Jennifer Morgan got out of Vought's grasp in the mid-90s and has been under the radar ever since, turning into a mercenary for hire to make ends meet. When Hughie Campbell and Billy Butcher break into her apartment and pitch to her the notion of kil...
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───── ❝You're more of an idiot than I first thought ❞ ─────
《☆》★《☆》★《☆》★《☆》★《☆》
Rain poured. Neon lights bounced off the wet asphalt. Jen waited against the brick wall of the building behind her, poised to strike. People passed the alleyway without as much as a glance in her direction, perfectly hidden in plain view.
The restaurant across the street was well-lit. Her target sat at one of the window tables, talking to a woman almost three times younger than him. It made her stomach curdle to think about what he was trying to achieve.
She waited for hours. The rain didn't ease up. Eventually, they dropped the check and began making their way outside. He made sure to kiss her on the cheek before they parted ways and Jen saw the subtle slip of a wad of cash into her coat pocket.
He's even more gross than she'd been warned. Carefully, she tailed him through the streets, lingering behind just far enough that it wasn't obvious. Not that it mattered anyway, he was oblivious to just about everyone else around him.
His apartment building came into view. Jen knew he lived in an upscale building, so she split from the sidewalk as he disappeared inside. Up the fire escapes, across balconies and shimmying around windowsills, until his apartment came into view.
Jen waited, perched on his balcony, hidden in the shadows and watching through the windows. He went about his business, hanging up his coat and pouring himself a drink before assuming his position in his armchair facing the TV.
Now was the time.
Silent, Jen lowered herself onto the balcony and picked the doors open easily. Soundlessly, her boots moved over the plush carpet, leaving no prints behind.
Careful. Precise. Jen pulled the garroting wire from her belt. She crept up behind the armchair, poised to strike. As the laugh track on the TV picked up, that was her opportunity. With almost no effort required the wire cut through flesh, muscle and ligaments like a hot knife through butter.
As the last of his life force gurgled away, Jen's phone began to ring. She removed the wire and tucked it back into her belt before answering.
"Hello?"
"Is it done?"
"Yeah. Gimme a minute I'll send you proof." She walked around to the front of the armchair and snapped a picture, sending it to the unnamed contact.
"Pleasure doin' business with you. Money should be in your account in the next hour."
"Thanks."
Jen woke with a stretch, hearing the commotion of people getting ready, packing bags and talking through the plans. With a groggy head from the oxy, Jen went in search of a drink, deciding to stick her head under the bathroom sink taps.
