Arsenic couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing and rattling. She was pretty sure it was annoying those who felt the vibrations of the connected plastic chairs in the airport, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She always hated the waiting and it didn’t help that her flight was delayed. No doubt they had discovered that that rich snotty bastard was dead by now. Any minute, men in police uniforms could be stalking in here to take her up and away in handcuffs and then she would be discovered for what she is: an Operative. She long since gnawed her fingernails to nubs and could taste the almond-tang cyanide. Both legs have begun shaking now and a woman next to her shot her a glare. “What?” Arsenic snarled. “Do you mind stop shaking your leg? I’m trying to read.” The woman said, not backing down. Arsenic’s face became red and she could feel the sting in her veins as acid was produced with the hotness of her rage. “Last time I checked it was a god damn free country, bitch.” The brunette woman was about to say more when the intercom buzzed and relief washed over Arsenic’s skin. “Twelve o’clock flight to LaGuardia Airport, New York City, New York is leaving in five minutes.” Thank god! Arsenic held her hands close to her chest, to stop the acid from seeping from her hands and to stop her fingers from itching at the brunette wig that covered her platinum blonde hair. “Now if you’ll excuse me!” --- The plane ride had been three grueling hours and Arsenic’s legs ached from sitting for so long. She had been stuck next to the bitchy brunette, dear god, and an annoying businessman who talked loudly on his phone when on the ground and snored loudly when in the air. The moment she was out of the airport, Arsenic let the built up acid sizzle onto a metal pole. The strong acidic thing ate away at the rusted metal, bubbling and gurgling until all that was left was a hole in the ground. Arsenic hoped no one noticed. At only three in the morning and completely sleep-deprived, the blonde knew she had to find a hotel to stay in, a cheap one preferably but she had another one in mind. So she turned into an alleyway, changed her brunette wig into her redheaded one, fed her cats in their crates which she had to carry as well as her suitcase, and then hailed down a cab. The ugly yellow car stopped in front of her and a smoking man peered at her with dark slothful eyes. “Where do you need to go?” “La Quinta Inn Manhattan.” “Okay.” The drive was uneventful and the cabbie stayed quiet, though Arsenic deeply wished that he would put out his cigarette as it was putting her on edge. To testify to that fact, left over acid dribbled from her fingernails and onto her pants, burning a small hole into the jeans and soaking into her skin like a sponge would water. The cab finally slowed to a stop in front of a tall building and Arsenic grabbed Hemlock and Belladonna from where their crates laid on the bottom of the car. It was a struggle dragging the small suitcase she brought with her as well as the crates, but she managed. The Operative entered the building and gave her best winning smile to the deskman. “Hello, I would like a room for three days.” The man grinned back, though it was obviously forced by the brilliance of it, and he straightened his nametag out of habit. “Hello, welcome to La Quinta. That will be one hundred and seventy including tax.” Arsenic handed him her backup debit card that was under a different name than her usual alias. He rang it up and slid it back over the desk as a receipt buzzed out of the machine. He tore it off skillfully and handed it to her to sign in which she did. “Here are your keys, Mrs. Radomski and I hope you have a nice stay. If there are any problems, please don’t be afraid to contact me.” “Er…thanks.” Arsenic had to struggle up three flights of stairs – she couldn’t find the elevators – and only found her room when a maid directed her. She opened the door and let her cats out, locking it behind her and flopping onto the ugly floral bed sheets. She was out like a light. --- Arsenic was hot-headed, impulsive, and ruled by her emotions, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew she couldn’t just walk into the Square; after the guy’s stunt, police will be swarming the place. So it was with a disgusted huff that Arsenic dressed in a pencil skirt and blazer, wearing closed-heel professional black heels and had her brown wig pulled into a low, but tight, bun. A briefcase was even carried to give her the look of a sophisticated businesswoman. Nevertheless, she was nervous – she memorized all of the alleys and the sewer system in case things got gritty – and it showed as her stomach bubbled with acid and poison, the two creating a mixture that left her leaning over her toilet, puking her guts out for at least an hour. She left the hotel later than she wanted. The bus was chosen carefully over the subway; the subway didn’t allow her to scope the situation before hand and she wouldn’t be able to bail at last minute if need be. The bus ride would have been quick, but her rightful paranoia changed it into an odyssey; when someone got too close to her, she moved away; when somebody attempted to get information from her, for any reason, she promptly left at the next stop and caught a ride on the next bus. It took her a full hour to reach Manhattan Square, and when she did, Arsenic nearly lost her cool. There were so many police. She had expected it, but the amount still astonished her. A brisk pace was kept as she skirted around the officers and she crossed her fingers in hopes that the contact would approach her soon. Her heart nearly stopped when soft leather was placed into her grasp. “You dropped this.” A feminine voice uttered and Arsenic pivoted to find the source, but she was long gone. Glaring at the leather thing, the acidic woman realized it was a wallet. Opening it, she noticed there was money in it and a little note. Without allowing any emotion to appear on her face, she set a vigorous walk towards Magnet Theater. It was only halfway there that she realized she was being followed. Arsenic entered an alleyway and hid behind the dumpster as two shadows stalked into the opening. Without warning she lunged, gleaming liquid spilled down her arms and her fingernails dug into the throat of the first male. The acid burned through his skin like fire on paper and she used her fingers to carve the path around his jugular, ripping it out once it was severed from his body. The other had barely any time to react when she was on him, spitting acid at his eyes until they were only hideous third-degree circular burns. The acidic nail that sliced his throat was a mercy. The briefcase was snapped open and Arsenic deposited her business clothes into them, pulling out a regular hoodie and jeans. She took off the wig and let her blonde hair fall out, relishing in the feel of bangs on her forehead. The Magnet Theater wasn’t hard to find. She entered it, and seeing no one there, decided that the most forbidden area was the best to be checked. She went into the dreaded “EMPLOYEES ONLY.” An elevator door shimmered in the dull light and Sylvia figured it was the best place to start. The doors opened with a chime and she sauntered in; she jabbed her finger at a button randomly, though she restricted herself to the sub-floors – bad guys tended to work underground, after all. It must have been pure luck that Arsenic landed on the exact floor that they were meeting at. She walked down the shining hallway, her shoes squeaking on the floor – though it should be noted she didn’t try to stop them, cameras must have already caught her presence so there was no reason for subtlety. The first door was shoved open and there they were: the Operatives and the mysterious Laraxis. “What did I miss?” Arsenic smirked.