Gold, Guns and the Girl

1. Footprints

    A pair of brand-new shiny black stilettos tap on the hard floor with an urgent rhythm. The owner of the shoes had long legs, and she walked with full confidence. She wore a black satin mid-length spaghetti strap dress with a v-neckline that had a slit on the right leg. Dark brown curled shoulder length hair bounced with each step that she took. Her elegant appearance was only a facade; covering up the Walther PPK handgun that was strapped securely to her inner thigh.
    Her face was relaxed, yet determined and observant; eyes moving through the room as if she were looking for something. Her gaze stopped when it hit the poker table in the middle of the hotel grand ballroom. There sat a large man with greased back black hair, his arrogance was already suffocating and she hadn't even gotten close yet. She walked towards the table, almost completely filled except for one seat. She promptly grabbed the chair, pulled it out and sat on it. "Sorry I'm late," she says, "you must forgive me, my driver can't seem to tell the time," she continues as she pulls out a dark red lipstick from her clutch. The men stare at her as she applies the makeup. The man reeked of cigar smoke and years of nicotine use stained his, otherwise perfect, teeth yellow. The arrogant man asks, "are you sure you have the right table," in a mocking manor. "Yes," she replies with unwavering confidence. "Well, excuse my mistake," he continues, "I was under the impression that you were supposed to be a man." Unbothered, the woman replies, "I get that a lot," she closes her bag and tucks one side of her hair behind her ear, revealing dazzling diamond earrings, "now, are we going to play or not?"
    The rest of the group might as well have not existed, they didn't stand a chance. The arrogant man, who went by the name Mastiff Argon, had his attention on the only competition at the table; her. As the night progressed and more and more of the original group left for the bar, the bets got bigger and bigger between the two; both of their egos far too big to even consider losing. She remained calm, which wiped the smugness right off of his face, his aggression grew. When he eventually lost it all, he shoved the stacks of chips towards the woman, like a soiled child, before she could go to grab them. His perfect hair had fallen into his face and covered his grey, colorless eyes as they stared at her in despicably.
She was on her way to the bar when somebody grabbed her shoulder. He was wearing a tailored suit and dress shoes that made him at least an inch taller than he actually was, and yet she was still taller than him. He looked up at her and spoke in a hushed, but frustrated tone into her ear "why did you do that," he stopped and saw that she was smiling, "your job wasn't to make him upset? Do you want to screw up the plan?" He was annoyed at how much fun this was to her. "You want to know why I did it," she prompts, "because I felt like it," she said as she left no time for a response and disappeared into the crowd.
    She sat at the bar, decorative lights coloring her face with saturated hues, and downed another martini. Suddenly, she felt the presence of someone behind her, but she paid no attention to them until they spoke, "be careful there," a man said, "those are going to hit you like a brick." She turned around and looked him up and down, she recognized him from the earlier game. "I'll be fine," she replied. This only seemed to appease him, "are you sure about that," he asked with suspicious pleasure. Her expression shifted from annoyed to puzzled as she tried to decipher what he was trying to do. He was twisting a small tube of pills in between his fingers, smiling. Shit. All of the sudden she felt heavy and her vision grew cloudy. She frantically got up and stumbled towards the bathroom as the man laughed to himself. "That's not going to do you much good," he shouted at her.
    She flung the stall door open and flung herself towards the toilet, shoving her fingers down her throat. She tried to cough up everything she could but it was too late. Her social awareness was nonexistent and before she knew it her face was falling into the floor.
    The next thing she saw was her friend from earlier shaking her awake. She looked down and saw the syringe still in her heart. "Wait, wait, wait, wait ,wait," he repeated, "calm down, it's fine." She looked at him like he was crazy and firmly grasped the syringe with both hands and inhaled deeply. "Slow down, woah, no-" he yelled, but it was too late. She was already up on her feet, dropping the empty syringe on the floor and on her way out of the bathroom. She opened the door to found the ballroom in ruins, people fleeing from the several men pointing guns at them. Before she could think up a plan of what to do next, she was shoved to the floor by a large man who was holding a handgun above her head. "Don't even try to move," he told her. She complied, momentarily, as she took in a few breaths. Without warning, he leg swung up and hit the man's arm away from her head. Before he could push her down again, she was on her feet and ripping the weapon out of his hands. As they fought for control, he shoved her into the sink as the mirror broke into shards that fell onto the floor. Just as his strength was slowly winning the fight for the aim of the barrel, her colleague came down atop the large man's head with a toilet tank cover. The attack was not enough to take down the man, but enough to disorient him and allow her to reach her weapon from her leg and fire multiple rounds at him. As she gave the killing blow and the rock of a man collapsed onto the marble tile, two more attackers took his place. Two against two, they fought. Just as her opponent thought he had her weaponless, she grabbed one of her shoes and jammed it into his eye and left the restroom, leaving her friend to finish off the fight.
    She crawled along the sides of the wall to avoid contact with the other armed men until she reached the bar. She hopped inside to discover the bartender's dead body slouched against the cabinet, a bullet in his head. She popped up and quickly swiped her phone off of the counter. She opened it to see a message that said NEW INFO ON PLAN, SOONER THAN ANTICIPATED. She shut off the device and leaned back onto the bar. Yea, no shit. Turning to the left, she caught the glint of the liquor bottles. Without another thought she took one, popped off the nozzle and drank. "Cheers," she said satirically to the dead bartender as she raised the bottle. She stuck her head above the countertop to catch a glimpse of the situation; the event still in chaos. I need a gun.
    She proceeds to drop the bottle in her hand onto the ground, creating a relatively loud shatter. She sat tight against the inside border of the bar and grasped her knife firmly, waiting. Just as she had hoped, a pair of legs stepped right in front of her. She lunged forward and sliced the back of their heels, dropping them to the ground, where she could quickly retrieve the assault rifle from around their arm. The man began to push himself up but she quickly and forcefully slammed the bottom of the gun onto the back of his head. She grabbed her phone and cautiously exited the bar. Her phone began to buzz and she pressed it to her ear with her shoulder while she held the weapon with her hands. "What am I doing," she asked, ready to carry out any task that was given to her, "get out of the ballroom and get to the offices behind the cash out desk," a voice replied. "And, what exactly am I doing," she asked impatiently. "There's a parcel within the safe that is wanted by our trigger happy friends," the other line continued. "What's in it," she pushed, excitedly. "That's not relevant to your mission, agent," the voice said, continuing the banter. "Ooh, a surprise," the woman adds, "I love surprises."
    She hangs up and her attention is moved elsewhere; that elsewhere being the multiple gunman in her path to the exit. She lowered herself to the floor, crawling under the tables. She had made it a considerable distance before being detected, but she had been seen. Now that her presence is known, she is free to make as much of a ruckus as she wanted; gunshots rang out. She rolled out from under the table, dodging the fleet of bullets aimed at her, and hopped to her feet. Her aim, even after being poisoned, was impeccable. She took down at least three men, then made a run for the exit, her bare bloody feet, cut by the various shards of glass on the bathroom floor, left red smears on the cold white floor.. She rounded the corner and ran down the hallway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
    She was closely followed by two more gunmen. Their eyes followed the trail of crimson prints around corner after corner and down a stairwell until they reached the boiler room door. Expecting to find her at the end, they followed the trail until it stopped completely. They looked around the dark room confused; little did they know she was above them atop a tank waiting for her opportunity. Gunshots rained from above, taking them down before they could realize what had happened. She hopped down and collected the handgun from the belt of a dying man. He looked terrified as the last of his brutal exited his lungs.
    Without pause, she continued with her assignment, making her way through the building. She confidently approached the door of the main office and kicked the door open to reveal Argon and two other men: one holding a weapon and the other preparing to break into the safe. Immediately, the gunman takes several shots at her, one grazing the side of her abdomen. She fell backwards and flipped herself behind a desk, wincing in pain. Argon was infuriated, "of course it's her, kill the bitch," he shouted. The man rounded the desk with his rifle aimed to kill; but so did she. The woman shot at her target twice, missing both, then attempted to fire a third only to find that her weapon was jammed. Frustrated and adrenaline rushing, she frantically reached for the gun she had taken from the man a few minutes prior. Her finger pulled the trigger, this time, she didn't miss.
    The man at the safe stopped and looked towards Argon unsurely. "Keep going," he snapped, and grabbed a gun set to the side. He took no time to start firing at her. She backed up further behind the desk and yanked up the body of the man she had just shot. He fired round after round, all hitting the back of his former employee until he heard the click of an empty gun. He tossed the gun to the side, not breaking eye contact as he stepped towards her and she stepped backwards until her back hit the wall. Hiking up the body she has been using as a shield, she held her own gun out; it hit the floor on the other side of the room after being hit out of her hand. All other options gone, she shoved the corpse onto Argon, who stumbled but didn't fall. They tumbled around the room, punching and kicking, until he pinned her to the floor, one hand on her collarbones and one on her side, leaving her immobile. His thumb dug into her fresh gunshot wound making her grimace; however, she didn't seem afraid and began to laugh the more he hurt her. "Who are you," he spat, displeased with her reaction. She continued to laugh. "Who are you," he repeated, this time louder. During this interaction, she had managed to retrieve her blade without him noticing. "The name's Bond, James Bond," she answered. Without even needing to free her upper arm from his weight, she shoved the blade deep into his abdomen. She flipped him on his back, leaving her on top now. Through grunts of pain and gurgles of blood entering his airway he managed to get out one insult, "what kind of name is that for a girl,." Fake pouting, she replies, "daddy wanted a boy." The faux puppy-dog eyes were starkly contrasted when they returned to their ruthless, determined state as she forced the knife further up his stomach cavity.
    She didn't have to worry about the other person in the room, he had fled as soon as the fight began. She grabbed the cracked phone off the ground and pulled up the code she had been sent and entered the digits. The door unlocked and its contents were revealed, which consisted of a few documents and a small box that appeared to be locked. She grabbed the parcel and left. She exited the building to see swat teams surrounding the hotel to rescue the hostages still inside. Her colleague was waiting for her in a grey sports car, "did you get it," he yelled to her over the noise. "Of Course I did," she yelled back with her usual cocky tone. She hopped in the vehicle as they drove off.
    "What's in it," he asks curiously. "I don't know," she replies as she inspects the box, "it's locked," she adds, disappointed. He turns to say something but notices her side, "Oh my god, Bond, your bleeding," he says shocked.