Black Dahlia
By: Sweet Remorse
A/N: My first story on this account! Yuppers...I hope it won't be such a bore. i hate the summary box so much! I have to sit in my chair and just think, for what seems like hours to find a good summary that'll fit the story. ARRR...sorry, but hey what's the use of limits in the words you can use? Huh?
This is more of a action type story with all these agents and such...but I guess you'll figure that out like...in the first section. Please review! Puppy eyes
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Sounds of desperate shouts and raw gasps for air imprinted Syaoran's mind. Showers of bullets rained down on the passengers of the plane. It was a perfect blending of music that brought out sadistic pleasure in the terrorists. An air rifle suddenly swiveled acutely to the left, in perfect target for where Syaoran's head was. His amber eyes widened and blinked shut. Half a second tops, Syaoran scrambled under his chair, his arms and legs sprawled out in painful angles. The bullets shot out and dug themselves deep into the armchair.
Sometimes when your mind shuts down completely and you're left there to stand completely blank of any thought, your survival instincts kicks in and amazing how fast you can move. The autonomic reflex system, primitive reflexes. Bam, bam, bam, and you happen to live on, take a new course for life.
Meanwhile, the other passengers that didn't happen to have such luck suffered watching other before them get splattered by their neighbor's and their own blood, waiting for their own turn. The crimson color of life was their last farewell.
Syaoran reopened his eyes again to find the bodies of both his parents lying on the red-stained carpet of the plane. Small hand guns were clutched tightly in their hands.
Mixtures of shock, confusion, fear, depression and self blame filled his sanity. A gunner walked past his hiding place, a twenty or so year old man with mousy black hair surveying the damage. His expression was blank but his eyes were dancing with amusement.
Syaoran didn't dare reach his hands toward the guns his parents had with them, and attempt to shoot the man. But he did take notice the badge the man and the rest of the terrorists wore.
It was a red circle, with a black flower on it, which he later found to be a group of Japanese terrorists by the name of Black Dahlia.
At that moment, ten year old Syaoran swore to himself, he would grow up, become a respectable CIA agent like his father and mother and seek revenge.
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"Who are you?" a cunningly looking man asked in a fatherly-sounding but demanding voice. The dining room where the man sat in a buffet table was elegant and furnished with beautiful details. A crystal chandelier hangs in the middle of the large room illuminating each and every corner and edge of the room.
Sakura looked up at the man in front of her, her jaw clenched. The man stood in front of her was her supposedly step-father.
"Sakura Kinomoto, father." Sakura responded monotonously. Her eyes were downcast and her body position was robotic like; back straight and erect, hands behind her, and eyes strongly averted to the floor.
"Where are you parents?" The man asked again, his eyes closed expecting the usual answer.
"They died during archaeology trip on a plane; you are my rightful father now." Sakura recited the lines.
"Who do you listen to and what is your purpose?" The man spoke while sipping his tea.
"I only listen to you, father. My purpose is to become the top Black Dalia assassin and eliminate all our enemies including the CIA." Sakura said her tone bitter and malicious.
"Why would you listen to me, little cherry blossom?" The man looked at her, carefully pronouncing the last two words in fluent English.
"Because you saved me, and took me in. Trained and fed me, turned me into who I am today." Sakura wondered why she had to repeat this everyday.
"And what happens if you 'accidentally' leak out information about the Black Dalia to our enemies?" The man continued to read the newspaper.
Sakura narrowed her emerald green eyes. Never had her 'father' asked this question before. Was he suspecting her of betraying the group? Was it because the last mission she completed was a failure? A sudden wave of coldness spread throughout the room.
"I die."
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A sudden vibrating brought the young man's attention back to the present. He ran a hand through his messy chestnut hair, while squinting uncomfortably trying to adjust to the bright light in his office.
Syaoran tugged his cell phone out of his suit pocket and glared at it fiercely. The vibrating had stopped; the other end had already set down the phone.
Call Missed…
Number: 714-525-1313
Call back: Yes l No
Syaoran exhaled deeply, frustrated at the cell phone for no reason. Without hesitation he stuffed the small device back in his suit pocket, ignoring the call.
His eyes wandered back towards the flat-screen TV on the wall. The video was currently on freeze frame. The scene was in a ballroom, where many higher up class people flittered around. Most were either talking among themselves or sitting in a chair drinking a glass of wine. Few danced to the slow symphony music.
The dinner-party was held by a famous fashion designer, Elliot Anderson, a name known by most Americans. It was on June, 23rd, three days ago in Los Angeles.
Nothing seemed out of order, until five to 12 pm. An explosion in the kitchen followed by a minor fire. Strange thing was a sudden lock down. The entrance doors were automatically locked and metal slide shutters dropped down, preventing any escapes.
Someone had definitely messed up the system. Screaming and shouting were heard throughout the video.
No one was hurt, but Mr. Anderson was taken hostage by a lady around the ages of 20 with long black hair and green eyes. Or, better put it fake-hostage. The man had reappeared under one of the tables unconscious one hour later. Details of the appearance of the lady was very limited due to…everything.
Nothing made sense. Things just didn't go right. If the kidnapper and the their people wanted to kidnap Anderson than they could have, no problem with the whole mansion on lockdown. However they just caused some fright and slipped away.
Syaoran suspected something went wrong own their mission. Were they trying to steal something? Did Anderson not have it?
The main evidence was a pink, glass brooch shaped like flowers.
Those flowers were Nadeshikos, Syaoran guessed as he remembered the old flower garden their family used to have.
Nadeshiko are usually thought as more feminine and chaste. Traditionally said for woman to look weak, delicate and gentle outside, but is able to cope with house holding, raising kids.
Very peculiar for a kidnapper.
A/N: Heh, sorry, it was pretty short, but it's a beginning so...well in truth there's not reason but lets just leave it at that. ' I don't think I'll get that many reviews but oh well. It's fun to write anyways.
Please leave any suggestions, questions or critisisms in either your review or as a message.
Ja Ne.!!