Blue Rain Dawn

By LadyJanet009

Chapter One: Death and Despair

Hunter Montague stepped off the Humdinger 9 bus, turning

around to wave off her friends on the cold Bristol sidewalk, London.

"Bye, Sharni!! Later, Walker!!", Hunter called cheerfully, her accent

tinged predominantly with an Irish burr. Hunter energetically waved

the bus on its way, laughing happily at the sight of her two friends'

face-pulling. The Humdinger snail-trailed away as Walker and Sha-

rni reciprocated Hunter's farewell with sadness written on their faces.

Turning away reluctantly, Hunter confidently strode away for home.

The fifteen year old hurriedly traversed the desolate Bristol streets,

hurrying against icy wind and sleeting rain as she walked down the

street. Hunter impatiently pushed her charcoal sweatshirt hood over

her eternally messy, usually-straight gold-auburn hair, her deep aqu-

amarine eyes flashing angrily in annoyance. Hunter turned her tom-

boyish swagger into a casual, loping run her ebony combat-pants

swishing in their slightly-damp state. Her light-gold combat boots

kicked up swathes of water as Hunter turned onto McDawn Street.

A kick of forboding gnawed at Hunter's stomach, but Hunter ignored

it, running along the lengthy McDawn and and up her new home's

driveway. Forsaking both mailbox and doormat, Hunter laid her right

index finger against the buzzer and held it down, as per her usual

entrance. Bbbbrrrppp!!!!!!!, the bell buzzed. No reply- no thudding foot-

steps sounding upon the inner hearth. Hunter frowned slightly in

puzzlement, then casually rested her left hand upon the emerald-

green door. To Hunter's very great surprise, the door swung open.

Eerie thrills of intense forboding sparked electricly along every inch

of Hunter's five-foot-eight frame, as Hunter hesitated upon the porch.

Taking a deep breath, Hunter fought back her fear and urge to flee,

then steeped cautiously into her home of four years. The very first

thing that registered to Hunter were the spots of breadcrumb-trail

bloodspots, upon the hallway floor, leading up to a midnight-blue

door off the entrance hall. The second thing was the sudden shock-

jolt of a cellphone ringing, slicing a gaping hole through the veil-thin

silence of Montague Manor and resounding eerily in Hunter's soul.

Wincing uneasily, Hunter staggered jerkily down the entrance hall-

way, making sure to avoid the horrible bloodspots and heading to-

wards the ring's vicinity. "Hello?", Hunter answered, her tone ragged

and uneven as she held the silver flip-phone in her shaking, slender,

pale left hand. The caller-ID was unknown, completely anonymous

on SpeedDial One. Silence. Then.. "Hi there, this is Blaze Phoenix.

Who is speaking?? Mister Montague?", answered a pleasant female

voice, if a little worn and wary. Hunter stared at the cell-phone's blue

dial-plate, unable to come to terms with exactly what she was hearing.

As Hunter surveyed the office she was standing in, her wary gaze fell

upon her father's desk-chair- and the slumped, bloodied body within

it. "No, this is his daughter. There is a bad situation here- my dad's

wounded. Call an ambulance", Hunter answered, quite calmly consi-

dering the grisly sight before her. A brief silence ensued. Then came

the reply that Hunter deeply feared above all things. "Oh, hi. You mu-

st be Hunter. Stay where you are- I'm now sending a squad over to

your location. Don't be afraid, we're Corporation Inverlaik Agency".

Hunter froze, her gaze unwillingly straying to the desk-chair across

the room, where the bloodied figure of Xanderov Montague slumped.

In what seemed like hours later, (but was in fact seven minutes later)

the door slammed back on its hinges and heavy bootsteps thudded

distinctly upon the inner hall floor, signally the new arrivals to Mon-

tague Manor. Hunter looked up sharply, stark confusion and ming-

led rage in her aquamarine-green eyes as she sized up the black-

clad new arrivals. "Who are- No!! N-No!", Hunter stammered def-

iantly, clinging to her father's prone form, her expression blank.

A silk-layered voice spoke up from nearby, starling Hunter by its

closeness. "It's okay, Joliet. We'll take care of you and your dad.

Everything's gonna be just fine", soothed the new voice, that of

a tall, confident teenage beauty, with flowing, platinum-blonde

straight hair and vivacious electric-blue eyes. Hunter shook her

head violently, scared but ever-defiant. "My name", Hunter sniped

coldly, "is Hunter". The striking blonde shook her head slowly,

smiling slightly. "For safety reasons, Hunter, it is now Joliet

Scorpion. But then, you must also know that my name is not

Blaze Phoenix by choice", replied the blonde teen glacially.

An almost-imperceptible hand-signal later, Hunter fell to the

floorboards, tranquilised out of action. Hunter awoke three

days later, extremely groggy and majorly disorientated.

Nausea and rememberance blazed colourfully before

Hunter's eyes, making her stagger upright to her feet, her

face a pale blaze in the half-darkness. "Wait! Dad!!", she

gasped weakly, lurching to her feet and half-limping, half-

staggering over to the iron-barred, steel door window.

At the bottom fringe of the steel, cell door, a food-flap op-

ened, proceeded swiftly by a small platter of porridge in

a bowl a small array of fruit, pushed mercifully forwards

by a slender hand. "Wait! What about my Dad!?", Hunter

called loudly, but the hand withdrew hurriedly and Hunter

recieved no reply. With a weary, careless shrug, Hunter

dragged the plate towards her and began glumly eating

the lacklustre prisoner-food. With a ragged sigh, Hunter

gave way to despair, wondering where she was and why.

Via closed-circuit, ingeniously-hidden camera, CIA Agent

Camryn Albright surveyed Hunter Montague from afar.

"She seems to be coping well, so far. I'll visit her person-

ally tommorow, under guise as her new cellmate, Allison

Fairwinter. All is well", Cam said, to her immediate super-

iour, Agent Garcia of Cental Intelligence Agency. Cam's

electric-blue eyes glittered calculatingly for a mere instant,

then melted into a warm gleam of concern for the Irish pri-

soner. "Connect me to MI6", Cam commanded venomously.

An hour later, Hunter snapped into attack-stance; left foot

forward, right foot back and on a slant-par with the other,

(facing slightly sideways) facing forwards in a lunge (to pr-

esent a smaller target) and with an uplifted chin and attack-

clenched fists battle-ready. The steel door opened, barely

wide enough to permit three lean teenagers. Soon enough,

one teenage boy and two teenage girls were unceremon-

iously shoved through the opening, coming to a harsh halt

face-down upon the cell's dingy, dusty stone floor now.

The steel door clanged shut. Holding her taut stance, Hunter

backed away slightly, keeping the northern stone wall to her

back as she assessed the new and volatile situation for any

new threat. As far as Hunter could now tell, the three new

teens were fairly tall, lean and angular, with wiry, lean frames

that screamed of elite fitness. They seemed okay so far, but

Hunter took no chances, keeping her Judgement-radar up as

the three floored teens arose.

Agent Cam Albright got to her feet first, utilising a swift, swish

side-Army roll. Spooting Hunter immediately, she raised one

palm disarmingly, while she sneakily withdrew an ordinary, pearl-

blue ballpoint pen from the right back pocket of her charcoal jeans.

Keeping her makeshift weapon trained upon Hunter menacingly,

Cam sought to calm the attack-ready Irish teen. "Again, it's okay,

Joilet. Put all notion of attack away. I'm Allison Fairwinter- an elite

agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm here to help bust

you outta here", Cam soothed, seizing her only chance hurriedly.