Mission Strike Back

An alarm bell rang, the main computer's voice sending chills up my spine. Hearing Masquerade Ventos over and over again sent me crashing through my former place of employment. Skidding to a stop in front of an open window, the bounty on my head would set anyone up for life. A breeze blew my shaggy layered hair up, a rich black claiming my bangs and the hair lining my face. Jet black tips tickled my cheeks, my shaking hands ripping off a rope from my cargo pants. Tying the rope around the window's handle, a lump formed in my throat at the rope bouncing done the remaining half of the building. Propelling down gingerly, my slight fear of heights was going to the death of me. Feeling around for solid ground, the heels of my boots hit the cracked pavement. Sprinting into the crowd on the street, a dozen spies descended upon me. Snatching a sweatshirt from a chair, a flick of my wrist had it floating onto me. Disappearing into the bathroom, I hopped on top of the toilet. Dozens of footfalls clicked in, the stall doors blew open. Counting them, mine would be next. Clammy sweat drenched my skin, a group of women coming in causing them to leave. Jumping off the toilet, I poked my head out. Giggling like a bunch of idiots, a polite smile disarmed them. Ditching the hoodie in the trash, confusion twisted their features as I pulled myself through the small window on the other side of the bathroom. Landing inches from my enemy's entrance, a long sigh drew from my lips. He was the only one who could help me bring down my corrupt employer, my fingers curling around the edge of the sewer lid. Jumping down while placing it back, disgusting water splashed over the top of my boots. Closing my eyes, the map of his headquarters played out in my head. Opening my eyes, his face hovered inches from mine.