A/N: EEEPPP! Please don't kill me! Anyways, this is something I can blow off my AR addiction with. I can't really think up any good lines for TIoV when the MI6's golden boy is swimming in my mind, so... Here... Um...

Anyways, like it or not, I'm still a horrible updater. No regular schedule and all that crap, but for the first few chapters, I'm safe. Sorta. GOD! WHY AM I AFRAID OF MY READERS?! I'm young, I'm irresponsible, I cant write without obsession, and I'm prone to looking down on blackmail. Enjoy!

Prologue Pt. 1

You know how people say that if you were to drop a penny off the Empire State Building, it would kill one of the innocent by-passers below? Without a doubt, it's true.

Surely, it would operate the same in a building just four or five stories shorter, right? The answer is: of course.

For a famous pop-singer out for a smoke on the roof of an insanely high sky-scraper (maybe just a few meters shorter than the Empire State), it was a case of wrong place, wrong time, wrong luck. Maybe just a few seconds earlier or later, and she would have been relatively safe. Or at least safer than she was now.

~x-X-x~

Claudia Cook was leaning casually on the concrete barrier that separated her from a very deadly plunge from the top of the Neutronius Records building. She had curly blonde hair that hung loosely around her surgically modified face.

Propped between her lips was a half-gone cigarette. She personally hated smoking, it was appalling, but all those rich-and-famous people were doing it these days. She wanted to keep up with the trend.

Claudia was all about trends. The first day a "fad" was on? Claudia had it. The first day she heard a new popular phrase? Claudia had used it. The moment everything blew over, she dropped it with nobody saying a thing. She knew how to move on. The whole "been there, done that, bought the t-shirt" crap.

Claudia was currently wondering when she could slip in the next "bombtastic" in a sentence when she realized it was time to refresh her cigarette. She stubbed it on the flat top of the concrete barricade and fished a box of the nasty things out of her designer jeans.

Pressing one of the tan-and-white sticks in between her cherry-red lips, the pop-star then proceeded to pull a flick-lighter out of her other pocket. It was a heavy silver thing, complete with an intricately engraved cap. She turned around to face the city skyline, holding the lighter to the tip of her cigarette...

And that's when it happened.

Claudia fumbled, the polished silver slipping from her grasps. She watched in horror as the lighter began it's journey down...

Down...

Down...

Until she couldn't see it anymore. She was too high-up.

Claudia glanced around frantically, knowing that everything had been recorded by the security camera bolted there. She had accidentally hospitalized someone-at the very least- or very possibly ended an all-too-short life.

And the public was to know very soon.

Claudia was so busy worrying about her own image, that she hadn't even bothered to wonder who the lighter had hit.

The victim was found on the side-walk. He was a Chinese man, presumably in America for an inconspicuous business trip. He had thinning black hair, face ovular and cleanly shaven. His skull was bashed in by the impact of the projectile.

This man was not the "innocent bystander" proclaimed in the first paragraph. In fact, he was probably the exact opposite of innocent. Hundreds had died by his word, if not thousands.

He was a high-up for SCORPIA, and if by accident or not, he had been killed.

So... Worth continuing? Remember, an author preys on reviews, and I personally enjoy watching people cuss in caps when flaming, so you'd be feeding me with all your struggles. On the other hand, constructive criticism is very welcome.