[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/s6v2Arp.jpeg[/img]
[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=#CDB6D6][b]#CDB6D6[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b2/74/4a/b2744ae7e93cd4ca63088d3bfeb1a1a3.jpg][color=9b9b9b][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=9b9b9b][b]Jules' Penthouse[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]
[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Vlatava was the hardest operation for Jules. It took a full year of her life, and it still haunted her soul in a way time couldn't mend. She had to build an identity from the ground up. She dyed her hair, learned a new language, changed her accent, and had to put on weight. She had to build relationships, keep detailed profiles on everyone she met, and make a list of every target to hit. She had to do the legwork and plant evidence on a dozen or so loyalists while her team at the office planted the rest of the trails. When all was said and done, forty eight individuals faced the firing squad. All of them were fiercely loyal to the queen, and all were replaced with allies of the client. Other than them, the coup was bloodless. The young queen left the throne willingly, heeding the will of her counselors and regional governors. Of course, loose ends would be a problem. Another three hundred and sixty six souls ended up somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic as collateral damage. Jules’ only consolation was that a different crew sabotaged the engines.

Her father simply slid her the folder and told her to get it done. She was nineteen. The queen she doomed was eleven. The men in suits said it was her job. They said it was for stability in eastern Europe. They said if she didn't do it, someone else would. When it was done, they praised her professionalism.

Jules barely got a grunt of acknowledgement from the old mercenary who raised her before she was handed her next mission.

The sound of a power drill cut through the quiet sounds of her pristine penthouse. She had removed the wood paneling on the far wall of the bedroom, revealing the hollow shell of more recent construction. The tower was built of modularly machined furniture and parts, designed for quick customization. She finished installing the plastic peg board with a few more anchors,  wiping the sweat from her brow as she looked at the cases of ordinance behind her. It was tedious work, but necessarily secretive for her line of work. The rest of the people in the tower knew what she did, at least the broad strokes. She saw her handle her own with a gun. She didn't need to hide that violent side of her. What she did need to hide was just [i]how[/i] extensive her work was.

Part of it was just a habit. She had set one up one of these caches in every safe house she occupied. It gave her an ease of mind in a line of work so dangerous. In some ways, it was one of the only constants she had. The location, the mission, and the contacts always changed… but this much she could control. It helped when the only contacts she had this time were far less precise than she was used to.

Lucian was an emotional wrecking ball that stunk of overcompensation. His record was hard to argue with in the organization that hired her. Most of the sycophants in the office would rave about the man's dedication and prowess, but Jules had always seen him as a sledgehammer incarnate. He was useful, in the same ways she was, but they were incompatible. She had been a scalpel excising the inconveniences that her employers needed removed while maintaining deniability. A relatively bloodless coup disguised as political change made it harder for foreign nations to interfere with a transition of power. A polished speech after a tragedy disguised who had pulled the strings. Jules operated in the shadows, but Lucian was a proverbial flashbang. Most folks in the IHA would consider working with the man a high honor.

Jules saw his involvement here as a punishment.

She wasn't sure why she had clammed up on her last operation. It was a classic bag job. Set a trap and wrap up the target for the clients. That part was easy, as she had done it before. Maybe the difference was what came after. She had been helping capture elites, mercenaries, and rogue terrorists who posed existential threats for the organization and her father. Killing heroes was a different story altogether. She had a bag tossed over her head, and was dragged into the heart of the operation. She was shoved into a cell and handed a gun. Looking at the man, battered and beaten into a twisted mess of the masked vigilante she had captured… she froze. She couldn’t do it. Especially not after he spoke.

[I]”You aren't him. You don't want this.”[/i]

Her father shot the man when she wouldn't. Jules was left to clean up the mess, and was given one last chance to prove herself. Of course, it came with a babysitter who seemed more interested in trying to fuck anything that moved than sowing real chaos. She had learned in Vlatava that establishing a common enemy was beneficial for ingratiating oneself with a group, but it also made it harder to isolate or destabilize the in-group. Luke was making it hard to disrupt the others when he was making himself out to be a worse threat than the real bastards behind it all.

And then there was Ronnie. She had her uses, at least. They now had access to the security system and a backdoor into the ever-growing list of files and evidence stored on the servers downstairs. She was as tactful as Lucian, though, but she had a hard time blaming her. Ronnie was a thief, not an assassin. Her hang-ups over her ex and boundless need for affection were the kinds of base impulses she would expect from a woman of her reputation.

Jules’ hands moved instinctively, organizing the plastic and carbon-fiber weapons in their slots. Bombs, bullets, armor, guns all slotted like pieces of some indiscernible puzzle. She had to store her sniper rifle in a safehouse outside Boston, lest a certain magnetically attuned mutant sweep her penthouse. People already didn't trust her, she didn't need them to have a reason to dig around her things.

Especially not when the center of her secret cache sported a black and orange carbon fiber mask.

Jules hadn't learned her lesson from her last job. She had a clean shot when Tobias was still chasing after Bellamy. Things would be a lot easier with one less mutant on the board to cause trouble, but she couldn't bring herself to aim true. The girl had been defenseless and scared, in a way Jules had understood. Despite years of training to excise that out of her, Jules was still human: she still cared, in some fucked-up kind of way. She couldn’t hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, at least not like that. Not directly.

Jules slid the board back in place over her arsenal when everything was in place. She packed her tools as she thought of what excuses and lies she could feed Lucian or her father when they inevitably had their tantrums. She only hoped it would appease them enough to keep living the lie a little while longer. She liked this identity, and the perks that came with it. It beat cramped servants quarters and or bombed out hovels.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] jim, theodore, myla, lila barton [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]