Officer Genevieve Perez.
A diligent police constable. She's quick, both mentally and physically, with a gun by her side at all times. The 24-year-old does her duty to the best of her ability, and absolutely nothing can distract her when she sets a...
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Genevieve's skin crawled the second she stepped foot inside the sketchy-looking shop. It wasn't located in a posh neighborhood. Far from it actually, and she pondered over turning back around and running towards her car.
She couldn't place her finger on what exactly brought her here. Perhaps it was the thirst for vengeance, the need to get back at the man who put her through hell. Or maybe, it was because she was a good person. The good in her was ready to sacrifice herself, just so it meant that no one else would be subject to Shadow's ruthlessness.
The place reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. Its walls were in poor conditions, with chips of paint peeling off to reveal a rotten surface. The glass showcases that the shop held contained several types of watches and bracelets, but Genevieve knew that was just a disguise to hide what the shop-owner actually sold. That, she hadn't figured out on her own. It was Owen who told her.
A nostalgic smile graced her lips when she recalled the moment in the hospital room. It was so platonically intimate. The two cried in each other's arms like there was no tomorrow. For her, at least. It was essentially a final goodbye from Owen to her, or from her to Owen. Maybe it was both.
"And what is a pretty face like you doing over here?"
A rough and guttural voice pulled Genevieve out of her trance. She looked up abruptly, only to see a man enter the shop through a door behind the cash register. She didn't get the chance to peek at the surroundings behind him, because he shut the door just when he stepped in.
The man looked to be at least forty. He was balding on top, and wasn't too tall. He was rather short, and Genevieve could tell that she was fairly taller than him. A dirtied black shirt clung to the top half of his body, and his aged face displayed decaying teeth whenever he opened his mouth.
"Well?" He grunted playfully, before he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the glass surface. Genevieve hated it here. She hated everything about the place. It's smell, the way it looked, and the shop-owner himself. But she had to bear with it, for the sake of getting what she wanted
"I want a bomb." She called out, and she never made an effort to approach him or even take another step. Genevieve was still standing near the entrance of the shop, because she knew she might throw up if she walked deeper into the place.
The man spat a nasally guffaw at that. But he didn't reply to her. He simply observed her in the wait that she'd elaborate, and when she raised an eyebrow instead, he spoke for her.
"What kind then? There are thousands of types, you need to be more specific."
"A small one, so I can hide it somewhere in my pocket. It has to be powerful and have a generous explosion range, and I want a detonator to control it."
The man was surprised at her demands, even more than when she set foot in the shop. In this neighborhood, women as beautiful and young as her didn't come to buy bombs or other kinds of deadly weapons. They would come to pursue a different line of work. For her to require such an explosive only confused him, but he implicated nothing of the sorts. He only turned around and disappeared into the door which he had just entered his shop through.
