NationStates Jolt Archive

A crimson drop fell from her the unfathomable ornate eye and splattered on the cement. Her delicate cheek flattened against the ground, while her body frozen in air. She inhaled sharply and released it slowly. It seemed as if days had passed before, she flexed her wrist and shifted her weight upward. With one fluid movement of her right leg, she pointed her extended foot and it solidly hit the shadowed face and milliseconds later, she had the attacker straddled. Then with her free left hand she reached for her small knife and without hesitation she slide the knife into the attacker’s chest, through the rib cage to pierce the heart. It made a startled sound and then exhaled deeply.

Silence then engulfed her.

When would things change. When would I have a normal life. Can that be even possible.

A shower of clear drops washed over her naked body. Circling around her feet, mixtures of reds and browns. This was normal for her, if you could say that. She softly scrubbed at her bruised body. Several cuts still flowed with her own blood, slowly coagulating, but to be reopened from her cleansing. It was not only her blood at the basin of the tub. Her big toe scratched at the clump of dirt to go down the drain and her whole body sighed.

As the water in the tub slowly began to be clear water. She plugged the drain and filled it with steaming hot water and added antibacterial soap.

This was her ritual. After the kill, she would strip off her soiled clothes, double bagging them and setting them in her biohazadous container to latter be incinerated, and leaving no DNA behind. Then she would wash away the grime or whatever was left of her, mostly their blood or fluids and hers. Then she would soak in the bath tub for an hour, longer if she needed to feel clean. The steps were the same each time, almost like an person with obsessive compulsion disorder. No step was missed or out of place.

She was a professional and no mistakes were allowed in her field. She would not allow it.

She would then just wait til midnight, until she received her next call.

The red digital numbers taunted her. 11:59.

As the numbers changed to 12:00, her phone began to vibrate. She flipped it opened.

“Hello.”

A muffled voice answered, machine-like to hide the sex of the caller, “The Red Room, 10 pm. Mr. Sako Yuoahia. A single red rose.”

She closed the black razor phone. She knew the speaker was finished. Now she could rest until the morning. One last look at the clock.

12:01

Beep beep beep... her hand found the clock and turned off the alarm. She sat up and against the light peach slip she had worn to bed. She flung both legs over the edge of her king size bed. She nestled her feet in two pink slippers. She slowly padded her way to the bathroom. After relieving herself, she brushed her teeth, after spitting out several times. She looked in the mirror.

You don’t look like a killer.

Her reflection smiled.

I know that.

She had an oval face and it rested on her slim neck. Well, her overall body statue was slim and fit. She had a slim and flat stomach, her buttock was firm and lifted upward. Her legs were muscular, but not to intimidate anyone. She looked more like an swim suit model than an athlete. Her oval violet eyes was her most striking feature, they could do many things. And her lips, juicy and could pout at the same time. You didn’t know if she was smiling or if she was teasing, maybe both.

She appeared as a delicate flower, not a killer bee.

She slipped off her nightie and wrapped her body in a bath robe and went to the kitchen for breakfast. It was already prepared. Two eggs and two pieces of wheat bread, next to a glass of skim milk and orange juice.

She left the dirty dishes. Everything would be taken care of, she had other things that were more important. Besides you can pay people to clean and ask no questions. The agency provided for her.

She dressed in some comfortable sweet pants and a simple black tank top. She twisted her long dark chocolate brown hair in a ponytail. She went to her personal computer and opened the new file titled Red Room. In there was all the information needed for her client.

Sako Yuoahia, was son and heir to Ekoa Yuoahia, tycoon of Pye Enterprises. They did many things that don’t need to be mentioned, but the heir was trouble and many members of the council wanted him out. He was secretly running a sweatshop from his father, blind to his son’s evils. The children were abducted and forced to work in conditions normal to those types of shops. It was asked to take him out, the leader, the founder of the shop. It was supposed to look like an accident. She didn’t need any more reason not to take him out.

Dress attire formal, atmosphere very formal. She knew what to do. She knew what to say. It always came to her at the moment, no need to read about personalities.

She showered and dressed for night. A black dress, you know the famous little black dress. Its neckline dipped low and revealed much of her cleavage and her tone stomach. She slipped on some black gloves that went up to her elbows. This would help not to leave fingerprints. She was careful not leave any DNA behind of her. If she needed she cleaned up afterwards. She wore black pumps and carried a small black hand purse. It contained her false, but legal ID, cash, credit cards, and her cell-phone, the agency only having her number.

She applied some makeup, not a lot was needed, just some to emphasize her eyes and cheek-bones. She applied blood red lipstick, it was a must. And she released her hair out of the ponytail and let it cascade down her back, running several fingers through to smooth out her silky strands.

Now is the matter on how you die and make it look like an accident. We will be eating and of course you will be drinking. Maybe food poisoning, a very bad reaction and I was never there.

She went to the frig and grabbed a vial, it would be perfect. So what if the restaurant got blamed not her fault. She grabbed a tube that looked like lipstick, but was actually a small needle that could kill someone silently and could not be detected by drug or blood analysis, if the vial did not work.

On the table beside her door was a single red rose. She grabbed and took a taxi. She had on big dark sunglasses and covered her body in a black veil.

“The Red Room, please.”

She stepped out of the taxi, after paying the man a generous tip, and approached the door. The man at the front looked her up and down. She merely let his eyes linger. He let her in. She got in anywhere, even with out saying or giving her name.

Into the lounge she entered. It was dark and of course tinted red. There was many people in the room, but she only looked for one.

There in the back. A young handsome Chinese man sat alone at the table. He was dressed in a black suit, probably designer. There, there it is. The red rose.

She began to approach the table, taking off her veil and glasses.

She paused in front of his table. She laid the rose down and then sat down.

“Berthiaca, I am pleased to meet your acquaintance. I have heard of you.” His thin lips curl into a smile and flash his pearly whites.

She nodded slowly, lowering her voice to a kitten’s purr, “I am very pleased to meet you. What have you heard?”

He laughs openly, not hiding what he wants her for. “We shall drink.”

Seconds later a waiter brings two clear drinks. Then he hurries away.

“I was curious as to why a gentleman like yourself would need to go to a place where I work.”

“Why not that is where they have the best girls right.”

“I am the best.”

His smile grew. “I was told you could do many things.”

She paused, then smiled, “Many, many things that you could never imagine.”

Her hand reached for her glass then she paused.

Would he want to drug me and has his way or would he just do what he wanted with out the aid?

She smiled seductively and reached for his glass. His black eyes meet her violet and he said, “Drink yours it is the same.”

She released her grip, but batted her eyes. “Would it not matter to you then which one I drank from?”

“No, I guess not.”

She took a sip and held it in her mouth. Studying the texture and flavor.

Nothing, but gin and tonic.

He looked at her, eyebrows cringing together. She smiled once more.

“Tasty.”

He motioned for her to drink hers then.

She nodded, but began to adjust her contacts. They were special kind that could see the chemicals in the drink.

Ah ha. There they are. Small particles indicating a small dose of ecstasy. So, he did want to get down, but then what would you do. I know your lust for blood.

At this time he phone rang.

“I have to take this. Sorry.”

He left the table leaving her a perfect opportunity to slip in the drug. The food would be arriving soon.
She took the vial out and a couple drops of the liquid mixed in his drink. She adjusted her contacts again and nothing appeared different.

He came back and sat down. He appeared frustrated.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head no. The food just arrived. He took the first one, salmon sushi.

One person saw me. I can easily take care of that.

She glanced around the lounge no one was looking in there direction and her back was to them.

His phone rang again.

Good.

He took a big gulp of the drink and excused himself once more. That one sip would be enough to knock him render the “food poisoning”. She did not touch any of her food, but called over their waiter.

“I think he is not feeling well.” She said in a barely audible whisper.

“Excuse me Mam, I did not hear what you said.”

She motioned for him to come closer as if she had laryngitis. Her lips were close to his ear and she whispered nonsense into it. As she slide out a needle with a potion that would make him forget the last two hours, thus forgetting about her. She inserted into his brachial vein, in his upper arm.

He jumped back and yelped only in surprise. Seconds later he fumbled to the table and passed out.

She covered her body once more and placed the glasses on her face. She walked in shadows to the men’s bathroom where he had entered. There was his body crumpled on the floor. She bent down and felt for the carotid pulse. There wasn’t one to be felt.

She looked at his mouth, it appeared to have a small amount of emesis around his lips.

They would say he died from choking on his own vomit.

She quickly left the scene, not noticed by anyone as she exited the building. She walked a few blocks to free her mind before she went home, plus she had to stop at a store and leave her business card to know that the job was done.

It was a smoke shop, not that it had anything to do with the victim or the client. But in the left bottom corner of the window shop she inserted her business card. Again nothing that would eventually lead anything back to her. It read...Angel of Death...and it had a picture of a cherubim angel with a fiery sword.

She left the shop and continued walking down the streets, she entered an alley and in a dumpster she throw her veal and glass and stripped the gown off. She burned the items and while it burned she quickly dressed in jeans and a black strappy tank top.

As the fire went out. She looked in to see ashes, but they would never be able to decipher what they were and if there was any DNA on it. Her job was done now.

She also had on some running shoes. She would look like any other runner in this big city at night. They would never know what she was capable of doing.

Now it was time for her release. She started into the jog into the nearby park.

He would be found soon.

Moments later sirens could be heard in the distance. She began to sprint, to forget about tonight.

Soon all was silent.

OOC: I guess maybe I should explain a bit about the plot if not included in the previous enteries. My character is a hitwoman. She works for an Agency, without a name, but her card is called Angel of Death. The main plot is character development. My goal is not to just kill every client, but cause an inner turmoil for her. She doesn't have a conscience, but if she did it would be small. Other possible characters I am looking for are victims, victims she could have an attachment to, although, she is alone in the world, so a possible romantic attachment, or possibly any other hitman she could encounter or meet. I am also open to anything else. The more minds the better. I will post again later, depending on more applicants or not.

The eleven year old Mickael got out of bed and walked down the hall. He'd drunk to much water the evening before and now it wished to make it's way outward. His touseled sandy blond hair was fairly short and his green eyes twinkled when he smiled. He was a grade ahead in an already challenging program and happened to be one of the better fencers in a school which had produced world-champions.

Mickael was the son of Joseph and Maria Vlandros. His father was an exceptionally skilled, and shrewd buisnessman who was well liked by the workers of his companies, but much disliked by the upper echlons and his peers. The presidents and directors felt Joseph gave the workers too much money and themselves not enought. His competitors disliked him because the generous wages lured thier best employees away and his shrewd buisness sense was such that many times they had arrived at a meeting or deal only to find they'd been outbid or manuvered by Vlandros. His getting a lucrative goverment contract had been the last straw to a few of his rivals who'd been already contemplating hiring an assassin to remove Joseph and his family.

After relieving himself and washing his hands, he headed back to his room only to find the door open and someone standing over his parents. He gave an audible gasp and began running down the stairs in a panic.

OOC: Is it possible to play other characters such as bodyguards, security spcialists, or private detectives?

OOC: That is fine with me. A private detective would be real interesting. But whatever you want to do is fine. I will edit this later with ic response to Theo's post. Til then...

It was noon in the city of Pembrooke in the northern regions of the Golden Simatar. Off to the northeast were the tips of the Barishu Mountain Range. Located in the middle of the city was the Pembrooke School of the Arts, considered the finest art university in the country for everything from painting to filmmaking. It was the filmmaking classes that attracted Keith Gonyea, the fact that Pembrooke is the second filmmaking capital of the Golden Simatar weighed heavily on his choice over staying in Clarence.

Outwardly, Keith Gonyea looked like any unassuming nineteen year old. He was six foot tall, his brown hair was short and neatly combed, his brown eyes were filled with live and hope, he was also in perfect health, having run track throughout high school and kayaking in his free time. If it wasn’t for the fact he was trailed and surrounded everywhere by at least eight fierce looking men, he would seem normal. The reason for the men was simple; Keith Gonyea was the son of mobster Ulrich Gonyea, the biggest crime boss in the whole country.

Needless to say, Ulrich Gonyea was surprised by his youngest son’s choice not to follow the family ‘business’ but it was his choice, at least he had one other son to follow in his footsteps. The mobster was supportive of his young son’s filmmaking ambitions and had held off any kind of fiddling with school records or internships at production companies so his son would be first. Instead, he fronted money for his son’s short films he made in high school, which of course everyone involved spare for Keith were nervous about all the bodyguards.

Not only did Keith have bodyguards, he had Internal Bureau of Investigation agents following him at a respectful distance. This was the reason why he didn’t stay in Clarence, least he attract more attention. They didn’t bother him, Keith knew they were there, he usually waved to them and once in his senior year of high school on the first day, he brought to their car a box of donuts and coffee. For a mobster’s kid, Keith tried to act normal, he knew his father was a criminal, but tried not to pay attention to it. He had friends and was constantly annoyed when his bodyguards padded them down every time they went to his dorm room or got in the same car as he did.

Keith had appealed to his father on this, but on this his father was unwavering. His security was one great priority. It was a great mystery to the teenager; he didn’t know what lay inside of him gently fused to one of his ribs. Encased in plastic and gently placed on one of his ribs was a computer chip. The computer chip was about the size of a man’s thumbnail and inside of it was information pertaining to multiple government contracts, top secret military equipment, and links to multiple overseas accounts…amounting in the area of nearly a billion dollars. Almost a billion dollars in his body. Ulrich’s subordinates had begged him not to have it put in Keith but he had stated it was the safest place and would remain there for only a month or two. So, under a false sickness, Keith was put under a knife and the chip was put in. Word of course was slowly spreading around that Ulrich’s son Keith had the chip in his possession, where…no one knew. But as word slowly spread, intrest in the youth slowly began to blossom.

Currently, Keith was sitting under a tree sharing a pizza with two other youths, a young girl and another boy, both about his age. The girl had platinum blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a delicate 5’10 frame. The boy was five eleven, black hair and eyes and dark olive skin. The teens talked as they looked over sheets of paper.

“How many cameras have we been allotted Maggie?” Keith addressed his director of photography.

“Well...considering the heads don’t have much faith in this horror film…we ain’t getting any Arriflex cameras. We got four Canon XL2 3CCDs though.” Maggie Kentworth said before sipping some V8 Splash.

“And budget allows for about nine days of shoot Keith.” The movie’s producer Avner Stillwell said.

Keith nodded. He was a freshman in the college and had brought on Maggie and Avner onto a horror film about the so called ‘Beast of Clarence’. A monster creature that had slaughtered several people a few years before. Of course the freshman could no make a feature film, instead they had to make short films through the year and then as a final assignment a one hour movie. Keith had decided against calling his father for money to build a creature, instead he would use black and white film and various things he could scavenge for a scare and blood fest.

Keith sipped some Mr. Pibb. “Okay, lets start gathering the rest of the cast and crew…we can hopefully start shooting in a few days.”

http://img527.imageshack.us/my.php?image=johnson0xu.png

OOC: Here is a picture of what he looks like.

Harry was sitting at the bar in Kelley’s. Kelley’s was the best place in the neighborhood to get a drink. Of course considering the neighborhood, that wasn’t saying much. But it was the best place to buy whiskey in this part of town. He made a small gesture to Joe, the bartender and Joe poured him another shot of whiskey. As Harry sipped his whiskey, another man sat next to him. Harry saw him in his peripheral vision and saw he was kinda twitchy and nervous. The man ordered a Sam Adams and gave me a significant glance. Harry ignored him, he knew what was coming and he wasn’t in a good mood today. The man took a large gulp of beer and turned towards me. He said, “Excuse me, uh, are Harry Johnson.” Harry finished off the whiskey and replied, “Depends on who’s asking, you are?” The man was taken aback but answered the question, “I’m Dean Simmons, a reporter for the post.” Harry nodded my head but didn’t say anything. Dean was becoming more anxious but plowed on, “So are you Harry Johnson?” Harry sighed as he glanced at Joe, he understood and poured another shot. Harry said, “Yeah, I’m Harry. What’s it to you?” Dean’s voice to a new confidence as he said, “Harry ‘Hound’ Johnson? The Private Detective who caught the Selkie?” Harry answered simply, “Yes and yes.” Now that Dean knew he was talking to he became more confident, like Harry wanted to be in another newspaper article, because Harry knew where this conversation was going. Dean said, “Well, Mr. Johnson. I am writing an article, called ‘Where Are They Now?’ In my article we explore the people who were in are headlines and what has happened to them after we reported on them. I was wondering if you would allow yourself to be interviewed.” Harry smiled, Dean, obviously knew nothing about him. Harry said, “Human Interest stories, with a twist. The reader gets to see the detrimental effects of the 15 minutes of fame syndrome.” Dean, was unsure of himself now, he was new to journalism and had made the classic rookie assumption that everybody wanted to have an article written about them. Dean said, “Uhh, is that a yes?” Harry chuckled and said, “Look, Dean you are obviously new to the business. So I am going you a free lesson.” Harry turned towards Dean and continued talking, “It is the lesson of my life. I had dreams once, dreams of becoming the greatest Private Eye in the world. Actors like Humphrey Bogart, and Dick Powell were my heroes. And actresses like Barbara Stanwyck and Ann Savage were my wet dreams. So I grew up became a detective and my very first job was to track down and Art Thief. I got a lucky break and became convinced that the thief was an urban legend known as the Selkie. A thief who could change his appearance at will. Everyone laughed at me, my client stopped paying me. Then I caught the great thief, a scottish lady who was operating out of her palace. Everyone loved it, the media gave me that stupid nickname, ‘The Hound,’ for hounding the master criminal. I got my 15 minutes of fame and a glorious 15 minutes it was.” Harry paused and leaned in close to Dean he continued to speak in a low voice, “The I discovered what my job was really like, my job makes me watch middle aged couples purposefully tear themselves apart with suspicion and accusations, when they can’t even the insecurities of themselves. On occasion I even get the bonus of tracking down a runaway teen, a stolen pet, or a lost antique. In my ripe old years of 26 I have found my dreams trampled by reality.” Harry paused, then said, “Let me put it another way. If I had known my future contained a dream job which required me to become a voyeuristic pervert. I would have eaten a bullet a long time ago.”

OOC: Whew, after three re-writes I finally figured out how to open my character. I will be posting soon.

A soft gasp escaped a young boy’s small mouth, his green eyes flashing at her as she meet them with her violet purple. Not one of them blinked. Her right arm raised, the silenced cocked sideways at him and her pointer finger itching at the trigger. But it didn’t move. She didn’t move and neither did he.

Joseph Vlandros a known shred business man. Not that it mattered to her. She was to receive a big amount for this. She was certain the company would be making more without him than with him.. As for his wife, Maria, she wasn’t sure why she had to kill her. But it was her assignment and she was getting paid for it. She had remembered reading the memo about the family. It said nothing about the kid. She wasn’t prepared for him. She had did what the clients had wanted her to do. Make it look like she killed him and than herself. She hadn’t even used her own gun.

Now why would a family man have a gun in his house?

Why hadn’t she killed the boy. Well because she wasn’t get anything from it and he was just a boy.

There she stood frozen.

“It’s okay.”

Knowing that it really wasn’t okay. How would she take care of him. No one was to know.

She whispered once more to him. “It’s okay.”

Mickael paused when he heard the person's voice. It was a woman, like that of his mother and every one of the teachers he'd had at school. Woman weren't bad guys. These thoughts flashed throught his sub-consious, causing him to pause.

“It’s okay, It’s okay.” The woman's words prompted further trust, and he asked, "Who are you?"

He didn't know why the strange woman was in his parents room, but she seemed to project trust, and he walked over closer to her, seeing her purple eyes, and the fact that she was pretty further communicate to his subconsious that she was someone good, nice and trustable.

((Hope this works, cool thread BTW))

The man in the black suit smiled at the board. It was the kind of smile that suggested he knew more than he was letting on... the smile of a shark before it bit.

"Does our fine board have anything to add to my latest propostion?" he asked, still grinning mockingly.

No answer, fear petrified them.

"Good, now on to less pleasant matters." the man in the black suit said, his smile fading to a smirk. His dark grey eyes drifted across the boardroom, taking in the executives in front of him, the long mahogany table at which they sat; the large window oppisite him which offered a panoramic veiw of the city below and the distant Barishu Mountains.

The man himself looked to be arond thirty, with lean wolfish features that were at once handsome and dangerous looking. He had neat black hair and deep grey eyes that twinkled while he smiled... and he was almost always smiling. His attire was entirely black- jacket, dress pants, shoes, shirt (silk, of course), and tie.

"Mr. Kurtz," a boardmember said timidly, "If I may..."

The man in the black suit looked at the man and smiled with false friendliness.

"How many times must I remind you to call me Andrew, Steven? No need for formalities here." he said with mock cheer. Steven Arnolds was a little man, the board were all little men, petty creatures... Andrew Kurtz was growing tired of dealing with them.

"Yes, well, erm Andrew, our sources have located Keith Gonyea." Arnolds said quickly, avoiding Kurtz's wolfish gaze.

For a moment Andrew's smile faded, cruel glee danced in his dark eyes.

"Oh yes?" he asked, his grin returning. Andrew Kurtz had been the CEO of NoirTech International for ten years. He was the biggest arms manufacturer and distributor on the continent, let alone in the country... the competition had crumpled before him. They had been restricted by morals and ideals, Kurtz possessed neither of those shortcomings. He dealt weapons to anyone who asked (legally or not), and had a practical monopoly on fighter jet manufacturing... terrorists, Superpowers, law enforcement... they all wanted NoirTech equipment. He had only one consistent thorn in his side... Ulrich Gonyea. The mobster's arms smuggling rivaled NoirTech's distributing power... and Andrew 'The Shark' Kurtz did not take kindly to competition.

"From what we've been told... and we had to bribe a great deal of people for this information... Keith Gonyea attends the Pembrooke School of the Arts." Steven Arnolds said.

"Contact the Agency," Kurtz replied swiftly, "Have them take Gonyea's son alive and deliver him to me."

Immediately the Board members stood and scrambled from the room, each hurrying to do his or her own part. Contacting the Agency was no easy task.

Andrew Kurtz smiled to himself in the empty boardroom and leaned back in his chair. Ulrich's days were numbered.

Keith munched on a Cold Stone Creamery banana split as the other teen in front of him was leafing through the script he wrote and his story boards. The other teen was taking the acting classes and had worked with Keith twice before on shorts he had done, one was Ophelia’s death scene from Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Keith had managed to con him into doing Lloyd meeting Flagg from Stephen King’s The Stand a month before. Keith liked working with him, but there was one problem, he had suddenly had an ego the size of the solar system. All because he was given some praise in the school newspaper for a role in some play.

The other teen tossed the fifty-two page screenplay on the table and looked at him. “You have got to be joking Keith.”

“No joke Danny boy.” Keith said. Daniel Bailey cringed at the nickname that Keith had bestowed upon him. “A horror film that uses shadows and actual scares over MTV style movie editing, loud guns and music and blood. Course…there will be a wee bit of blood and gore.”

“This is beneath me.” Daniel said with a grunt and a dismissive wave.

“Aw come on Danny…I got you to do part of a King book.”

“That was different…I read the book and found it to be of a high quality than any other horror story. Keith, you are a good director…your blossoming…cut out the crap with this shit genre and go with something powerful…that will pull at the souls of the watchers.” Daniel said with a bit of dramatic flash.

Keith sighed as he inserted some strawberry ice cream into his mouth. Daniel had now become the kind of student who expected to only work in award winning art house and full release movies and earn every Best Actor Award in the world by thirty. “Well…I don’t want to get pinned in. Besides…in Clarence…it is the big thing. No one knows what it is…there are so many theories. With little budget we are going to have to relay on their imagination to visualize it.”

“Well… you can do it without me. I am not working on a crappy little horror movie nor am I working with your dad’s goons or IBI agents watching.”

Keith didn’t have to turn to know there were two men outside of the ice cream parlor with hidden Markov automatic pistols on them, his bodyguards. He also didn’t have to turn to know that there was an IBI agent on the rooftop across the campus park watching him with a high power camera and snapping pictures. When one was a mob boss’s son…one tends to notice things.

Keith didn’t talk to Daniel as the other teen got up and left Cold Stone. He continued to eat his banana split and think of who to approach next about the lead male role.

ADVERA'S ESTATE
Outside the U.S.S. Capital of Shalcoria

"Three B-Class contracts failed in the past four months!" snapped Alexis Advera, slapping the papers down on his coffee table. His brandy sat forgotten on the fireplace mantle. He ran a hand through his graying hair, adjusted his round glasses, and swore under his breath.

His subordinates, operational commanders all, wisely remained silent. None of them could really blame Advera for being angry. The Silver Hand was, in many ways, one of the finest security firms that did not exist. Their name was not on any advertisement, nor any business directory. Knowledge of their services were available by word-of-mouth alone. If you were wealthy and you had connections, the Hand could provide you with serious protection without further questions. For such an outfit, reputation was everthing.

Three corpses did not engender confidence in the Hand's reputation.

"Sir," one of the regional officers interjected. "Two of the attacks had very similar MO. The brains think it may have been the work of either a single gun-for-hire, or perhaps a single group."

"Oh, to hell with them." snapped Advera. "They don't matter anymore...they're dead, and we lost the contracts. Now I have a high-level patron who is highly nervous."

"The Wesker Job?" someone inquired, and Advera nodded. Wesker, being of course, a former CEO who had made his money...and his enemies...on shady deals in godforsaken third-world countries. Some of those enemies, he had learned, had friends in dangerous and powerful places. After a botched attempt on his life in the Shalrirorchian city of Nik Arcatia, Wesker had seen fit to ramp up his security.

He had hired the Hand.

Advera sat down and breathed out. "It's not just Wesker, though. Word of the three murders has sent a wave of anxiety throughout the Hand's clients. They want to hear nothing more about failed contracts. Wesker WILL be protected...especially since the shadows around him appear to be creeping ever closer. I want him quietly bumped up to level-A. No extra charge."

The decision created a stir among the staff...B-level protection was very heavy, even by Hand standards...but A-level...that was the type of security that protected the Hand's leadership.

But none of them disagreed. They were all aware that there were eyes watching Wesker other than their own. They could not pin down the source, exactly. But Wesker's life was clearly in peril. The Hand was there to defend him. And the Hand would win.

It was really quite simple.

OOC: Looks good everyone. I will have several responses soon. Please, hold out until I repost. I am working ten hours tomorrow, but I will try to come up with a response to Theo's and Old Altania. Please wait. Thanks. Good job everyone. I like where everything is going so far.

He enjoyed his job, perhaps a little too much sometimes. That little-known creative streak of his tended to manifest itself during his hits. No-one questioned his skills, or his motives for that matter.

He'd worked for all manner of people: Government agencies, mob-bosses, coke-lords, gun-czars, even private citizens. A former CIA clandestine operative and assassin, Mercutio Stillwater knew the finer points of causing death, from conventional long-distance sniper work to close-range 'wet-work' with a surpressed twenty-two. Poisons were a bit of a cliche to him, as were explosives. Everyone used them nowadays, the young kids in the buisness looking for the easy ways to do things, instant gratification and such.

Stillwater preferred to let people know that his target had been assassinated, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind. Sure, it was a dangerous game. Sure, he'd had a few close calls. Then again, he'd always had return buisness when someone wanted a message sent, and the associates of those that he killed tended to not cause any more trouble for those that sent him against them.

His company, at least the people that he currently worked for, went by the rather uninspired name of 'Deathwatch'. The name had some merit, though. Stillwater had watched quite a few people die recently since signing on with them. His seat in the back of Kelley's Bar gave him a pretty good view of what was going on, and with his back to the wall he had little to worry about. Not that he worried. The Glock 19 in the waistband of his khakis was a very familiar companion, an old friend that had drawn blood several times before.

Stillwater was an American male in his late thirties, a powerful two-hundred ten pounds on a six-foot-one-inch frame. His black hair was beginning to gray around his head, but it was barely noticeable as he kept it fairly short. He'd served as a Marine way back when, before the Agency got hold of him and told him they had 'something special for him to do for Uncle Sam'. It had been an interesting ride since that odd sentence was uttered. He'd been to Russia, Bosnia, Serbia, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Yemen, Columbia, and about a dozen other places he didn't care to recall. Deathwatch was an international company, which meant...

Something in his pocket was rattling against his car keys. It was his cell-phone, the latest Motorolla Sliver model in gunmetal gray...

"Uncle DW has an errand for you, Mercutio. He wants you drop a letter off at Mr. Wesker's. He's not expecting you, so drop by any time. He'd also like to remind you of Mr. Wesker's condition, that he has silver hands..."

The line went dead. This was typical for Stillwater. 'Uncle DW' was Deathwatch, obviously. The 'letter' was a message, the last one he'd ever get, and 'Mr. Wesker' was the name of his target. The 'Silver Hands' thing was still somewhat fuzzy, however. Perhaps it was the name of a private security firm? He'd need to go home and pack...

Stillwater got up from his table at the back, throwing Joe the bartender a folded twenty, between a pair of men chatting while sitting on barstools. One seemed highly disinterested in what the other had to say. No matter. His drinks were paid for, with a bit extra for Joe. This new contract would come with an email detailing the location of his target, as well as a description of his mark. By the sound of things, he'd need to bring his rifle along...

((I hope this is OK, if not Ill be happy to delete it. I figured this tale needs a good antagonist...))

“Sir, we’ve spoken to Deathwatch… they’ve got a man on Wesker,” said the woman over the phone, “We’re still trying to contact the Agency to… advise them on the Gonyea situation.”

“Good, good,” replied Andrew Kurtz, smiling into his dark office. Luck seemed to be on NoirTech’s side… if all went to plan (and everything always went according to plan for Andrew ‘the Shark’ Kurtz) the Corporation would be down two competitors within the next week. Wesker’s arms peddling in the third world and Gonyea’s smuggling operations hadn’t put much of a crimp in Kurtz’s profits… but they had reduced the world’s dependency on his weapons; challenged his power. That, more than anything, was unacceptable to ‘the Shark.’

“Mr. Kurtz… there’s something you should know about Wesker,” said the woman on the phone, a hint of concern in her normally cold voice.

“Yes?” the CEO responded.

“Wesker’s being protected by the Hand…” came the answer.

“Shit,” Kurtz spat, hanging up the phone. This changed things… the Sliver Hand was the finest Security force in the world- and they were protecting the Corporation’s enemy. The Shark himself had considered hiring the Hand, but when one has a private army… one has little need of additional protection. Like almost all good security teams, the Hand bought NoirTech weapons; what worried Kurtz was that they bought the best weapons available, which meant they made good money… which meant they were good at their job.

Still, Deathwatch was known for its efficient assassins… and Kurtz was paying them more than enough to provide a competent killer. Perhaps Wesker would be bumped off after all…

CHARLES WESKER'S ESTATE
Just outside the city of Cadia, United States of Shalrirorchia

The Hand's reinforcements arrived the following morning, at 8:00 sharp. Advera's outfit was always punctual.

They drove black SUV's labeled "International Security Solutions" into the courtyard under the watchful gaze of the guards. I.S.S. was, in truth, a front for the Hand. I.S.S. was listed on the U.S.S. stock exchange as a P.M.C. or private military corporation. The Hand hid in plain sight...the best kind of deception.

The site-commander, Daniel White, stepped out of his vehicle as soon as it came to a complete stop and jogged up the steps to the manor-house, where his second in command, Arkady Kucshayev, waited.

"Sir." saluted Kucshayev. He handed a PDA to White. "Wesker's itinerary." he explained.

White scanned the day's activities, and swore softly. "Have you prevailed upon Mr. Wesker that extensive travel is not helpful when it comes to ensuring his safety?" he asked.

"Yes sir." replied Kucshayev. "This is actually a much smaller workload than Wesker had originally detailed. He will do much of his work from home, but he needs to make an appearance at the board meeting."

White nodded, and moved aside as the Hand reinforcement team brushed past him and disappeared into the manor. "We will leave at 9:30, and will return at exactly 4:00 in the afternoon. We will of course provide Mr. Wesker's lunch?"

"Already taken care of, sir. We have already picked a secure room in Genomax Headquarters for Wesker's lunch. We will control what he eats and drinks from start to finish, and I already have a team searching and guarding that room." Kucshayev said.

"And once he gets home?" asked White.

Kucshayev straightened. "I have two...well, now three teams guarding the manor house, not counting Wesker's standard rent-a-cops. Full electronic surveillance, including GUOS hoverdrones with thermal security camera feeds. Pursuent to HQ's move to level "A" security, all of my operatives are now armed with automatic weapons and explosive charges."

"Very good. Anything else?" White asked.

"Yes, sir." replied Kucshayev. "Wesker's house has a full-fledged security situation room located on the second floor which oversees all operations on the premises. I have made that the Hand headquarters here. In addition, some of the more internally-located sections of the house can be sealed off by either Wesker or Security Control, making his private chambers into one big panic room, if you will."

"How good are the defenses?" asked White.

"Not the best, since this is a mansion and not a fort." chuckled Kucshayev. "But it's still solid steel. It'd take a long time to cut through one of the doors. And Wesker is escorted by Hand operatives at almost every moment."

White nodded. "All right, then, Ark. Go get yourself a cup of hot coffee and I'll finish supervising out here."

She stepped closer to the young boy, she had estimated his age to be around eleven. She placed the gun, away from his innocent eyes, against the small of her back to be easily accessible. She immediately and softly pulled him in close to her firm stomach. She slowly caressed his head. She placed both of her hands on his cheeks and cradled his face. She meet his eyes once again.

With a soft, delicate voice she whispered to him, "I am sorry to have to tell you this. Your parents are dead. It is my fault. I was sent here by The Agency to take care of your parents and well, now see what has happened."

She paused. I certainly did take care of his parents. Now what about you?

"I am so sorry. But you must come with me or your life could be endangered."

She allowed the boy to view his parents and to allow some time to grief.

Several minutes later, she decided to take him to a safe house she knew of. "Come now."

She briskly got him into a cab and were dropped off at one of the many local 711. Then she grabbed his hand and they walked several blocks. It was residential area. A quiet area. She was taking him to the only place she felt safe, her grandmother's house. She knew her Nanna would not ask questions, but just help her only grandchild out.

She walked into the old Victorian house, which smelled of apple pie and ginger. She was greeted by an older woman, a woman in her seventies. The woman looked like her, but aged. They embraced each other.

For the first time she spoke to the boy, "Stay here. It is safe. I will check back later."

She left the boy and got into another cab and went back to her house.

As the scenery passed before her eyes, it was a blur.

What am I going to do?

Before she could think her phone vibrated.

----------------------------------------------
She exited the cab, paid her money and walked up to her home. She flipped open her cell.

The automatic voice said, "The job is done I assume. Any problems?"

"None. Everything is done."

"We have another assignment for you. Ready."

It was never a question if she was ready, but more a demanding statement.

"We want you to pose as an advisor for The Agency."

Are you kidding me?

"We understand how you may feel, but this is priority and we feel you are the most able to do it. We want you to meet with Andrew Kurtz."

Startled, "The Shark?"

"Yes, he has been needing our work and has been trying to get a hold of us, or preferably you."

"I don't understand, he doesn't even know me."

"Of course he doesn't, but he wants someone qualified, which we feel is you."

"I know what he deals with, but why would I be talking to him. Wouldn't I be taking "care" of one of his enemies?"

"We have figured, but he said it was imperative that we send someone. And we do not trust him."

In a sarcastic tone, "Do you trust anyone?"

"Well no, but this is your job. We will inform him you will be meeting him tomorrow at Café Lotus, in their VIP room at 4pm. You have an e-mail describing your character, the similar will be sent to him, notifying him of who we sent."

Silence.

She padded across the room to her computer.

Agent Isabelle Ferista. She has been employed with us five years. Specialized with the staff of the Agency and their talents. Previous experience the Ambassador for Italy. Her picture was also there, along with her history from birth.

She stared at the screen for hours, studying every word. She knew Isabelle as if she was her.

----------------------------------------

The message was left for Andrew Kurtz.

It read her name, her description and her history, along with it was her picture. Meet her at Café Lotus at 4pm in the VIP.

"Isabelle Farista." Andrew Kurtz said, looking amusedly at his computer screen. His narrow, mocking grin widened and he laughed loudly into his dark office. No one responded; save for the katana's mounted ornately on the walls and the suit of armor in the far corner, the room was empty.

The Shark sighed as he straightened his black silk tie and stood from his desk. Farista was a cover of course, The Agency would never send any real information about their employees... but it mattered little. All that mattered were the results.

*****************

The black Jaguar parked neatly in front of Cafe Lotus at precisely 3:55 pm. Andrew Kurtz thanked his driver and stepped onto the sidewalk, his dark eyes- hidden behind designer sunglasses- scanned the upscale city block for a moment before he walked into the Cafe. With little more than a smile and a nod, the Shark walked passed the hostess and climbed the stairs to the VIP lounge. Kurtz was a regular at the Lotus, his table was always reserved.

The CEO stepped into the CEO lounge and grinned to find his table empty. It was 3:58... Agency employees were known for their punctuality. Farista, if that was her name, would arrive at 4 sharp... Kurtz was certain of it. He took his usual seat, ordered an iced tea and engaged in friendly conversation with the waitress. As he complimented her new blouse, The Shark lightly touched his chest and felt the reassuring weight of his gun- it was unlikely that the Agency would try to kill him... but Andrew Kurtz had a lot of enemies... and it was best to be sure. The thought of being killed in a restaurant he practically owned surrounded by bodyguards dressed as waiters and waitresses was almost laughable... but the Agency was known for its daring kills and clean escapes. It was wise not to underestimate them.

Mickael let the strange lady pull him close before she whispered to him that his parents were dead. The shock caused him to blank out the following words that she was responsible for thier deaths.

Her comments about his life and having to go with her caused him to nod, "Yes." He chose not to look at his parents bodies, but quickly went to his room to get a picture of them, his saber, and a few other prized possessions.

Following the lady to the cab which took him to a house that smelt of ginger and apple pies, a conforting scent. "Alright lady." He replied as she looked around the room and at the older lady.

Keith sat in the back of a black 2006 BMW Series 3 sedan. Like with most things in his life, looks were deceiving. The glass was bullet proof and the sides were armored. In the truck lay two Steyr AUG carbines and in the front seat with the two visible body guards was a Spectre M4 machine-pistol. He knew somewhere in traffic there were at least two other cars watching him that were more bodyguards plus an IBI car.

The car parked outside of a Borders Books, Movies, and Music for nearly fifteen minutes while the other cars parked and the bodyguards made sure it was safe and the escape routes were clear before Keith could get out.

He walked into the bookstore and put on his cloth necklace with the company’s name on it and his name card. He liked working at Borders; it paid good money and had good hours.

Keith whistled as he signed in and went straight to work putting in a fresh shipment of CDs.

The woman's voice was stern and soft at the same time, "My granddaughter knows how you feel. She lost her parents also." Nervous laughter flowed from her wrinkled lips.

"I mean her parents died also. Well, things changed for her. Luckily she had me. I don't know what kind of business she is, but well, she is pretty level."

The older woman's lavender colour eyes still sparkled at the boy's green. She patted his head. "I guess now you got me to."

"I suppose you gots lots of questions for my little button, but answers will come later. "

She quickly, but with small steps left the room, shortly there after came back with a black notebook in hand, along with a pen. She placed it in front of the boy.

She smiled at him. "It helps to write it out. That is what she did and I hope you will to. Maybe I will even show you some of her writing." She winked at him, "But that would be our little secret."

She left the young boy in the room and busied herself in the kitchen for making supper. She would be serving more now.

----------------------------------------------

She arrived actually two hours earlier. She studied some of the blueprints of the lounge and the employees staffed there. She knew they were incahoots with the Shark.

He rolled up at 3:55 p.m. in his lavous black jaguar. As he entered the room she checked her appearance in the window.

She wore a white long sleeved button up shirt. It was tucked into her black skirt. The skirt was receptible in the business aspect and still showed her muscular legs, it was halfway above her knees. She wore comfortable black pumps, if that could be possible, and carried a black breifcase. She had her hair slicked back into a ponytail and had on a pair of sunglasses. On her left shoulder was her black purse that carried the essentials and then some.

She entered the louge, Cafe` Lotus and made her way to the back. A waiter pointed out the table, she noticed the piece he carried in his back belt.

There he sat. Black suit, how surprising.

She approached the table and extended her arm in greeting.

Her voice once more purred, "Mr. Kurts, a pleasure indeed. I am agent Isabelle Ferista. I am told you are requesting our service. We are open to hear your ideas and hope to come up with a solution. You have my attention, sir."

She narrowed her eyes behind her security. She studied not only what he said, but how he said it. Her observation skills would always be of help.

What the devil could he need us for. He has so many goons and I wouldn't find it hard to believe he bones are stained red with blood.

Andrew Kurtz smiled disarmingly at the agent as she sat down, his dark eyes twinkled cheerfully in the dim Cafe.

"The pleasure is all mine, Isabelle." he said in a kind, most unprofessional voice, "But I suppose you'll want to get down to business, your Agency always does."

The Shark reached into his suit and pulled out a small PDA. He placed it gently on the table in front of the assassin and grinned at her once more.

"On that PDA you'll find all the intelligence that NoirTech, and seven countries, could find on the mob boss Ulrich Gonyea. It is very valuable; it cost a great deal to get all of that information... I had to pay off six mayors, a govenor, and three intelligence officers. None of them go cheap, Ms. Farista. Gonyea controls drug running, prostitution rings, and smuggling operations worldwide. He has an army that could seize a third world nation. None of this concerns me. His arms dealing does, it's cut into my profits for far to long. Luckily I've stumbled upon a rather intriguing peice of information... his son attends the Arts school in Pembrook. I know it is not your business to kidnap college kids, but I need Keith Gonyea alive... rumor has it that he has something of great value to me, ten years worth of stolen arms contracts." Kurtz said quietly, his smiling, wolfish face inches from the agent... "Did you know you have the most intriguing eyes, Ms. Farista?"

Mickael was throughly befuddled as things were happening far, far to quickly for him to adapt. The elderly, grandmother was nice thought, but he was only getting about one word in ten.

The wrinkled, but nice seeming lady brought him a pen and notebook and suggested he write. "Thank you." He replied of taking the book and pen and sat down as he began writing as well as drawing strange sentances and odd pictures.

His voice was alluring and sensoral. He was known to get what he wanted, by means of only his voice. But she could use that also. His compliment she merely shrug of her shoulders.

Her eyes never glanced alway, no fear to show anyway, "Why thank you."

She brought her attention down to the PDA and out of her briedcase she brought her own and attached them together to download the information. She, however, couldn't be sneaky and download anything else, to bad he was there in front of her.

"I will look through the documents provided and we will decide if they are acredible. As for us sending out an agent, what qualifications are you interested in? We, I assume you already know, provide a variety of employees at the degree you are looking for."

She pulled out of the briefcase a large white packet. "This contains all of our agents to be used for your service. Of course I am there, if you chose be."

She didn't have to explain that they were false names, he would know. He was very smart and manipulative. She had to watch herself.

She smiled at Mr.Kurts, it was her best interest to get the job herself the Agency wanted her "close to him" to study him.

"Now, we can descuss what you are looking for. Could you please give me some insight, so that I may assist you."

-----------------------------
OOC: Theao, I will have my character come back to the house to get you more involved in the story. It could help if you approached the grandmother and ask her questions of the sort. Possible come up with some writings or pictures. My character's parents were killed in the same method and reason. Or you may do what you like, just giving some ideas. Thanks.

Andrew Kurtz pushed the folder of names back towards Farista without a moments hesitation.

"Is there any reason you wouldn't be able to complete the task?" he asked rhetorically, "If you'd like the job, it's yours. But it is not an easy task, Gonyea's son is trailed by IBI agents everywhere, not to mention his father's thugs."

The Shark took a small business card with a few lines of spidery handwriting on the back from his breast pocket. He put it in front of the agent and the smile fell from his face. He looked dangerous now, and coldly insane without his warm grin. His features were still handsome, but devoid of emotion or life.

"On the back of that card is a cell phone number. When you have the boy, call it for further instructions. Leave no trace of my involvement, Ms. Farista, or this will end badly for you."

Mickael finished his writings and drawings at about the same time the elderly lady called for him. Picking up the pen and notepad, he walked over to where she'd called from, catching the scent of food.

Seeing the food on the table, he took a seat and asked, "What is the lady like, and why did you want me to write stuff down?"

As he scooted his chair in, he put the notepad and pen down beside his plate and wondered what was in the dishes that smelt good.

She smiled at him. "I would take the job, if I would know the background history on the client. What you suppose me do to get him alive."

Alive? What would he do to the young boy? Not that it matters I guess.

"If you feel I am equiped for the job, I will take it, but we need to be more specific. You know the Agency. We take our job seriously. Why else would you have come to us?"

She paused a moment and took a small sip of her lemon water that she had previously ordered.

How do I break him down? What are his weaknesses? I need to get to know him more.

She looked up at Mr. Kurtz. She smiled softly. "So, you say I have intriguing eyes? How thoughtfull of you to notice." Her cheeks turn a light rouge, as if she was embarrassed.

Once again her thick lips curl into a smile, "What can I do for you, Mr.Kurtz, specifically?"

-------------------------------

"Well, Mikey, I had her do it once and it helped get a lot of her demons out into the open. Poor, deary, she had issues. I assume similar to yours. She lost her folks, my own daughter, at the age of well I think," scratching her gray locks, "eleven."

Her soft purple eyes flickered over to his book. Her old wrinkled hand patted on it. "She said when she was older that it had helped her. I just thought it might do some good for ya child."

"Everybody's got them demons ya know. Shes just got a lot of them."

She smiled at the boy. "I know it is hard to understand her. Hell, I don't even understand her most of the time. But under everything, she still is that little eleven year old stuck in her parent's closet watching her parents be killed."

She placed her hand on her bossom, sighing, "God knows no one should go through that. I really don't know much of her these days, but when she comes back. We can force her to talk. How does that sound, my child?"

Mickael looked, and listened to her talk about the woman who brought him here, him still not knowing the lady's name. "Would you like to look at it?" He asked as they ate.

"It sounds good." He replied, returning her conspiratorial smile when the grandmother mentioned forcing her to talk.

The Borders Keith worked in was two stories. The top floor held the CD and DVD shelves while the downstairs held all the café, books, magazines, graphic novels etc in the store. Keith sat at the café and sipped on a Kahlua Mudslide Freeze and looked at some files of actors outside of the school who had submitted for an audition. Unsure if any of the students would go for a horror movie, Keith had put up some posters and an ad on his blog for anyone in their teens interested in trying out for a role. So far, about twenty files were in front of him, it made him feel better knowing now they had a pool to dip into. Though, the teen was still nervous about a few things. After the auditions tomorrow, he and Avner would sit down and decide the roles the next day, announce the same day and begin shooting the day after that.

That was not the biggest of his nervous spasms. He looked up to see one of his bodyguards browsing some literary magazine a few feet away. Timur Kazkos was his name and as Keith recalled he was a former Spetsnaz operative. “Timur.”

The Russian turned and walked over and sat down. He was about six one, tar black hair and a diamond hard face. He spoke in monotone, his accent sometimes making it hard to understand. “Yes boss?”

Keith nearly gagged as he sipped more of his Mudslide at the word ‘boss’. He hated it, he loathed it. He was not going into the family business, his brother was…none the less he was always referred to as ‘boss’ when it was only him and the bodyguards and ‘sir’ in the presence of a higher family member of his father. “Tomorrow as you know is the auditions…please, tell everyone not to start padding everyone down. I have and know how to use a Markov. Though I rather not use it.”

“Our orders come from your father you are to be protected at all costs and anyone to come to greet you is to be searched thoroughly. It must be done boss.” Timur said.

Keith sighed and nodded. He eyed out of the corner of his eye a few people looking at him uncomfortably in the café; they knew who he was and were nervous to see if he asked his goon to whack them. He grunted and caught out of the other corner standing in the computer book area, one IBI agent observing him. Keith looked over and smiled at the woman and raised his drink in a mock toast. “Thanks Timur…go back to what you were doing.”

The Russian nodded and moved off. Keith opened another file. Hmmm…Amara Malone Waggner. Seems like a nice girl with some experience. Have to squeeze her in. Keith began to place the files in order before his watch buzzed. Draining the last of the Mudslide, he put the files in the employee area and went back to work.

Andrew Kurtz smiled diplomatically and leaned back in his chair.

"For starters, Ms. Farista, I would like Keith Gonyea. You will find all pertinent information on the PDA... he works in a suburban Borders, is currently holding auditions for a horror movie he and his pals are making, and his bodyguards are highly trained, highly qualified. One used to work for me." the Shark said, his dark eyes taunting the agent in front of him. If the CEO had a soft spot, it was not flirts, "You get Gonyea and we can... talk further."

Kurtz stood up and laughed softly, "Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Farista. I have other business to attend to. Have a good day."

The Shark tipped the waitress handsomely and walked out of the VIP lounge, the grin never leaving his face.

OOC: GS, can my character be Amara Malone Waggner?

ooc: No, sorry. That was reference to another character of mine Amara Waggner who is a werewolf, she was bitten when she was eighteen. She was studying acting and had done productions in high school and college. She lives with my two vampires Stephen and Nicole Malone. So because of that she has kinda taken on thier last name.

I just couldn't pass up an oppurnity to make a reference to one of my other characters. So...yeah, that explains it.

Your char can though maybe come into the building and ask if she can audition or work as part of the film crew. A small budget production definatly needing help behind or in front of the camera.

“Keep smiling you rat bastard….” Andrew Penacost stated in a wry voice, “...because soon your going to wish you were never born.” Penacost looked like any other ordinary fellow, brown hair, brown eyes, medium height and medium build; the sort of person who would easily vanish in a crowd. But his normally placid eyes were now hard as flint, and Penacost knew that was not good. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he swung the binoculars from Andrew Kurtz walking out of building to the VIP portion of the café. It was a bit hard too actually see anyone on the second floor from his lab here on the fourth floor, just the first row of tables inside the place and the reflection of traffic on the street below.
Pentacost dropped the binoculars and looked over at the other man in the lab, hidden between various electronic testing equipment, the blue coated figure was hunched over.
“Well did you get anything?”
“Never defeated the audio protections, but I do still have an IR lock on who he was talking to, when she leaves we can put a tail on her and see where she wanders off to.”

Pentacost nodded as he sat down on a stool and contemplated the stacks of equipment around the room for a moment. “Fine, tell Bones to use three teams to keep rotating coverage on the sharks new guppy, er…”
“Subject Orca one twenty nine”
“Yeah, either she is a rep for someone we may or may not want to have Noirtech weapons, or something else…”
“Huh, she’d have to be an independent, I mean the talent shouldn’t meet the client that’s just horrible compartmentalization right there.”
“Not everyone in the private sector has as many warm bodies as we governments types do Blalock…”
Pentacost dropped off in thought for a moment. He had chosen this office space when he had discovered who owned the place across the street, and the backgrounds of the staff. It was obviously a secure meeting place for Kurtz so why not keep tabs on it? It was those meetings Kurtz didn’t want to have at Noirtech that interested Pentacost’s liege lord. His Grace was quite annoyed with Mr. Kurtz and his firms business practices; some of their clients had aquired ships of his Grace's registery by force. Which had proven quite costly to regain because of Mr. Kurtz's rather loose buisness practices. This is why Pentacost, or Max Geir of Orca Electronics, was interested in Andrew Kurtz’s more clandestine meetings; one part revenge, two parts prevention.

The fact that operation Orca had just managed to tag an operative of 'The Agency' was incidental at the moment.

OOC: Pentacost will likely fill the role of 'private investigator' or 'secret agent on a personal mission' is the more likely role.

OOC: Oh, sorry, GS. I guess I will have her audition for a role in the film because she is a great actress.

I don't know what an IR lock is, I looked it up, but is was about doors and such.
Oh well.

IC: As she left the lounge, her phone began to vibrate.

Ah, so soon. I hear from you.

She opened it up and heard the same machine-like voice.

"How did the meeting go? Wait before you answer you have an IR lock on you. We will disable it and than you may speak after we give you the signal."

She waited several moments in silence.

Who would have that lock on me?

She began to scan the streets and look at the buildings. SHe spotted the lab and shadowed figures behind the window.

Bastards. I will find out soon enough and we will have an encounter.

"Okay. It is disabled and our lab-technicians will run it through the database to locate where it is from. We assumed this would happen, but it will be taken care of. Now go ahead."

"Well, he wants the Agency to get Keith Gonyea alive."

"We have already been paid the initial fee. So now it is your job to look at the information on your PDA and get to work. We are already looking through to find any other information needed. We will inform Mr. Kurtz that we have assigned the quilified personel for the job."

"He assumes that Agent Isabelle Ferista will be taking on the job."

"We had already assumed he would want you, Agent Isabelle Ferista, to take on the job. When we have sent over other agents they were asked to take on the job itself that is the reason we sent you. We will notify him of our decision."

The phone clicked off and she walked over to the street to hail a cab.

-------------------------------
After she had finished cleaning up at her house and studying up on the next victum, she decided to visit the kid.

She changed into jeans and a tee-shirt that read , Have your cake and eat it too. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and slipped on some flip flops.

She made her way to her grandmother's.

I can already imagine he has been eating the whole time and she has gotten him to write. I can't believe her sometimes thinking she can help everyone.

She paused and sighed.

She can. Especially if she helped me.

She arrived at the house and made her way into the door.

She found him and her in the dinner room with dirty empty plates on the table and a new black notebook.

Great. Just great.

She sat down at the table, while her grandmother cleaned up the table and came to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hi, nanna. How are things?"

"Good, child. How are things with you?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, nanna. Fine."

She looked over at Mickael. "How are you there?"

She saw the book under his hands and the look in his eyes.

"This is not what I need now an interrogation

She was waiting on a call from Keith allowing her to audition for a role in his film. She had e-mailed him her experience and history and left a phoney agency number to be transferred to her number. It was quite complexicated, but it was the safest thing to do.

Her nanna finished cleaning, while the two younger sat in quiet.

Her nanna sat down next to Mickael and looked her in the eyes. She placed her soft wrinkled hand on his shoulder and said, "Mickael has some questions for her, deary, please answer them."

----------------------------------

The e-mail went like this.
Dear Mr. Keith Gonyea,

My name is Katrina "Kitty" FLores. I am new to Pembrooke School of the Arts, I transferred from my home in Paris, France. I was informed that you are holding auditions for her horror film. I am extremely interested in trying out, if there are any openings. I have held many roles in my previous school at Paris Academy of Theatre. My most notrorious roles were Juliet in Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare, Annie in Annie get your Gun, Lola in Damn Yankees and I have included another page leading you to some other roles I have performed. I hope with my prior experience you will consider me. You can reach me anytime at 982-554-3987 extension 3003. Thank you again.

Sincerely,
Katrina Flores.

OOC: Infa Red lock just a slang term for having someone's heat signiture be isolated from the other heat signitures in a room, normally a completely passive system like taking a photograph.

Mickael chuckled when he saw the lady's shirt, or more specifically the words on it. "I'm good." He replied to her question.

He opened to a page that had a number of questions on it. He began reading them off. "What is your name? What kind of stiff do you like? What's your favorite colour? Why am I hear? What do you do for a living? What's your favorite music?"

Weird Al Yankovic’s Jurassic Park went up and down in volume as Keith adjusted the volume on the stereo in his dorm room. His room was like most dorm rooms, a bed, dresser, desk, and a closet. But, for Keith had no roommates so he only had one of each. That was the one part of college his father had a hand in, that and he had a hidden security camera a mike inside the room and his guards were resting in the stairwells at the end of each hall and outside in cars.

He booted up his computer, feeling excited that the movie was almost ready. Everything was falling into place. Keith went into the shower for quick rinse and when he came back the computer was up and his email was open. He opened it and read the email from a French student. He arched his eyebrow at the roles, at first he was doubtful when he saw Shakespeare but he slowly began to think more as he continued down the list. He picked up his Razor cell phone and dialed Avner.

“Avner, Keith here.”

“Hey man what is up?”

“Got an email from a new student named Katrina Flores. She wants an audition for Beast, she is French and has just come from Paris.”

Keith began to read the names of the plays and musicals she had been in. Avner groaned. “One of the first things we were told when casting be afraid when actors want to stretch. Can she act in front of the camera and can she scream?”

“I dunno, I’m calling you after we chat. I’ve contacted everyone else and told them that before they audition they must understand that since this is zero budget they are going to be helping move stuff and it is going to be a rough nine day shoot.”

“Okay man. Hey, you’re the director…you pick.”

“Yeah, see ya tomorrow at ten sharp in the theater room.”

“Adios.”

Keith hung up and promptly called Katrina Flores. He placed the phone to his ear and waited patiently.

She smiled a friendly sincere smile at him. "So many questions you have for me. I guess I do have some explaining to do. My as well start from the beginning." She paused and looked at her nanna.

THe older woman raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

"You ,ust not let anyone know my name. I work for the goverment." So she had lied alittle, but the less the boy new the less likely he would be hurt.

Her face grew serious, "Mickael I mean it. Lives could be at danger, yours, mine and nanna. Please don't let it out. She will help you understand."

She waited for his eager nod.

"My name is Rashel Florendos. Well, what kind of stuff I like well, I assume you mean hobbies. When I have the time I like to meditate, dance, and write. But my life is pretty busy, but I like that. "

She paused for a moment taking a sip of iced tea, "Hmmm, my favorite colour is black. Mickael you are here because it is the safest place for me, therefore, the safest place for you. The reason I couldn't let you stay there is because what if you are the next target. I don't want that to happen. You were never known about, therefore, I must make them not remember you. I hope you understand."

She tapped her fingers on the table and swallowed deeply.

I feel horrible having to lie to my nanna, but it is the right thing to do now.

"My favorite music is alternative/indie. Well, I guess anything maybe."

That's it no more. Not one more word. The more you know the more you are at risk to be killed.

"Deary, I think he wants to hear more."

Her phone vibrated.

Oh thank the lord above.

She smiled, "I have to take this."

She walked into the next room and answered the phone. Before she said hello the phone informed her who was calling. Keith.

"Salut!"

"Salut? Hello?" She said in her thick french accent.

Ah hell….

Keith thought as he heard the thick French accent. God I hope she can keep that at bay and articulate. At first he was tempted to hang up but then remembered she was a student like he was and the reputation he was trying to build and distance himself from his mafia father would be destroyed. Noticing the long silence, Keith grunted before speaking.

“Miss…Flores…I hope I am pronouncing that right.” Keith shifted some papers on his desk, schedule, script, storyboards, and audition lineup. “I just got you email and I have to say it is a very impressive resume. Now I am calling you to say before I put you in line for auditions tomorrow I wanted to get a few things out about this film and I am emailing you the screenplay…right…now.”

Clicking the REPLY button on the email he sent a copy of the screenplay back towards the person he thought was a student. “I think I should fill you in a bit about it.”

Keith took a sip of Dr. Pepper before talking. “It will have blood and gore, but mostly shadows and the like from the earlier days of horror. Now, we only have the budget for a nine day shoot, it is going to be long hours mostly outdoors and because this is a small film the actors are going to have to help behind the scenes in hauling equipment around. Egos can not be had…at all on set, makes everything a lot harder.”

He took another sip of soda. “Come to the theater room at ten tomorrow and we will start. I should also mention up front so it won’t come as a shock to you…well…you’re from France and new here so you don’t know who my father is. My father is Mafia and I am surrounded body guards and you will be padded down before hand. I hope that doesn’t bother you. So are you still interested?”

Of course she knew all of that. Now was her turn to get close to him. She was a pro at remembering lines and well, acting was natural that was evident enough. The padding down or the thugs would not affect her, she could use her foreign charm on them and her look could be innocent enough.

"Ah I think I understand. Although, I am not in trouble with the law, so there should not be no worry, no."

She paused. Her PDA showed she had recieved an e-mail from him.

"I assure you Mr. Gonyea, I will be no problem to you. I am quite likeable. I look forward to meeting you."

"I am sorry I have to go now. I have a big few days coming up."

She kissed Nanna on the cheek and then Mickael. Before either could protest she was out the door and drove off in one of the many cars she had,an 69 cherry red mustang.

----------------------------Fast forward to 10:01 am

The doors to the theater room fly open and a girl rans in. She is wearing short plaid shorts and a black shirt that falls off both bare shoulders. Her chocolate brown hair falls infront of her eyes. Her black flips flops clap against the solid ground.

She speaks quietly in a soft french accent, "Excuse me, I am looking for Mr. Gonyea. I am Katrina. I have an audition. I am sorry I am late."

Her purple eyes frantically search the room.

"Hello?"

“They moved.” A voice reached the girl’s ears. She turned to a face a slightly balding man in his late forties looking back at her. “I had that…that…abomination of work moved to another room.”

Before she could respond, another voice popped up. “Ms. Flores?”

She turned to see a teenager walk up. “I’m Avner, the producer of the movie. Come on, don’t worry…we ain’t gonna hold this against ya. They switched us at the last minute.”

Avner led her down the hallway and towards two men staring coldly at them as they walked forward. One of the men held out a hand and spoke in a thick Russian accent. “Empty your pockets…the both of you and put your hands against the wall.”

Avner sighed and obeyed as one of the Russians padded him down and ran the metal detecting wand over him. It buzzed and he quickly deposited a few coins and his wallet on a tray. He got the wand again and was let through. He waited as the girl went through the same process, he sighed in relief when she was let into the room.

There were five girls and seven boys in the room, standing around sipping cola and munching on donuts from a table near the stage. There were six other men in the theater, it was obvious by small bulges in their coats they had firearms there. “I think we are ready to start people.”

Keith emerged from behind the drawn curtain on the stage; he rubbed his hands and grinned. “I should say first off we are pushing up the start date to tomorrow. The college is bearing down on this production so we are starting shooting tomorrow and we will call those accepted tonight. Then again, considering the people here…every role should be filled. Avner…who is first?”


Four Hours Later


Avner’s head appeared from behind the curtain and he looked at the French girl. “You’re up.”

When she entered, she found a table, papers and small tapes on its and Keith reloading the camera. Another two men were there, both had the weapons bulge in their coats. The teen looked up and smiled. “Hey, Keith Gonyea. I would shake your hand but of course…being a Mafia kid gives you a bit of paranoia.”

Keith focused the camera on her. He looked at the small screen on it. “Okay Katrina, lets first hear you scream and put on your scared shitless face we will go from there okay? Alright…action.”

Mickael absorbed the information in an almost spounge like fashion, and when she mentioned it being important to keep her name secret, he nodded, "Since you do not want anyone to know your name, may I introduce you as my big sister?" He asked

He was as Nanna had pointed out been about to ask more questions, when she got a phone call to go somewhere to do something. As she left and he said good-bye, he let out a large yawn.

Stillwater was in the process of packing for his newest assignment, deciding what to bring along...

A pair of C4 bricks with electronic point and timed detonators would probably come in handy...

His Accuracy International L96A1, outfitted with a highly effective surpressor, 10x45 telescopic scope, and attatched bipod. The weapon was a bolt-action design, in .338 Lapua magnum, and fit neatly in a foil-lined briefcase, making it impossible for X-ray machines to detect its contents...

His trusty Glock 19, with an attatched surpressor and a few boxes of subsonic 9x19mm ammunition in Black-Talon-style hollow-points...

An SOG Seal Pup Elite combat knife, with half serrated edge...

And finally, a set of black fatigues complete with tactical drop-leg holster for his Glock...

Now all he had to do was get a plane ticket to Mr. Wesker's nation chosen nation of residence...

Nanna said after she saw him yawning, "Sleep will be good for the soul and body. In the morning we will find out more. Maybe I will show you some of her work. I am sure she won't mind. Ah, she never had any siblings and I am sure she would love that. Now run off. There is your room to the left and it has its own bathroom. If you need anything you be sure to holler for me."

------------------------------

Well, this had been a waste. To be exact a waste of four hours. Now he wants me to scream for him. Well, I will if it means getting closer to him I will do it.

She adjusted her shirt, which was still off of her shoulders and sighed.

First her purple eyes widened and then she raised her hands infront of her, but not to cover her face. And she let out a wail so shrill, she thought maybe the glass would break. Her body tensed up, her face paled, and then she collapsed on the ground.

Moments later, she stood up and said in her sweet french purr, "Is that all you need now Mr. Gonyea. I can do many things. You see from my resume, non?"

She tilted her head to the right side with her eyes wide, but not frightened and she smiled at him. While looking quite comfortable on stage with the light on her.

"Mr. Gonyea, what do you think, good, non?

Andrew Pentacost bounced his head against his car seat in the school parking lot. God, I hate when Control pulls this crap...

There was a knock on the passenger door and Pentacost opened it, he knew it was Orca Control. "Hey Andy..." Control stated in a slightly warm voice.
"Cut the crap control what are we doing here of all places?"
Control laughed slightly, "My cover demands that I not wander around today too much Andy...after all I have some interviews to do..." Andrew looked at his Control officer for a moment. She looked like a librarian in those glasses and the salt and pepper jacket. Her name tag read, Fedirica Delitone, International Film Society Archive Scholorships

Andrew chuckled, "Someone at ISS spent some time comming up with that one..."
"Yes they did, and Orca is larger than you Andrew, which is why your off..."
"What!"
"Listen, you wasted too much resources on Orca128 or whatever...and perhaps jepordized the mission."
"Huh? How she apparently never even noticed the tail..."
"Well you used three cars in rotating sequence...which was a huge waste of resources."
"Damn it..."
"No, your too emotionally involved in this Andy...I know Kurtz is to blame for your sister's death..."
"The loss of almost half her crew..." Andrew added in bitter tones.
"Quite, but this girl is nothing...nothing..."
"That girl just got out of the car and is walking into the school."
"What!!" Control was thrown by the non-sequitor.
"I just saw her in the rearview mirror. I doubt she noticed us...we're two rows away and my cars cold as hell. And these tall seats hide us fairly well...angle of the back windsheild likely gave a nice glare off of it."

Andrew stepped out of the car and into the parking lot. The girl was gone again.

"Andy...you are off..."
"Fine I am taking some personal time...starting now..." Andrew was walking across the parking lot towards the door the girl had vanished into a moment earlier.

Control caught up to him for a moment and whispered, "listen you moron...you should know that someone has been asking around about your infa-red set up...its custom so they haven't traced it but they have been digging about...sooner or later they are going to figure out that someone with big nasty pointy teeth is about, or at least someone able to pay for twenty years ahead of the open market. So be careful...

Andrew didn't change course or reply, that would have been bad spy craft. He just walked through the doors and into the building.

Now what... fate again seemed to deal him a winning hand as the girl...he was certin now...the years of training in visual recognition did him well...the girl was right before him with some kid apparently. And why did she look like a bad B movie verison of a french whore? This was getting a bit strange actually.

He followed them as though just generally going in the same direction. When the pair stopped before a pair of large, oversided human gorrillas guarding a door he continued looking for a change in route. Ach Himmel...
A cross hall appeared and Andrew took it like the proverbial golden brick road;

Alright...so...what the hell is going on here? Looks like the only people in the know are twiddle big and twiddle bigger...

Andrew pulled the rather small 9 millimeter from inside his jacket pocket and looked for someplace to store it. There was a pair of drinking fountains, the handicapped kind that stood away from the wall. Andrew walked over and felt the bottom edge as he took a sip. Thank god the plumpers were lazy, they didn't reattach the bottom cover... A peice of gum later the handgun was now hidden in the back corner of the water fountain.

Andrew turned back around the corner and walked towards the two guards. "Hey fella's...er...I seem to be a bit lost...you wouldn't happen to know where I can find...er..." Andrew stood there padding his various pockets in his best Columbo routine. Worst case they just push him off to get lost...best case they pad him down and toss him inside for the boss to inspect.

Keith scrunched up his face as she screamed. Damn we got a regular Fay Wray or Jamie Lee Curtis here. When she stopped, he looked at her, then at Avner, and then back at her and gave clap. “Well, at least we know how to test if the mic is working.”

Keith walked over to the desk and picked up a character sheet. “On your resume are countless notable roles. I don’t doubt your abilities Katrina…after that ‘need to go to the doc to check my ear’ scream…I think you will do fairly well. Though it seems you have never done film…then again I have never done horror before spare for some Stephen King. I’ve mostly done short dramas and experts from books and plays.”

Keith sipped some Dr. Pepper. “We won’t be doing any accents...I never write a script with and exact nationality to the character unless I really need to. Basing from your scream and your resume…I am considering you for the role of our heroine you might say Cindy...i hope you don’t mind playing a lesbian. Don’t worry, there is no sex here in the movie. If you feel uncomfortable, you can do another role. But, I think you could kick ass.”

He handed her a small leaf of paper that had a few lines of dialogue for Cindy on it. The first line was marked as an easy, relaxed conversation about romance between two of the characters Amy and Gregory. The second was suppose to be read in a creepy voice, detailing rumors of a great animal that stalked the woods, taking hikers and ripping them to shreds. The third was marked for complete panic and hysteria after the discovery of the mauled body of Cindy’s girlfriend Brittany the ruined remains of one of the tents.

Keith let her read look at the lines and readjusted the camera to focus on her. “Okay, ready and action.”


ooc: Theodrea..you can make up the lines she is suppose to read.

She glanced over the lines. Memorizing the words, the actions would come on call.

Hetero love:

Laughing, "Amy how can you stand the sight of it." She scrunches her nose as in disgust.

"I mean come on how can that be beautiful, I guess if you love him you love it."

Continues to laugh, "I know what you are going to say. I like Gregory and all, Amy, but not his you know what. I like what I have, not what I don't. Tacos are better than sausage."

The Legend of The Beast:

The fire sparked in her eyes and the scene became quiet.
Her voice became low and almost like in a spooky growl, "You know when he comes when he can smell. Smell the fear or maybe these baked beans."

Frantic laughter, "Or the smell of two lovers. Amy and Gregory."

"Well, honestly, I heard stories of him attacking,"

interrupted by another girl's voice, "Why do you always say he, what if its a girl?"

"Ha, never, the beast is a boy. Well, back to it. He attacks even when there is a fire and he has no weaknesses known to anyone. They always find body parts all over this forest. Why did we come here again?"

Lover's turmoil:
Cindy walking among the fallen branches and her foot lands on something not solid, but mushy. She looks down and sees it is Brittany's face.

She drops to her knees and let out a blood curdling scream and lets her face rest on Brittany's chest. Her screams turn into sobs and eventually silence.

She stopped. "Mr. Gonyea. I do not have a problem with this character or any thing she does. How did it go?"

Keith shut off the camera and sat back at the table and scribbled on some paper. He looked at Avner and the pair talked quietly together, occasionally shooting a glance at her. They seemed to agree on something as they nodded to each other and Keith turned back to her, he placed his elbows on the table, brought his hands up and rested his chin on them. His stare was dead, no emotion, no nothing.

There was nearly five minutes of silence before he grinned. "You got the part. And thank God too, all the other girls trying out immediatly turned down the role because she is lesbian, I already got Brittany cast from when the first notices went up. Now, I should ask...do you have any experiance with fighting? Any karate or something or other? If you do it'll be great, you can help everyone else out when we have a few punches thrown on set and be our helper on that...that is if you want to."

She smiled gracefully, "Thank you Mr. Gonyea. I am most appreciating of this. Maybe then I will get to meet new people. I have been really lonely here." pausing then quickly smiles to try to hide that evident sadness. "It does not bother me at all that I play someone who is a lesbian. I have had more roles that were risque, or how you say "sluty" heehee." Giggling softly.

"I have held many roles because I am many different peoples. I do not know how to explain it, but I have had it since I was little."

She paused for a moment and tapped her pedicured toes on the ground. "I have some experience with tai bo. I used it to keep in shape. But I been not attacked, my mother say it be the eyes of an child."

Shrugging her shoulders, "I would love to help out. Please tell me more."

She crossed the stage and approached the desk where he and Avner were. She glanced between the both of them.

"Please."

“I’ll show you around afterward.” Keith said.

Keith and Avner looked at each other when Katrina approached. Keith motioned for her to sit in a chair. It made him feel better that she was willing to help out, things were falling into place.

“Right, considering my body guards are mostly ex-Special Forces and their version of hand to hand is ‘break all your bones and kill you in one move with your pinky finger’…that ain’t going to work for us. Mostly it is one of the chars going a bit nutso and calming him down doesn’t work and he starts throwing punches so he has to be brought down to the ground. We’re not striving for ‘Crouching Tiger’ or Bruce Lee…but stuff that looks real and not wooden.”

“Sadly we don’t have the money to hire Stan Winston or Patrick Tatopoulos…otherwise we would have some creature fights.” Avner said.

“Yeah…but basically it is throwing punches and kicks…blocks and stuff before he is knocked on his ass. Nothing really complex.”

Keith sipped some more soda. “So…tomorrow at ten we meet outside and we will drive out to the forest for our first day of shoot. Wear just regular clothes that one would wear camping. It will get dirty and probably torn. So…choose carefully.”

She arrived at the campus fifteen minutes early. She had on a white wife beater, a snug pair of daisy ducks, and some hiking boots that went up to her knees. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she also carried a backpack and another smaller bag.

She waved at the gang and she said. "I didn't know what props you needed so I only brough this tent. It has room for four." She paused. "I think we could fit snugly six or so."

She smiled at them all. She spoke fast and with her accent. "I cannot believe this. In front of a camera. I have waited for this. Yes, I love the stage, but to be filmed in this way is incredible."

She laughed, "I have been filmed before and paid for it. I only did it once."
Her cheeks turned a bright rouge. "I told you I wouldn't mind being a lesbian, Keith."

She saw all of his "goons" watching. She came up close to him. "Keith, tell me more. Why do these men follow you so? I do not understand why?"

Her eyes meet his with sincere worry.

OOc: May I join?

And If so, how might I begin?

ooc: read and understood.
I'll begin RPing tomorrow

Keith was supervising the three vans were being loaded with everything they needed, coolers with drinks and sandwiches, cameras, tapes, extra lightening equipment, some props including a few buckets of fake limbs and blood. He turned his head as Katrina came up. He smiled, the rest of the cast and crew were already there, along with eight visible bodyguards. Keith’s eyes turned to her bags and didn’t respond when she talked to him.

“Bags…table, now.” A rough Russia voice said. She turned to see Timur standing next to her, staring down at her through black sunglasses that seemed to soak up all the sunlight. The Russian firmly planted himself between her and Keith and pointed to a table where another guard stood. Timur spoke coldly and one hand was in his pocket, possibly holding a pistol. “Empty your bags and pockets there…now.”

Keith took a few steps back, so did everyone else. He looked at his guards, two were sitting on the backs of Jeep Wranglers, and one of them had their hand in the back of the Jeep, apparently ready to grasp something sitting out of sight. The other had a hand in his pocket, staring at her.

Keith spoke. “I told you they would be here. Since you are new here I will fill you in. My dad is the head of the most powerful Mafia here in this country. Because of that, I get the whole gang of guards. Kinda deal before you greet me you are to be searched completely before evening getting close. Here is the fun part…not only do I have my dad’s guys…I got IBI…over there.”

Keith pointed to a parked blue Toyota just outside of campus and down the street a few blocks. The teen waved and smiled at the barely visible people in there, they had a high power camera watching him. Keith turned back to Katrina.

“Cause I am part of the Family I get the whole treatment, guards and cop tails. Hopefully IBI doesn’t screw up with filming. The guards are of course here to protect me from scumbag gang bangers. The other families, it is against our little code to call out hits on family who aren’t associated with the family business. Pure and simple reasoning is that if one family kills someone who is part of the other family but not business, it would spin outta control very quickly. The only people I gotta worry about are little suburban trash kids thinking they are all gangsta and cool by trying to kidnap or kill me. Course if anything happens to anyone not associated with the business with any family, the others are obligated to help in finding out the rats that did the dirty stuff.”

Finished, Keith gave a smile. “Now, please empty your stuff so we can get going.”

She looked slightly confused, but she obeyed.

Damn, this kid is hard to get close to. Maybe he isn't interested in girls. Then I just must do my job and hopefully he will open up to me.

She threw her bags onto the table and glared at the men.

Her french accent thick and angry, "I cannot believe this. I have never been searched like this before. How dare you treat me like a criminal. Tu es bete et merchant."

Her hair tossed with each word and her hands were on her hips. She tapped her right foot on the ground out of impatience.

After they finished she whipped them away from them and began to follow the rest of the crew.

Keith stood by as the guards searched Katrina’s bags and as she went on her little rant. He sighed as the search was done and he gave a signal and group loaded things up. Keith took the drivers seat of the lead van and had Katrina sit next to him. Behind them was a lot of equipment, another teen sleeping and one of Keith’s guards. Keith gunned the engine and started out of the city.

He looked over at her. “I’m really sorry about that. If I had my choice it wouldn’t have happened. I try to distance myself from my father…don’t get me wrong I love him, I love him a lot…he is a good man, always wants the best for me. Of course he is very protective too. That is why the guards and don’t worry, everyone gets searched. I would rather not have them, but my dad’s orders stand firm.”

Keith gave her a grin. “Hey, put it outta your mind. We got a few barrels of severed limbs in the back and a few gallons of blood. We’re gonna have a lot of fun today. It was John Carpenter who said to the effect ‘If you want to have a good time at a movie set, go to horror film. Dramas are boring but when someone pulls out the fake blood and limbs…good times ensue.’ Well…I hope you don’t hold that little search against me Katrina. I’m really a nice guy and so is my family.”

She laughed and seemed to be more relaxed. "Oh Mr. Gonyea, I do not hold it against you," resting her hand on his thigh. Then blushed and pulled it away. She rushed. "I apologize my culture is so different I guess. But that is the reason I am abroad to be exposed to that."

She shruged her shoulders, "I guess also cause my agent said America was the place. I was already discovered in my country, but it was better in America I was told."

She looked over at him. "I guess I will see."

She looked out the window, while several moments passed. She looked back over at the young director.

"Mr. Gonyea, what do you do during your spare time? Is your time taken up by another?"

((Just letting you all know Im still here, Ill post when the time is right.))

The nanny of Rashel placed a battered black notebook in front of the boy.

"Here sonny, this is heres. Might shed some light on her and maybe help you along. Oh and she called. She is out on business and tied up. She will be back in several days."

She paused and smiled at the boy, "She asked how you were doing."

She laughed, "I bet you wonder why. I have never seen her like that, care like that at all."

She chuckled and left the boy alone.

I hate him. I hate him so. Why would he take my parents? I will murder him. I remember it all, oh the dreams won't let me forget. I still feel their blood drip from my fingers and I still feel their cold bodies. I never asked for this, nor did I deserve it? I will find that guy if it is the last thing I do. And when I find him. I will murder him. I don't care if I go to Hell. Hell is earth to me now. What could be worst than living like this now. I will be going to fifth grade, but I will be taking some extra classes, karote. But I won't us it as defense. I will use it as a weapon and then I will find him spit in his face like he did my mommy's and kill him. So what if I die, so what if I go to hell. I didn't deserve to be left alone. Now I will make it like I was meant to be alone. I will kill. And I won't stop it till he is dead.

This was the first and many to follow after. Her whole notebook was full and this one was only for one year. She had several others to follow.

OOC: Sorry OA. I am trying to get everyone involved, but I have to have my character to get closer to GS's to get him for your character. But maybe you could have him call her or something. Sorry again.

Some hours after Mickael fell asleep, he awoke as he did everytime. The only difference between that time and every other time was he had no clue where he was. Freaking out, he began calling out as his mind frantically tried to put location to activities to help him figure out where he was.

((Not a problem at all, this is a great RP you've got going here.))

ooc: OA, my character's in Theodrea's character's Nanna's house.

((I know... ))

Keith looked over at her as she placed her hand on him. She was a knock out he had to admit. He smiled at her as she explained her little career to him.

“Well, I can say that when we finish the shoot and post there is the film festival and maybe it will get picked up by a DVD distributor. Small start I must say but of course there are major studios there too and actors so you never know. Horror is probably the most marketable genre in the world that is why there are so many low budget horror films.”

He shrugged as she mentioned his free time. “Well, I work at a Borders…I sometimes go yachting when I am down at the coast, but we are far away from any beach. Hiking, movies, trying to register for flying lessons. I also write a bit and I go down to the target range. Shooting skeet and stuff, pretty handy with a firearm. What about yourself?”

"It's okay son," said a voice full of mock friendliness and false warmth, "You're quite safe."

Mikael had fallen asleep in the comfortable bed of Nanna's guest room... he had awoken on a dirty cot in a musty room whose walls were pealing. Water spots stained the ceiling, and off-white paint, cracking a pealing with age, covered the cement walls. Across from Mikael, at a beat lookign card table, sat a man in a white shirt with a stained black tie, he was smoking and drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup.

"I'm Doctor Quinn, but you can call me Vic if ya like," the man in the white shirt said, flashing a tabacco stained smile at Mikael, "We just have you here for a bit, to keep you safe. You'll go back to Nanna soon enough, mkay?"

Next to the doctor, on the table, was a battered looking television... on the floor next to him were some musty looking stuffed animals.

It was then that the "doctor's" cell phone beeped. Vic offered the kid another yellowy smile and walked out of the rotting wooden door. There was a click as he locked the door behind him.

"You got the boy?" asked the unmistakable voice of Andrew 'The Shark' Kurtz.

"Yes sir," replied Quinn, "We got him at the safe house."

"And the grandmother?" the CEO asked.

"Dead... we made it look like a heart attack." Doctor Victor Quinn replied.

"Good Vic. Hold the boy until we get Gonyea and can bump off this Farista chick, then dispose of him."

"Yes sir," Vic replied without a beat... killing a child was a simple days work for one of Kurtz's goons... nothing out of the ordinary today.

The line clicked silent, Quinn pocketed the phone and walked back into the saferoom.

"Hi sport!" he said with cloying, false, enthousiasm. "Listen, I've got to run out for a bit... so why don't you turn on the ole TV, mkay?"

((If this is not acceptable Ill be happy to delete it, as to how Kurtz found the grandmother.... To be revealed...))

OOC: Sounds good I guess. Nice twist I mean. But "kurtz" must realize ferista is not really ferista and why does he want her dead. Plus, how is she "the main character" going to stay alive?

She smiled at him, not that smart is he, eh? No, he is, but that is typical guy for you. Never know when a girl is flirting with them.

"I enjoy the outdoors. I try to hike weekly and I go swimming most everyday. I have to keep the shape I have I guess. My agent says not only my talent should be perfect, but my body. Although, I think she overexaggerates. But I mean do you spend your time with another girl?"

Before he could answer. Her phone began to vibrate.

"We are sorry to inform you, but your grandmother is dead. Heart attack cause, but we are searching for other possibilities."

She didn't let them finish she hung up the phone.

Her face fell.

Damn it all to hell. Damn this life.

"Mr. Gonyea is there any way that we can stop the vehicle and I can catch up with you later."

Her phone vibrated once more.

"We advice you to continue your job. We are aware of the other possibilities and your grandmother was found by them. Do not change your way for they will know." The automated voice stopped and then the tone changed to a more human like sound.

"We are sorry."

And then there was silence.

Her world was falling into a void. Her grandmother was the only thing tieing her to being human. Now that she was dead, her human life was dead.

She tried to choke back the tears.

Business is business. I have a job to do.

She smiled once more, but it was faulty.

How am I going to hide my weakness?

OOC: Sounds good I guess. Nice twist I mean. But "kurtz" must realize ferista is not really ferista and why does he want her dead. Plus, how is she "the main character" going to stay alive?



OOC He knows she's not Farista, but has nothing else to call her. He wants her dead so that no one can tie him to Gonyea's disappearance- he's not a very trusting person...

“Oh, gone out with a girl? No, all have been scared off because I am Mafia.” Keith said as he got what she had meant.

He stopped the van as a train moved passed on the tracks. It was going to be a long one and Keith looked at Katrina as she spoke about stopping the car. He was about to speak when her phone rang again and when she hung up it looked like she was going to suddenly break down.

The teen removed a black handkerchief made from a soft cloth and offered it to her. His eyes were full of concern and his voice was too.

“Katrina, here…what is it? What is wrong?”

Damn it, whoever said I could act, boy are they wrong.

She smiled and nodded. She just held the hankerchief in her clasped hands. She looked at him.

"Oh it is nothing you need to worry about. My history would bore you when you have your own problems. But I mustn't leave 'cause he would find me and then not all would be well for any of you. It is good we are going to a remote place."

She sighed.

"Mr. Gonyea, do you like girls?"

She giggled nervously.

She whispered that only he could hear her. " I do not mean to be forward and I wanted to wait until I had my role to tell you. But you interest me greatly in more than one way."

OOC: So how will I not get my character killed by yours. I don't mind if she is killed, but I don't want her to be killed as of yet.

Mickael looked at the man, his mind remembering where he'd been while he looked around and realized he wasn't where he fell asleep.

"Well I wouldn't. I think I'd prefere calling you bastard." He thought as he looked at the disgusting, hobo looking man.

He turned the tv on to SpongeBob SquarePants, turning the volume way up as the man left, incidentally forgetting to look the door.

After a few minutes he opened and peeked out the door. Seeing no one there, he quickly left, heading out of the building and down the street. He didn't know who the man was, but knew he wasn't nice and the lady's Nanna wouldn't have left him with the stinking man.

((I dont want her to die, it's just that my characters a killing bastard. I figure, when you bring Keith to the drop point and someone pulls a gun on you u can go all kong fu on him. We'll see where the story goes, but I dont have any intention of actually killing any of you... I suspect Kurtz will die in the end))

Keith arched his eyebrow when she said ‘he would find me’, his guard had heard it and had whispered in Russian into a small microphone attached to his jacket to be on the lookout for any strange people nearby. The teenager looked at her as she posed the obvious sex orientation.

“Yes I do…and you can stop calling me Mr. Gonyea that is my dad. Unfortunately most girls find it appalling I am part of the Mafia or they only want in to hopefully get rich. A bunch of shallow bitches…pardon my language...they are.”

With her whisper brought a blink and a readjustment in his seat. She tried not to be forward, but instead this was very forward. Keith didn’t get a chance to speak as the last train car passed and the guard went up. Snapping his head back, he gunned the van and continued on its way.


It was a nice area, woods, grass, and a small stream nearby. They had set up four tents in a small area and had begun with dialogue scenes. Keith was very happy with the way things were going, the actors were doing a great job and everyone was having a fun time, the guards had made a ring around the set, but kept out of frame. He grinned as he saw Katrina on the monitor; she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and a damn fine actress.

It was mid afternoon when they broke for lunch. Sodas, chips, sandwiches, fruits, and some vegetables were placed on some tables. Keith saw Katrina on a log on a slight rise that overlooked the set and he walked up with his plate with a ham and cheese sandwich and corn chips. He smiled as he sat down next to her and opened his bottle of Cherry Coke.

“Having a good time Katrina?”

She watched Keith approach and sit next to her. She smiled sweetly. "It is amazing to me how this can be so similar to the stage and yet completely different. I am at loss for words I guess, I am bewildered. You are a great director, also. I have worked with many, bad and good."

She paused and took a bite of her ham and cheese sandwhich. She swallowed. "But I have never worked with a peer before and you are excellant. It makes me wonder how you have your talent at an young age. But there are always those who have natural talent."

She glanced at the men keeping guard. "Plus, you still have a good head on your shoulder with the extra men around. I don't know if I would be pompous or crazy if I had them around me all the time. Don't you wish you could just have your alone time, personal space?"

She took a sip of her Dr. Pepper and took another large bite of her sandwhich. Some mayo was left on the corner of her lips, but she did not notice it.

Keith smiled as she compared the crude set to the stage. He also couldn’t contain a blush as she called him a ‘great director’. He tried to talk, but only a smile and a small laugh came out.

“Well, I’ve watched a lot of Sergio Leone movies and a few Clive Barker and David Cronenberg. You’re a great person to work with too. Very talented and you have a lot of good humor.”

He looked at his guards and shrugged as he munched on the sandwich and drank some cola. “I don’t mind them much. Something you get use to at an early age I guess. Personally I rather not have them; no one would wanna mess with us. Take it from me, some asshole tried to whack my older brother, he failed…no one has seen him since…well, spare for a finger wrapped in tin foil. Fact my dad is the most powerful Mafia Boss in the country is protection enough.”

He drank more cola before speaking quickly. “Don’t get the wrong impression about my dad. He is a good man, you would like him. Very nice if you stay on his good side. With personal space, I got some…bathroom of course. My dorm room too. Though I suspect my dad might have a security camera in it…but I dunno. Sometimes I slip away while I am in a club.”

He pointed to her lip. “You got mayo on the edge of your mouth.”