The Female Assassin
From Create Your Own Story
The high-pitched, monotonous beeping of the alarm wakes you up instantly. With one swift movement you shut it off. After enjoying a few more seconds of lying comfortably in bed you swing your legs over the side and sit there for a few moments, forearms resting on your thighs and your head hung long. The time on the digital clock says 5:00 - but it's p.m. rather than a.m. You always work night shifts, and they suit you perfectly. Aside from the fact that you sleep far better during morning and midday (you're practically nocturnal at this point), you also just enjoy the atmosphere of the nights - the mostly empty city streets, the calming quiet, the feeling that you have nearly unlimited freedom to explore in peace. London at night feels like a completely different world to the London of the daytime.
And then, of course, your job usually requires you to work during the night anyway. If someone's going to be killed, the best time to do it is always at night, preferably after midnight and in the early hours of the morning. It's just common sense.
Getting up off the bed, you go about your afternoon ritual absent-mindedly; checking the door and windows of the apartment first; then a coffee and two pieces of toast while watching the news on TV for a few minutes (nothing noteworthy); then a cigarette out on the balcony while the chill air of early winter helps wake you up; then, because it's a Monday, shaving your pussy completely bare as you like it; and finally a long hot shower, one of the few indulgences you allow yourself.
After completing this set of menial objectives you head back out into the kitchen and check your phone; as you expected you have a new message. It simply reads: 17:25, sent by someone named Chris (a fake name). You check the time and see that it's 5:23. Not wasting any time, you head over to the door of your apartment and wait. Like clockwork, almost the second the time hits 5:25 you hear four soft taps on the door, not quite loud enough to be considered knocks, but still perfectly recognisable. You wait the customary five seconds before opening the door and reaching down to pick up the thin manila folder lying on the floor. You make a quick glance to your left and see a man casually walking down the hallway, his back to you. After doing a quick check to make sure nobody was watching, you duck back inside your apartment, close the door and reset all four locks. And, out of habit, peek through the peephole on the door to check the hallway again; still nobody. A by-the-books drop.
Sitting back down on one of the kitchen stools, you flick open the manila folder and read the contents, which is a single sheet of A4 paper with plain black text in a small font:
Target: Jeremy Davidson
Date of Birth: 05/10/1972
Ethnicity: Caucasian
County of Origin: United Kingdom
Hair Colour: Brown
Eye Colour: Brown
Height: 5'12
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Mission: Jeremy Davidson is the CEO of NewThink, a large tech company based in London, UK. He was promoted to this position three months ago after a short but distinguished career in the company. The board of shareholders trusted him with the daily operations of NewThink, however he has betrayed this trust but opening up channels with rival tech companies and offering to sell to them insider knowledge of NewThink's up and coming projects for a hefty price. Rather than firing Davidson and risking potential public embarrassment for the company, several prominent shareholders have approached us and asked us to eliminate Davidson before he can carry through with selling the company's secrets. Davidson is to be eliminated discreetly, preferably with no witnesses and no additional casualties, civilian or otherwise. He regularly stays late at the company's headquarters in central London. This would be the ideal time and place to eliminate him. Standard operating procedure applies for providing evidence of successful elimination. Good luck.
Underneath the mission briefing is a photo of Jeremy Davidson. He's quite handsome and looks younger than his 48 years, though you also detect a slight air of arrogance (as befitting the CEO of a tech company, you suppose).
After rereading the briefing you close the manila folder and dispose of it with the small portable incinerator you keep tucked away in the drawer under the sink. Deciding to pursue the mission later that night, you lounge around your apartment until much later, well after the sun has gone down and humming of the traffic outside has quietened. When the clock hits 10 p.m. you get dressed in your usual attire for night shift - a white tank top, black leather jacket, and tight leather black leggings. The clothes are comfortable, blend in well with the darkness, and are tight-fitting enough so they can't easily be grabbed. Next you grab your equipment - your fiber wire, your lockpick, a handful of large coins, and finally your Ruger SR9 handgun and its accompanying silencer. With these essential items tucked safely away, you grab your phone from the kitchen bench and leave your apartment, locking the door behind you.
