Echo

Chapter 14: Proposition

Author's Notes: When I originally wrote this chapter, it was very different, but I think I like this version better.

I hope you enjoy, and in case you're curious, the pop song I reference in the chapter is "Til the World Ends" by Britney Spears.

'Cause she's the queen.

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Echo

It was hard to hear what he was saying over the music, as the heavy bass of a rock song practically made the walls shake in its volume, but listening was not your prerogative.

Regardless, he shouted over the din, "–and really, who the fuck cares?"

Whatever he was arguing was just noise, not dissimilar to the vapid lyrics coming out of the speakers in the club. You were sitting at the bar beside your next target, facing him and letting your knee brush up against his on occasion as you sipped your drink slowly. You had had no choice but to let him buy you an alcoholic beverage, but you couldn't let your judgment be clouded by the liquor. It didn't help that you had not taken a sip of anything close to vodka for months.

Smiling, you replied, "I know, right?"

He grinned at you, satisfied at your agreement, pointed at your half-empty glass and said, "You're drinking that pretty slow,"

Shrugging, you glossed over his annoyingly observant comment and answered, "Well a lady must keep her wits about her in the presence of a man like you."

"You saying I'm bad?" He inquired, looking unoffended by your remark.

Leaning closer, you replied flirtatiously, "The worst."

It was the first non-lie you had told him all night, and he predictably laughed aloud at your honesty, seeming amused by it. He was a foreign arms dealer linked to a series of shootings, and you had been sent to kill him.

The assignment was not an easy one, but you understood why it had been handed to you. The agency was ensuring that you were still competent and capable in lieu of the circumstances on your rather unconventional assignment upon the U.S.S. Enterprise. Usually you didn't carry out such actions in public, but ironic as it sounded you knew that it was the only way to take him down without being noticed. Even if security cameras caught you on tape, your disguise was too convincing.

Between the multi-colored but natural looking wig, colored contacts, poor lighting and a special bra that made your breasts look two sizes bigger, there was a slim chance of them pinning the assault on you. Even if the cops did bring you in, you had photographic evidence with a convincing alibi, and you were wearing invisible plastic gloves that disguised your fingerprints. There was no way they could tie you to this.

Still, you were getting tired of leading him on. There was a Zeta waiting at the exit of the club for you, and he was probably just as irritated about the gig. He was essentially babysitting you right now, and prepared to swoop in just in case something went wrong. It was always possible, but it helped that you happened to be this particular criminal's type of one-night stand.

The previous song ended, and you glanced at the dance floor where there was a thick cluster of people grinding against each other, their mating rituals uninterrupted by the brief pause in sound from the speakers. It was dark in that region save for the rainbow-colored strobe lights flashing from the ceiling, immersing them in green, then red, then blue, then yellow in a predictable pattern.

As soon as the sound of music filled the club again, you knew abruptly that it was time to make your move. They had told you from the beginning that you were to keep it as brief as possible, and your flirtations had not been subtle. You had gained his genuine interest, and while having him pressed up against you was about as appetizing as taking a swim in wet garbage, you knew it was right to pull the trigger. More figuratively than literally.