubble bath, finish up some paper work and then head to bed. Yes. That sounded ideal. But, if Four forced her hand, she'd have to fit 'dismembering' and 'scattering a body' into her evening schedule as well. No thank you. Marionette sat in the SUV that stunk of tobacco smoke and her Chanel perfume, tiredly rubbing her eyes. She had sent her men after the four. They were posing as airport security and by now they probably had a gun in Four's ribs and were dragging him out the back. Marionette sighed and rolled her shoulders until her joints popped. Then the SUV door was being yanked open, and Four was being stuffed inside, his hands cuffed to the ceiling. The door was slammed shut, Four's bag was thrown in the trunk and his passport and ticket were handed to her, the SUV speeding off and away from the terminal.

    "Mr. Four," Marionette sighed and leaned her head back, her eyes fluttering shut.

    "I warned you, oui?" Her lip was curled to no doubt spit more venom, but instead she sighed, lolling her head to the side to look at the older man. "Why must you be so difficult? Bad men deserve to die, Mr. Four. You've killed better men, for less. S'il vous plaît," she needed a nap. "Tell me why your being so petulant?" Marionette yawned and stretched a little before settling back into the plush leather seat. She hummed for a bit, filling the silence of the car with a pointless tune, before turning to the agent.

    "Perhaps, we started off on the wrong foot. Salut. Marionette Song, future Minister of France. How do you do?" She tried, arching a brow as she did so before erupting into a laugh. "No?" Her lips unzipped a smile around white teeth, her eyes lidded with exhaustion. Gosh, she was sleepy. They might have to continue the interrogation in the morning, when she would be somewhat well rested. She reached over, easily pulling off the black cap the assassin wore, she wanted a good look at his face.

  18. Agent 4
    Freedom. He had been so close.

    Agent 4 was three people from the front of the line of passengers boarding the flight to New Mexico when he had felt the gun in the back of his ribs.

    "Monsieur Four? Tutt, tutt Monsieur Four." The man’s voice had a heavy French accent, and the GBC agent could smell the stale pipe tobacco smoke on his clothes. He knew who it was without needing to turn to look at the man addressing him. Marionette’s thug, probably not alone too.

    "Mademoiselle Song will be so disappointed if you get on that flight. She is expecting results for her money, and she really does not like disappointment, Monsieur Four."

    "What do you suggest, then?" whispered the agent without turning around. The two people in front of him had handed in their boarding passes and the flight attendant was holding out her hand for his.

    "I suggest you come with us – quietly." Benjamin ordered abruptly, leaving no room for argument.

    "I’m sorry, I seem to have lost my boarding pass," the agent said to the waiting attendant, despite the fact he was holding it in his hand. Ignoring the woman’s confused look, Agent 4 turned slowly and led Benjamin and Patrick to the airport doors where a black SUV awaited. Patrick opened the rear passenger door and Benjamin roughly shoved the agent inside, where Marionette sat waiting.

    Agent 4 was in a warehouse, he knew that much. He was tied to a chair and Marionette’s thugs had beaten him senseless for what seemed like hours, and he hurt all over but particularly in the ribs. Something might be broken.

    He wasn’t even sure if it was still night time or whether the sun had already come up. They hadn’t asked him any questions and it had almost seemed like fun to Benjamin in particular. The agent hadn’t seen Marionette since they had arrived.

    A loud metallic scraping sound caused Agent 4 to crane his neck to look behind him. Sunlight appeared in an open door as Marionette ducked through the opening, flanked by two more of her goons. Too tired to maintain the pose, Agent 4 turned his eyes back to the floor, and the sound of her heels on the concrete echoed through the wide open space as she approached. As she came into view a few feet in front of him, Marionette nodded curtly to Benjamin and Patrick, and the men stood and walked out the way she had entered.

    "Oh, Mr Four! What have my men done to you?" The look of concern appeared genuine for a moment, until she laughed loudly, the sound ricocheting off the iron walls of the warehouse.

    "OK, Marionette – you win. I’ll kill your damn brother." Agent 4 couldn’t stand being around her a second longer than he needed to be – it was a worse torture than anything Benjamin or Patrick could dish out. Maybe, with luck, she would let him walk out of here, but he knew if she did he would have to finish the job he was employed to do, and time was running out.

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