A/N: 'Kay, I cannot believe that they grounded me after I got detention for practically forever (a month). That is just so completely unjust! Anyway, so this is my new fanfic for the movie LXG (which I sooo Love!). And basically, I own absolutely nothing in this story except for the OCs that I decide to introduce. Which is basically, like three ppl. But anyway, I just wanted to go through this little disclaimer, so I could waste time. We are starting in Dorian Gray's study, during the freaky battle scene. And this is a very generic POV, but we start in my OC's head. Then we sort of change POV a bunch.

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Why am I doing this?

That would usually be my question right after I sign up for something, but before I'm actually doing that something. But unfortunately, this time that thought didn't actually occur to me until now. That is, until I was being pressed against a wall, knife pressed against my throat, by a guy dressed all in black with a whole bunch more guns on his person than any person needs.

Yeah. Why didn't I think of it sooner?

Probably because I've finally gotten used to being asked to go undercover in some deadly sort of mission-thing where I get next-to-no info. Or because I just knew I was going into some sort of life-threatening mission-thing, and there was no point in arguing or asking why I was doing it. Or I really wanted thrills…

But, hey I'm only human.

Great, the weirdo guy who's currently threatening me with a knife speaks up.

"Who the hell are you, why are you here and who are you really working for?" he asks me. He has that narrow, pissed-off look on his face, and I can't help but think, briefly, how sexy he looks in this kind of light, even if he could kill me anytime. Hey, remember what I said about being human!

"I'm nobody." I tell him. Right now I'm hoping against hope that this guy can show me a little mercy. Especially since he's one of the Fantom's men, and they will kill pretty much anybody who stands in their way.

"Yeah, because I so believe that," he says sarcastically. "Look. You had better tell me what I want to know, or your permanent residence will be up in the damn clouds. Got it?"

"I'm Amalie Murray. I can't tell you why I'm here, and I'd be dead at the end of this if I tell you who my client for this week is. I am what people look down on in my country. A mercenary."

"Yeah? Well, if it's a choice between the client and me, which would you rather be killed by?" he asks me. The pissed-off look is gone, but he's uh, not exactly the happiest looking person in the room. He's scowling, and I can tell he was thrown off by my professional approach to being questioned.

But I can't pretend I don't know what he means. "I ah, I am working for some obscenely rich, old guy, and he never actually told me his name. The job was just to come in here kill anybody I could and to not get killed by anybody. I got up-front payment."

He is running his hands down my sides in a manner I recognize. He may seem like he's just being a little forward, but he's actually hunting for the weapons he knows are on my person. Thing is, had he been paying real attention, the first thing he would have done was wrench the knife that I was holing out of my hand. But now because of his simple, careless mistake…

I hold up the knife really quickly, then I slip out from between him and the wall, spinning around and pinning him to the wall. After struggling, he accepts he's trapped and stops, watching me. What are you planning, his eyes seem to say. I smile.

"Amateur," I breathe. "How the hell could you have been so careless?" I ask him.

He laughs. " I just always thought mercenaries were not well educated." he admits.

"Well," I say smiling. "I got an education enough to know when I have an advantage. But I've more than one when fighting a damn Yank. Especially one who's as cocky as you are." The venom on my tone is very evident. He smirks.

"A Yank?" he asks. "I would like to point out, I'm from no where near New York. I am from-"

"Doesn't change the fact that you're a Yank." I tell him. " Here. I'll make you a deal, Yank."

"M' name's Tom Sawyer. Special Agent Tom Sawyer, of the American Secret Service."

I laugh. "How sweet. Yeah, I'll just stick with Yank. Anyway, I'll let you go. But, you give me what I want."

"Fine. What do you-" I slip away before he can finish the question. I knew it would throw him off. That's the whole point. That he'd have to come look for me when all the fighting is over.

And he's definitely going to find me…