[hr][h2][center]Sir Skeleton and [color=hotpink]Laser Girl[/color] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5GjVvlmg3o]Pearl's Girl, Track 2[/url] [/center][/h2][hr] "You've got the codes?"" [i][b]Of course[/b][/i], the hollow [i]not-voice[/i] echoed through Laser Girl's still developing mind. A skeletal hand reached into the waist pocket of the coal-black coat, handing the other woman a carefully folded piece of paper from within. Laser Girl knew that it was lined with a flowing series of numbers and letters, a password written in lovely red in. She knew better than to ask Sir Skeleton the source of the red ink. She already knew. She'd always known she presumed. It was one of his strange habits. One of his rituals. One of his interests. She might have called it a hobby, but she did not know if he had hobbies, not in the way that she meant when she described playing the keyboard as a hobby of hers. "How long before they find out?" the voice purred in reply. [i][b]A day, maybe less.[/b][/i] "That's more than enough time, baby." "What gives? D'you really need us for this job," Laser Girl sulked, interrupting. She didn't enjoy torture, even when it paid well. It killed her vibe, threw her off the beat, and she hated the way it made her feel. A job was a job though, as Sir Skeleton said, and mercs-for-hire didn't have time to worry about morals. "Hey now, honey. It's not easy to get past a Cybozu mainframe, not when it's packed to the brim with Black ICE. Not if you don't want the jerks pinging you, and delivering a package of Semtex within the hour. No baby, Sometimes you just need that [b]human[/b] touch, you know? A little bit of that good, old fashioned human engineering," The woman added with a laugh, and a Cheshire grin in Sir Skeleton's direction. Laser Girl had already decided she liked her. Whoever she was, she was rad. She was a killer, a real killer, a hit of adrenaline straight to the heart. The perfect upper, the perfect boost to bring her back from the lows of ecstasy withdrawal. Laser Girl could practically feel the lovely dopamine, beloved serotonin, and thrilling norepinephrine surging back into her blood. Laser Girl could smell the death on the other women, she'd learned, she'd had too. The scent reminded her of Sir Skeleton, only it wasn't cold that she felt. The death that she felt was full of emotion, and electric energy. It left Laser Girl with the tingling taste of electricity running across her tongue. She felt alive again, as her nervous system screamed. Begging that she move, that she run, that she escape. It was all so cool. It was all so wonderful. It was all so interesting. [i][b]Our payment[/b][/i], Sir Skeleton stated in his wonderfully ominous way. The woman nodded, and handed Laser Girl a briefcase. It was heavy, much heavier than it had seemed in her hands. Laser Girl didn't bother to check what was inside of it. Sir Skeleton would not have allowed it. He said it was rude. He said there were formalities to respect, and rituals to adhere to. There were rules to the game they played. They were not amateurs. They did not deal with amateurs. Mutual respect, and trust were the necessary foundations of their profession. There could be no accord, no contract without them. "You can feel it can't you?" The woman asked, staring up into the night sky, moving as if caught in a slow dance. Moonlight danced in her eyes. "I can. I can smell it in the air. I can feel it in the wind. I can hear it in the shadows. The game commences." Sir Skeleton merely nodded, tipping his hat an inch. Laser Girl shuddered, she feared Sir Skeleton's indifference more than she feared his anger. It was as if he'd forgotten how to be human, how to pretend, and how to feel. If he'd ever been human she thought wryly. She wasn't sure, not anymore. Not that it mattered. He was fun. He was interesting. He provided her with money. He provided her with fun. And that was all that she needed. That was all that she wanted. Laser Girl watched the woman vanish into the alley with a slow wave of a pale hand, grey eyes shifting out of existence in a blink. Tendrils of smoke fading into the shadows. She'd couldn't wait to see her again. She wanted to dance. She wanted to sing. She wanted to live. She wanted to kill. [hr][h2][center][color=goldenrod][b]Aquila[/b][/color] Journey Into Night, Track 3 [/center][/h2] [hr] The man dangled from the top of the lamp post, blood slowly pooling beneath him in a small puddle. The electrical wire that imprisoned him, was wound tight around his body several times over. Sarah could see the skin around his wrists beginning to turn a shade of blue. She didn't feel sorry for him. She didn't care. He deserved so much worse. He'd earned every bruise, every cut, every broken bone. She didn't want to hurt him, she didn't want to kill him. Not really, not yet. She felt the steel shifting beneath her fingernails, it would have been so easy. It would have been so quick. Sarah grabbed the man's shoulders, and shook him awake. "Name," she demanded. "Wha- Who," the man groaned. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the other opened slowly, and grew wide with fear. "[b]Name,[/b]" Sarah demanded again, pushing him. He swayed in the air, and the lamppost creaked in protest. "STOP! Wait! Sergei, I'm Sergei, Sergei Gulayev," the man gulped, struggling against the torn wires. "Alright, Sergei, what were you doing in my neighborhood?" "Your neighborhood? What the fuck are you talking about?" "Yes. [b]My neighborhood[/b]. What are you doing in [b]my neighborhood[/b]?" "This is the Wiseman's neighborhood," Sergei sputtered, his one good eye shining bright with bravado. "I payed him his cut, so what's the deal with this shakedown? This is some fucking bullshi-" "New management, new rules," Sarah said, covering his mouth with a hand. "But I'll tell you what, you tell me where I can find this so-called [i]Wiseman[/i], and I'll leave you hanging here in one piece." "Leave me here? Hanging? What-" "Yes. You see I left a lovely note for the police, and all of your stash, alright most of your stash, right by the lamppost. I'm sure you know each other. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to see you." "Fuck you," Sergei swore, fighting against the wires that bound him, and kicking his legs. Sarah clocked him with a good left, it was soft, soft for her, soft for what he'd done, but she could tell it hurt. He groaned, and spat out a stringy strand of blood, perhaps a tooth. It was hard to tell. "Fine, fine. 53rd Lambert Street, the street corner, he owns the pizzeria. Uses it to peddle his drugs. Just, fuck, don't tell him I told you." Sarah smiled, patting Sergei gently on the cheek, wiping her bloodied hands against his faded coat. "Now Sergei, I'm only going to tell you this once, because I like you, you seem like a smart man. If I ever see you in my neighborhood again...well, let's just say I won't be so nice." "What do you mean?" "I mean, if I so much as see you crossing 2nd Ave, well, then I'm going to throw you off of the Bauer Buildings. The police will be scraping you off the sidewalk. And that, that will be the last anyone ever hears of Sergei Gulayev," Sarah said with a laugh. Sarah could hear him muttering, no praying, in Russian as she stepped back into the darkness of the alley. Pulling out small black notebook she brought out a pen and began to write. Names, addresses, safe-houses, mules, corner boys, muscle, and more packages. She smiled, the Wiseman didn't know it, but she had found him, she knew him, she knew his sins, she knew the drugs that had built his modest empire, and she knew the innocent blood that stained his hands. She was patient. She would prepare. She would watch. She would wait. She would strike when he least expected it. He'd never expect death to come for him from the sky. They never did. Justice, justice was coming for the Wiseman. And when she finally caught him, she would tear him to shreds, limb by limb, piece by piece.