Fire and Ice

Chapter 1. Blinded By The Champions

"I know her enough," My father says, "The Angel of Death is fucking impetuous and darling, a little too bold and way too fucking fearless." Yeah, that seems about right.

I grab my keys off the table and my bag before waving slightly to my father, strongly holding his steaming cup of coffee upon, "I've got to head to work now, Dad. I'll see you, when I see you."

The crisp morning wind gently brushes against my face as I go down to my car, unlock it and hop inside. A mottle of baby blue and white, blended to fashion my favourite morning grey, adorned the newborn sky as I drove down a few streets, then drove straight for about five to ten minutes.

Before I finally arrived at the CIA, in Langley, Virginia. Yes, before you start saying, oh my, Miss Astoria Black, do you really work for the CIA as a detective, even as a assassin on red notice? Well, we're about to go into a history of deep, dark shit.

It all started on my sixth birthday. The sixth of April. It was supposed to be the best day of my mother fucking life and it was the exact opposite. My mother had hired a clown to perform and being the bitch of a child that I was, hated the clown and wanted a magician instead.

I chose to poison the clown when he took a sip of the tea that my mother was going to give him. A couple seconds and he dropped dead. My mother had no clue what went on, but I did. I knew exactly what had happened, and even for my first taste of death, I loved it.

Honestly I don't know what happens for the next five years after that, but when I turned eleven and fifteen people on my kill list already, someone decided to hire me professionally for a job.

When I was much younger, I had always told my parents that I wanted to be like them and become an Interpol agent, but my mother tried to tell me to lower my standards because they were so high, so she told me to try for the CIA instead and so I did.

So when I got a job offer from a corrupt French ambassador, what did I do? I bloody took it. My best friend at the CIA had a different story though. It went something like this:

"Mum, please don't go-"

"Shhhh. Cover your eyes and stay here. I'll be back before you'll know I'm gone." With that, the five year old's mother turned and never came back.

That scene exactly happened to Detective Maeve Roux, aka my best friend. She's the only one who knows about my other position of work, and I've told her that if she even questions or turns me in, I'll kill her faster than squishing an ant.

Maeve also is a great cop; she knows where all the worst bad guys are and she's caught a couple people when she's been off working hours as well. In fact, I'm about to see her ass hop out of that stank of a BMW, in three, two, one.

"Astoria!" calls out Maeve.

I run up to her and say under my breath, "Never call me Astoria in public. Yeah sure, as soon as we walk inside that building, you can absolutely refer to me as Detective Astoria Black, but when we're out here, in the mother fucking real world, that game is different."

"What should I call you then?"

"Well, there's a lot of options, Mae-"

"Forget it, let's just go inside."