1
disclaimer: this story is mine along with all the charecters in it. It is loosley based on the Fearless stories, which I do not own.
New York, 2.15 am
The streets were deathly quiet as Yoru walked through the alley ways. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to try to warm his numb fingers, but the thin material of his jacket did nothing to alleviate his pain. He had been walking for about an hour now, and cursed Trinoe. Trinoe had insisted Yoru walk, that way none of the people in the alleys were awoken by the noise of the car, or the brightness of the headlights. Yoru thought this was paranoia in all it's glory, but he valued his life to much to dispute anything the boss said.
Finally, after walking for what seemed like miles, Yoru reached the drop point. He looked over his shoulder, and took in his surroundings. There was no one along the alley except an old beggar an and his dog, with a loose bandanna tied around his scrawny neck. The old man was asleep, and the dog had his head in his paws and was staring at Yoru. Yoru flicked the dog off, and dropped the package into the nearest trash can. He slowly looked around one last time, and stuffed his hands back in his pockets, and began walking back up the street.
As soon as we was out of sight, a black BMW pulled up to the trash can, and a man stepped out of the passenger side door. He, too, looked over his shoulders, and walked around the black car, and dug in the trash can a moment. Soon, he brought out one leather gloved hand, and the package. He signaled to the driver who merely waved his hand, directing the man to come to the window.
Slowly the BMW's window rolled down, and the man bent over to talk to the driver.
"Is that it?" Driver whispered.
"Yes, everything is in there. Yoru will be pleased." The man gave the package to the driver, who took it, smiled a small, malicious smile, and rolled his window back up. The man slowly went back around the car, looked around, and got in.
New Jersey 9.15 am.
"Pita, get up! Your going to be late for school!" Pita groaned, and slammed the pillow over her head in a vain attempt to drown her mother's voice from her head. She did NOT want to get up, dammit She had stayed up half the night studying for a test, and the other half taking out her frustration on the punching bag in her room. She was beat, and if she could help it, was not going to school.
"Pita, you get out of that bed this instant I did not cook cold breakfast, and I am NOT going to get another call from the school saying that you were late yet again!" The pillow wasn't working. It was if her mother was right in the room with her. When her mother yanked the pillow off of her head, and whapped her in the face with it, Pita's theories were confirmed.
" Really," Pita's mom was saying, " I don't know how you sleep through the whole day like that. I sometimes think that if I weren't here, you would sleep through the whole day, and only at night would you stir. And then, all you would do is practice fighting, like you need practice." Pita smiled. Her mother always started the mornings off with this lecture. It wouldn't be morning if Pita didn't hear it, and Pita didn't want to deprive her mother of tradition. Her mother was going to talk about school next, and how much "potential" Pita had,
"And another thing, you are wasting your great potential by not taking school seriously Blah blah blah blah...Pita are you listening?" Pita snapped her head up, and nodded to her mother, Her mother didn't buy it, and stormed out of the room mumbling something about teens and their lack of respect..Pita wasn't really listening, so she didn't hear all of it.
As Pita Morew looked around the room, she wondered if the jeans on the floor were dirty. She had worn them two days ago, maybe. She picked them up and smelled the butt part, and satisfied that they were wearable, slipped them on. Looking around, she found a crumpled shirt on the floor, sniffed and put that on as well. She looked in the mirror, and studied her face. She had long jet black hair, and extremely blue eyes, ideally the same as her father's.
Her hair reached to her waist, and since Pita was five eight, that was saying something. Mostly the on that it was a lot of hair that she had to stick in a ponytail every morning, or throw a hat over. She wasn't in the mood for a pony tail. And didn't know where her hat was, so she licked her hand, and smoothed down the hairs along her scalp. She grabbed her book bag and walked out the door.
Pita was an interesting girl to people that knew her enough. Her father was a scientist that specialized in making chemical bombs, and detecting new breeds of viruses. Her dad's job was extremely dangerous, and no one was allowed to know exactly what it was that he did. When ever someone asked Pita what her father did for a living, she told them that he put on the caps that you find on toothpaste tubs.
Pita's mom was a special agent for the FBI. She worked in the Joint Terrorism Task Force unit, and was extremely good at her job. She spoke fluent arabic that she had learned in the army while trying to pay off her student loans, and so was perfect for the job.
Because of her parent's jobs, Pita had been taking karate lessons for most of her life. Pita was extremely good at kicking people's butts, and, taking after her dad, was really smart as well. She didn't really like being anymore different then she had to be, so didn't really try to hard at school. She got good enough grades to keep her parents off her back, but her mom knew how smart she was; Pita sometimes helped her dad out in the mathematical aspect of his job, and therefore knew a lot of the types of things that he did. Pita wasn't an idiot, and had watched enough mafia movies to know that the knowledge that her dad had could very well get her family in a lot of trouble.
As Pita began to descend down the staircase, she stopped and listened. The house was extremely quiet. Pita looked through the gap between the stair banister, and the wall, and saw that the kitchen was empty. She glanced at the front door, and saw that it was closed and locked.
Slowly, Pita took of her shoes and placed them on the stair right above her. She placed her messenger bag right next to them, and walked down the stairs. She brought her hands up to her face, and curled her fist, ready to defend herself.
She peeked into the hallway, and saw that no one was there. She quietly walked down the hall, and slowly opened the door to her parent's room. If Pita was not expecting the fist tht came flying towards her face, she would have stopped it with her jaw.
Fortunately, she saw it coming, and ducked out of the way. As she rolled, she tried to see what direction the punch had come from, because who ever threw it was no longer in Pita's field of vision. She got up, and put out her fists again. A creak on her right alerted her that the attacker was behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Pita slowly made her way to the kitchen, and whipped her head around, and blacked out when a fist jumped out and reached it's target. The last thing that Pita heard was a man whispering, and an angry female voice.