The twenty-four-seven café was moderately popular for university students to dine at; it was cheap and open at all hours of the night, after all. Howie’s Good Day was a plain eatery with red and brown decorating the joint to appear homely; white was avoided because it left certain aloofness in the customers. The café attempted to have an old-timey feel and a jukebox was placed in a corner, playing dreadful 60s music and the waitresses wore hideous muted yellow dresses with pinned metal nametags. One of the waitresses, Sylvia Szypowski, was just arriving for her shift.

Her platinum blonde hair, dyed to hide her real identity, was pulled into a low ponytail and her bangs brushed her forehead. If anywhere else, Arsenic, the name she has long since lost, would have been content with her bangs, but she was in Tampa, Florida and that meant excruciating humidity. Sweat slicked down her face and she was immeasurably glad for the air conditioning in the Good Day. Sighing under her breath, she tied the thrice bleached apron around her repulsive yellow dress and stabbed the ugly thing with her nametag. The café was in full swing at nine o’clock as all the students were flooding in, hoping to eat before college class began. 

The day was going just fine for Arsenic. By ten o’clock she had earned twenty dollars in tips and everyone had been courteous enough. However, it just could not last for the ill-fated twenty-four year old. 

“Waitress!” A young university student called her over, clicking his tongue like she was a dog. Arsenic felt the recognizable stirring of rage in her gut as she approached the brunet, a notepad in hand.

“Hi, I’m Sylvia.” said Arsenic, providing the expected affable greeting.

The smug little bastard just rolled his eyes and closed his menu with a snap. “Yeah, whatever. I want a black coffee and some eggs. A speck of salt on it and we’re gonna have problems. Now, shoo.”

She seethed, heading to the back and relaying the order. While waiting, she took deep breaths to unwind.

[i]Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.[/i]

“Hey, Cinnamon or whatever your name is, I want it pronto! I [i]actually[/i] go to college and need to get there on time before I become a minimum wage employee like [i]you[/i].” The uncouth patron called superciliously. 

Hocoam, the chef, glanced at the blonde with sympathetic eyes which just added fuel to her fire. Compassion was something she absolutely didn’t want. She was a trained killer, not some deprived girl who couldn’t handle a niggling client. “Here’s the coffee he ordered.”

Arsenic took it graciously, smiling tightly. “Don’t pity me. I don’t need it.” And with that she walked from the back.

Unbeknownst to her, Arsenic’s irritation had resulted in the throbbing pulse in her fingernails. Used to it, she ignored the familiar twinge and didn’t notice the cyanide seeping from underneath her fingernails, running over her pale flesh and slipping from them and into the black coffee.

“Here’s your goddamn coffee, asshole.” She spat vehemently. He threw back his head and tauntingly gulped the entire contents of the hot coffee before raising an eyebrow and glancing at her.

“I want to speak to your manager.” 

Arsenic hissed, about ready to tell him where to shove it, when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped forward in the booth. The Operative’s heart stopped and she stared down at her hands, only now feeling the dampness of poison flowing from them. Damnit. Attempting to manage her breathing, she ran from the room, glad no one has noticed his deadness. She entered a door that read ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’, the only white thing in the café. The dressing room’s door was slightly ajar and she went through it cautiously. At the back of the dressing room was an exit door that many of the employees went out of for a smoking break. Arsenic shoved that door open and exited through the door, the hot Florida sun fluttering over her pale face. Shit, she did it again.

---

Arsenic had to leave; she had to leave as speedily as she could. She had enough money to buy a plane ticket to somewhere far away, an advantage of having an emergency fund for something of this sort. Her clothes were already packed and now all she had to do is throw her calico cats, Hemlock and Belladonna, into their cages. 

“Tsk, kitties, come here.” She beckoned, bending over to stare under her bed and at the two pairs of lustrous green eyes. “Want a treat?”

With promises of goodies, the cats came out and she managed to wrangle them into their crates after feeding them a certain something for them to loosen up. Arsenic was all ready to go when her TV started to malfunction. Slamming her fist on it to get it to work, she missed the appearance of the man, but she heard him quite fine.

“[b][i]This device I have, I'm sure you're familiar with its original. I believe they called it the Kill Switch Protocol.[/i][/b]" 

In a fit of fury, Arsenic tossed her TV out the window.