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Soft lipstick decorated full lips. On her lap was the Remmington shotgun she had been cleaning and loading, there were compartments, straps, and containers for all of her weapons that were currently lying on the table in front of her. A conglomerate of candles made up all the light in the room and painted her small studio apartment's living room a lush, dim, and deep red. She slid both of her primary handguns into their respective holsters beneath her brown cashmere coat. Her two secondary handguns, the C275 automatics, found their home in a second set of crossed holsters angled on her back. She finished cleaning the shotgun and slung it into the strap on her back. She took four clips, two each for all of her guns--including a hefty amount of shot for the shotgun--and stowed it in the slit seam of her coat. She wouldn't need more than this. Her katana was fit into its sheathe. She was prepared to head out of the door to fulfill the contract she had undertaken.

Then she vanished!

A courtyard? Did Zara's eyes deceive her? How did she get here? A quick surveillance of her surroundings told her nothing other than she really hoped someone was going to compensate her for the work she was about to miss. There were eight others already present, but only three she could give proper distinction--a small child, someone resembling an angel (or perhaps an actual Angel, interesting) and one donned in all black. Somebody better have an explanation or some money, otherwise some heads were getting blown off.