Liquid Death

Chapter 2

She wasn't scared. She was never scared. What was there to be afraid of? Some would say death was a common fear. She would laugh at their mortality. And envy it all at the same time. Torture? As if. She is torture. She was never scared when she went on these self assigned missions. These missions that made her out to be a monster to the public. Her victims friends and family claimed that they didn't deserve such an unsavory death. They did. They stole and cheated and were cruel. They raped the young and stole from the poor. They just had the resources and the tools to hide it better. Nothing could hide from her. She was a monster who hid in the dark, had eyes everywhere. She knows everything.

Her feet were soundless on the cold cement. Her hair billowed with the wind as she jumped from building to building. She was a master assassin. She didn't need to worry if the blue strands of flowing hair would attract unwanted attention in the peaceful city. They wouldn't get a good enough look of her. She would be gone by the time they turned to look. But that didn't matter. No one was awake and who would be? After the long day of partying? They had parties and floats and parades. Enough to tucker out a grown man. And what for? The anniversary of the battle of New York, when the chitauri flew down from the heavens. The battle raged by the Avengers and Loki and his allies. A battle resulting in many deaths, avoidable bloodshed. If only Nick Fury didn't mess with the tesseract, a device in which he knew nothing in regards to his origin or history.

And yet the women danced and the men drank as the children played in the streets. I suppose they celebrated their victory, they should have mourned the deaths. But no matter, it was awfully convenient for her. Her victim most likely laid passed out on the couch, his celebrations having taken him out of the comforts of sobriety. So drunk in fact one could even claim he was careless when he was handling his dinner or taking his shower, I've yet to decide on the manner of his death. One could claim it was an accident but they would be false and everyone would know it, for why would a self respecting man carve a tear under his eye with nothing but a knife. No man would and that's how they would know it was her kill. Know that she had struck again and that no one was safe even as they partied and celebrated. Even as they drank their wine and spent their money denying it the entire time. Saying to themselves as they faded into sleep, of course nothing could happen to these rich men for they have high security and bodyguards who never leave their sides. But at last, they always met their downfall.

Her victim tonight was one that she have never met, which in itself wasn't all that strange, she never meets her victims. She doesn't want the suspicion to fall on her, if avoidable. But she had often heard of them, heard rumours of their devious acts. Rumours that were often unconfirmed facts. But for this particular victims she has heard nothing but goods words. In fact, she thought he was an extraordinary man. But S.H.I.E.L.D had deemed him worthy of assasination. She trusted S.H.I.E.L.D, it was the only non-corrupt agency, seeing as it cleansed the HYDRA agents and started anew but still something seemed strange. Why would they mark their director for assasination? It simply did not make sense. She very nearly dropped the job, something didn't feel right. She felt as if she was walking into a trap.

She glanced at the screen that displayed the directors whereabouts. He was in the S.H.I.E.L.D compound. It would be easy enough to get in, that wasn't what worried her. What worried her was what she didn't know. What awaited her beyond those heavily guarded walls? She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomache but she continued. She touched the glass pane just outside the final entrance. Her stomache churned with anxiety, she paused. Her nerves have been telling her to leave, her instincts screamed to run. She should have listened to them. She turned slowly in the direction in which the click of the gun was heard. A woman stepped out of the shadows, her gun aimed in her direction. Its lead wouldn't harm her, nothing could harm her but she tried to steer clear of avoidable violence. She chose to raise her hands in the air, this centruries visual display of non-violence. The women cocked a brow but showed no move to put down her weapon. She, now recogninsing the armed women, grinned. She spoke for the first time in over 6 months, "Hello," She tilted her head in a show of respect, " Agent May."