Post by Gem on Mar 12, 2015 22:35:20 GMT -5
"This mission is not like the others," Agent A explained.
Several dark hoods surrounded me. I preferred not to deny myself of my best asset, my innocent-looking face. It always drew in the unsuspecting stares easier, and allowed me to complete the objectives easier. This time, the black hoods all turned toward me, as if to be the bearers of terrible oncoming news.
I was fourteen years old, barely on my own as a trained assassin for ELC, my second job in the business. Ever since I'd been found scurrying about near the cursed tunnel, I'd been trained to do one simple thing: Eliminate. I never learned their names or why they needed to be taken care of. I never learned what it was I was doing for the company who needed these things taken care of.
I was simply a mercenary, a black shadow in the night, trained for the emotionless art of the flawless hit. Now, the evils of emotions were staring at me in the face; ironically concealed for anonymity. Agent A stepped forward, parting the black cloaks like a sea of stone, and placed his hands on my shoulders. I stepped away, immediately in attack mode, but he calmed me down with the IFF symbol. Only then was it appropriate to trust that he had not been corrupted by the others.
"Codename Gem," Agent A continued, "your mission here is not a hit. Well, it is, but not the type you're used to."
I nodded, not caring what the details were, just that I had to do them. "Your mission is a rescue of a very important client. His life is under threat, and we have reason to believe that a great enemy to our cause is lurking with ill intent. Do you accept?"
I nodded again. Simply a mission, regardless of the reason. Hit the target, clear the body, leave. If I had to babysit a client, that's what cloaks were made for.
"The client may be of personal interest to you," Agent A warned. "Be careful, do not let the identity distract you from the enemy at-large. Neutralize the target before you make any interaction."
I don't know why he expected me to respond this time. I figured he was pretty used to the fact that I wasn't going to speak to him, ever. We didn't have that kind of relationship. My voice was reserved for intimacy and specificity, and I hadn't yet found a reason for either.
Staring down the long, gleaming shaft of the black firing stick, the target bowed up and down, clearly making an aggressive attack on the one they needed rescued. No matter; he'd make a mistake sooner or later. The target's eyes seemed to glow. Eerie, even for this place; but they all fall the same when the lights go out. Finally, I heard the clunk of a hard body hitting the ground, and I pulled the switch.
Within the darkness, the glowing of his eyes continued. Strange, as this made him a ready target in the blackness, so it wasn't exactly a positive adaptation. With one small flip of the wrist, the glowing stopped, and an explosion of brightness seemed to overtake the entire room. After shielding my eyes from the blinding light, I confirmed that the glow had been put out, the target neutralized.
I started to walk away, but I couldn't ignore Agent A's words. That son of a bitch, why would he tack on a fluff part of the mission? The clumped body lay against the wall, a raven-haired female staring in horror near the doorway. The guy was big; it was a surprise he could be so overcome by a target that seemed to be smaller in stature by a pretty wide margin. With a struggle, I turned the body toward me, hoping the friendly was still breathing. His eyes opened, and somehow seemed to recognize me in a second.
"My daughter!"
That was how he'd found me, or rather, how I'd found him.
In what had only been another day at the office for me, it not only changed our entire lives, but likely saved his. Now older, lurking in the shadows, likely due to the horror he experienced before I arrived, he was nonetheless firmly supporting me for this less life-threatening endeavor. The Black Hand probably thought otherwise, but then again, they thought I was a helpless little girl who would soon disappear from the threat of their unbridled masculinity and dominance.
How'd that work out?
It was less than 24 hours after I'd made the the World Champion of PCW submit when he did his usual thing, sneaking up on me when I was least expecting it. While I was expecting another fatherly lecture, this time I was met with a state of blue eyes I hadn't seen since the day he'd found me. It was innocence, purity, and a sense that broken shards of glass had finally begun to mend. I could only hope that my defiance of all sensible manners to give up when the odds were so unfairly stacked would be an inspiration to him to crawl out from the shadows and once again embrace the life he'd been given.
Now it was time to embrace mine.
Standing on the side of the doubted against the mighty and the favored, I would go into battle with a potential ally and a relatively unknown to me former world champion. All I knew was that we had a common enemy, a common goal; break the hand. The Hand that had loomed over all PCW for far too long now had a fracture; it had been proven to not be invincible or immortal. Now it was time to shatter the appendage and return PCW to a healthy, functioning body.
Eira, the one I knew for some reason had my back, was still a mystery to me. After the supposedly outbreak performance I'd had against her, she seemed to maintain a level of interest that I couldn't comprehend. She'd been there when the Hand decided to prove how tough they were by going four-on-one against the "little girl" and she'd proven herself trustworthy, at least for the time being. How far could that trust go? Would she turn on me the second it was able to elevate her own status? Why did they both non-verbally have a problem with my friend guiding the way for me?
Now, the ring stood empty, dusty, awaiting the moment when the chord would strike and competition would officially begin. The fans would part with their currency in order to witness the destruction of the most hated rivals of decency the PCW had known, at least during my year of tenure.
That's right, it had been a year. Mass Destruction previously had seen the meaningless forced conflict of my debut, and had gone no further. It had not been a stepping stone, but merely a way to converge with a new set of faces about which they knew nothing.
How many of those faces remained?
Better question, how many were in the main event?
The five others in the main event had world titles and career accolades about which to boast. While I had been the inaugural Queen of the Underground, many saw my involvement with the Black Hand as embarrassing, as a little girl out of her league running to the main event far too quickly than she deserved. They'd seen me beaten four-on-one, and expected me to disappear forever.
It didn't happen.
The Black Hand had gone out of their way to try to break me. I heard their condescending guffaws, their eyes rolling, and many a shoulder turned in anticipation of whom they feared not for a second would be a worthy enemy.
It didn't happen.
Now, I stood inches from the place where I'd made Billy Sadistic tap out, the man who called me out at Trauma 168 and believed himself superior to me in every way, except possibly child-rearing. Now that his hand had tapped to the mat, what did he think of that helpless little girl? I wonder if he was deluded enough to believe that he hadn't inspired it. He probably saw the onslaught from weeks ago as a privilege, of me being grateful to even be in the same ring as he and his cronies.
It didn't happen.
Now I was going to a mission; a main event mission, codename Mass Destruction. There were three targets who needed to be neutralized for the sake of the common good, and their relationship with the company had long since turned toxic.
The Black Hand would be eliminated.
Several dark hoods surrounded me. I preferred not to deny myself of my best asset, my innocent-looking face. It always drew in the unsuspecting stares easier, and allowed me to complete the objectives easier. This time, the black hoods all turned toward me, as if to be the bearers of terrible oncoming news.
I was fourteen years old, barely on my own as a trained assassin for ELC, my second job in the business. Ever since I'd been found scurrying about near the cursed tunnel, I'd been trained to do one simple thing: Eliminate. I never learned their names or why they needed to be taken care of. I never learned what it was I was doing for the company who needed these things taken care of.
I was simply a mercenary, a black shadow in the night, trained for the emotionless art of the flawless hit. Now, the evils of emotions were staring at me in the face; ironically concealed for anonymity. Agent A stepped forward, parting the black cloaks like a sea of stone, and placed his hands on my shoulders. I stepped away, immediately in attack mode, but he calmed me down with the IFF symbol. Only then was it appropriate to trust that he had not been corrupted by the others.
"Codename Gem," Agent A continued, "your mission here is not a hit. Well, it is, but not the type you're used to."
I nodded, not caring what the details were, just that I had to do them. "Your mission is a rescue of a very important client. His life is under threat, and we have reason to believe that a great enemy to our cause is lurking with ill intent. Do you accept?"
I nodded again. Simply a mission, regardless of the reason. Hit the target, clear the body, leave. If I had to babysit a client, that's what cloaks were made for.
"The client may be of personal interest to you," Agent A warned. "Be careful, do not let the identity distract you from the enemy at-large. Neutralize the target before you make any interaction."
I don't know why he expected me to respond this time. I figured he was pretty used to the fact that I wasn't going to speak to him, ever. We didn't have that kind of relationship. My voice was reserved for intimacy and specificity, and I hadn't yet found a reason for either.
Staring down the long, gleaming shaft of the black firing stick, the target bowed up and down, clearly making an aggressive attack on the one they needed rescued. No matter; he'd make a mistake sooner or later. The target's eyes seemed to glow. Eerie, even for this place; but they all fall the same when the lights go out. Finally, I heard the clunk of a hard body hitting the ground, and I pulled the switch.
Within the darkness, the glowing of his eyes continued. Strange, as this made him a ready target in the blackness, so it wasn't exactly a positive adaptation. With one small flip of the wrist, the glowing stopped, and an explosion of brightness seemed to overtake the entire room. After shielding my eyes from the blinding light, I confirmed that the glow had been put out, the target neutralized.
I started to walk away, but I couldn't ignore Agent A's words. That son of a bitch, why would he tack on a fluff part of the mission? The clumped body lay against the wall, a raven-haired female staring in horror near the doorway. The guy was big; it was a surprise he could be so overcome by a target that seemed to be smaller in stature by a pretty wide margin. With a struggle, I turned the body toward me, hoping the friendly was still breathing. His eyes opened, and somehow seemed to recognize me in a second.
"My daughter!"
That was how he'd found me, or rather, how I'd found him.
In what had only been another day at the office for me, it not only changed our entire lives, but likely saved his. Now older, lurking in the shadows, likely due to the horror he experienced before I arrived, he was nonetheless firmly supporting me for this less life-threatening endeavor. The Black Hand probably thought otherwise, but then again, they thought I was a helpless little girl who would soon disappear from the threat of their unbridled masculinity and dominance.
How'd that work out?
It was less than 24 hours after I'd made the the World Champion of PCW submit when he did his usual thing, sneaking up on me when I was least expecting it. While I was expecting another fatherly lecture, this time I was met with a state of blue eyes I hadn't seen since the day he'd found me. It was innocence, purity, and a sense that broken shards of glass had finally begun to mend. I could only hope that my defiance of all sensible manners to give up when the odds were so unfairly stacked would be an inspiration to him to crawl out from the shadows and once again embrace the life he'd been given.
Now it was time to embrace mine.
Standing on the side of the doubted against the mighty and the favored, I would go into battle with a potential ally and a relatively unknown to me former world champion. All I knew was that we had a common enemy, a common goal; break the hand. The Hand that had loomed over all PCW for far too long now had a fracture; it had been proven to not be invincible or immortal. Now it was time to shatter the appendage and return PCW to a healthy, functioning body.
Eira, the one I knew for some reason had my back, was still a mystery to me. After the supposedly outbreak performance I'd had against her, she seemed to maintain a level of interest that I couldn't comprehend. She'd been there when the Hand decided to prove how tough they were by going four-on-one against the "little girl" and she'd proven herself trustworthy, at least for the time being. How far could that trust go? Would she turn on me the second it was able to elevate her own status? Why did they both non-verbally have a problem with my friend guiding the way for me?
Now, the ring stood empty, dusty, awaiting the moment when the chord would strike and competition would officially begin. The fans would part with their currency in order to witness the destruction of the most hated rivals of decency the PCW had known, at least during my year of tenure.
That's right, it had been a year. Mass Destruction previously had seen the meaningless forced conflict of my debut, and had gone no further. It had not been a stepping stone, but merely a way to converge with a new set of faces about which they knew nothing.
How many of those faces remained?
Better question, how many were in the main event?
The five others in the main event had world titles and career accolades about which to boast. While I had been the inaugural Queen of the Underground, many saw my involvement with the Black Hand as embarrassing, as a little girl out of her league running to the main event far too quickly than she deserved. They'd seen me beaten four-on-one, and expected me to disappear forever.
It didn't happen.
The Black Hand had gone out of their way to try to break me. I heard their condescending guffaws, their eyes rolling, and many a shoulder turned in anticipation of whom they feared not for a second would be a worthy enemy.
It didn't happen.
Now, I stood inches from the place where I'd made Billy Sadistic tap out, the man who called me out at Trauma 168 and believed himself superior to me in every way, except possibly child-rearing. Now that his hand had tapped to the mat, what did he think of that helpless little girl? I wonder if he was deluded enough to believe that he hadn't inspired it. He probably saw the onslaught from weeks ago as a privilege, of me being grateful to even be in the same ring as he and his cronies.
It didn't happen.
Now I was going to a mission; a main event mission, codename Mass Destruction. There were three targets who needed to be neutralized for the sake of the common good, and their relationship with the company had long since turned toxic.
The Black Hand would be eliminated.