Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice

Your Worst Nightmare

"Do you think that this is the job I longed for while I was growing up, huh?" I ask him as I pace around the chair he is tied to, making no sound despite my military issue boots.

"I don't know. you seem pretty comfortable with it." He pants, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Don't get smart with me, you ass hole" I spit at him, landing yet another hit across his badly bruised face. "Tell me, Mister, how old would you say I was?" I continue to circle him, hitting him didn't even need a pause.

"What? You want to play twenty questions with me?" His fat lip does not stop a smarmy smirk from crawling across his face, but another smack knocks it away. "Okay! I'm sorry!" He spits a tooth out along with another load of blood.

"Maybe answering my questions could help your chances here?" I suggest.

"Um," He looks me up and down, "Twenty three?"

"Not quite." I feel a small smile on my lips, "I'm twenty one."

"So?" He frowns up at me again. God, his face is just begging to be punched again.

"So, do you think that I wanted to be doing this when I turned twenty one? No. I wanted to be in college, studying art history, hooking up with some cute professor and barely paying my rent. Never in my life would I have thought that I would be pacing around some dingy room with an absolute prick tied to a chair. I didn't think that being here with you would be how I was spending my twenty first birthday." Okay, so maybe I'm feeling a little sorry for myself, but I have every right.

"Look, I'm sorry that your friends forgot your birthday, but I don't see how this is my fault." He is beginning to panic, I can see it in his shifty blue eyes. I decide that I've toyed with him for long enough and I begin to screw the silencer onto my pistol.

"You should't be feeling sorry for me." I lean down to look him square in the eye, "You should feel sorry for the hundreds of people that you have killed with that terrorist attack."

His eyes widen as he realises why I have trapped him here.

"You're a cop?" He asks, though I can see that he doubts his conclusion.

"No. I am your worst nightmare." I take a step back, point the pistol at his head and fire three shots.

I pull my cell phone from inside my jacket and hit speed dial.

"Hello?" Answers a deep and familiar voice.

"It's done." I sigh and hang up the phone.

I leave the room and my day's work behind me, knowing that the mess will be dealt with after I'm gone.

I get back to my apartment and one of the heads of my department is waiting for me on the kitchen counter.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stay off of there? Counters are for glasses, not for asses!" I have to give a small laugh as I shove him onto his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Just making sure you're alright, Jen. Is that such a bad thing?" Wade Harman has always been a cocky bastard, and today is no exception.

"Well, I'm busy." I set my bag on the table and begin to empty it. My pistol with the silencer still screwed on, black leather gloves, sunglasses, lock picking gun, paratrooper knife and three spare mags. Wade gets the message and leaves me in peace.

"See you tomorrow." He mutters as he climbs out of the window to use the fire escape.

As soon as he is gone I turn back to the bag and pull out my wallet. From inside I pull a worn old photograph of a fair haired young couple with their dark haired teenage daughter. A photo of my family.

When I was fourteen my mom was killed during a bank robbery, and my father killed himself just a few days later. I am an only child, so I was alone. I didn't want to be a burden to anybody. I didn't want to depend on anyone the way I had depended on my parents, becuase sooner or later everyone will leave you. I began to run, stopping only to sleep or steal food. I lasted a couple of weeks before Wade found me and took me back to his place. He fed me so I could gain back the weight that I had lost and he brought me to the place where he worked: Skyline. Skyline are a government department that takes in homeless and orphaned teenagers. But not only do they take us in, give us a home and feed us; they also train us. Endurance training, weapons training, computer hacking, hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, observation and deception. Whatever training we need to become the best at what we do. We are trained to kill, and we are very, very good at our jobs.

When I turned sixteen, I was no longer just some homeless teenager. I had completed my training and was ready for whatever was in store for me.

I am the best assassin that Skyline has ever trained. I am Jennifer Graye.