A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing for the Unreal fandom and I plan on making this piece a multi-chaptered one. It's an AU story about Quinn King & Rachel Goldberg so expect turbulence, explicit content, and two awesome female anti-heroes getting it on at some point or other, and how these two are driven to some rather terrifying extremes. This is not canon! It's definitely canon-divergent. Reviews would be greatly appreciated, if it sucks I probably won't go on so let me know if you're interested in having the story continued!

CHAPTER ONE: AIN'T JUST ONE WAY TO BURN A BRIDGE

"Where's Rachel?"

Her voice is sharp, clear-cut, and unmistakable. It shatters silence like broken glass and makes the hair on the back of everyone's neck stands up.

"Why don't you put a bell around her neck?" Jay quips through a mouth of french fries, one of which Quinn snatches off his plate before her talons sink into the back of his shirt jerking him back in front of her and spilling half of his lunch on the floor in the process.

Quinn makes a noise like a buzzer, a screechy loud noise that would blare red if you could see sound. "Wrong answer, let's play again." She etches crescent moons into his shoulder blades, nails biting and terse, it's clear her mood is hardly one for coy pretenses. "You've been circling her twat ever since she got back. Start talkin' pretty boy or you can start walking instead."

"Alright, jeez, someone had her bitch flakes this morning. Last I saw her she was in that beaten up van she calls home, it was a couple hours ago." Quinn loosens her grip and he scowls at her.

"See? Now that wasn't so hard was it?" Her heel sinks into the fleshy underbelly of his burger now strewn on the ground as she waltzes out of the room and out the backdoor, pausing only to shout, "And clean that up!" - Over her shoulder.

At any given moment Quinn was scrutinizing her surroundings, constantly on edge, looking for a glimpse of inspiration or a shimmer of a quick cash grab, ratings ploy, blackmail fodder, - you name it. There was very little that went unnoticed by the executive producer. The pasty brunette being spray tanned in the parking lot was the first thing in her eye-line, that and the cottage cheese skin clinging to her too small bikini bottoms.

"Whoa! What's with all the cellulite? This isn't The Biggest Loser people, let's put the tuck back in Everlasting." Mentally Quinn noted to make sure that girl was in the back of any scenes they used her in.

Attention then shifted back to finding her loose canon of a producer, Rachel Goldberg. The girl she'd been sticking her neck out for against all reason. Quinn continued to justify that the only reason she was hellbent on keeping Rachel in line was because she was the best at her job - well, next to herself of course.

Either way, it didn't matter. Rachel was what she needed for Everlasting to succeed, and Rachel is what she would get. Whether the bitch liked it or not, that part wasn't her problem. Hollywood wasn't the place you went to find happy endings after all, not if you weren't willing to step on a pile of bodies to produce one yourself. No one that had gotten their fairytale ending in the hallowed hills of fame had gotten there without crushing a few skulls in the process.

Quinn had eyes on Rachel's makeshift "home", just a few yards from her current standing place but with plenty of potential obstacles in her way.

No more than three seconds had passed by before some incompetent intern with their headset on backwards was approaching her. Kid was mousy, with eyes the same color as his lackluster hair. He was stammering already and he'd barely even formed so much as a consonant, his skin a milky white and quickly draining him of color the longer he was in Quinn's presence.

She tended to have that effect on people.

He had a tray of coffees in one hand and a clipboard in the other, his sweaty palms causing him to bluster his way between both unable to decide which was of higher importance. Either way the malfunctioning in his brain seemed to stop altogether as all four steaming lattes crashed to the ground, scalding Quinn's calf and causing her to curse loudly and everyone in the vicinity to look on. A dramatic hush following the way they always did whenever Quinn was about to pop a blood vessel.

The unnerving thing about Quinn King losing her temper was that you didn't see it so much as you felt it. There was rarely an explosion, a bursting volcano, a tornado of a person - instead it was more like a noxious poison, asphyxiating you from the inside. The stone cold glare, the snake of a smirk, and then the venom dripping from her lips as she hit you where it hurt.

Immediately, he started apologizing, "S-sorry, oh god..I am so sorry, it's my second day I just - some guys t-t-told me to a-a-sk you for...sorry, b-b-roll? I-I..."

She let him squirm on the end of her hook for a few prolonged moments before forcing him under the water, "-Let me save you the trouble of pissing your pants in public, and me the trouble of hiring a gibberish translator and just say you're done for the day. I don't have time for this."

He looked relieved, a little color returning to his cheeks. "Thank y-you so much Quin-I mean, Mrs. K-King, Ms. King...b-boss...I promise tomorrow I -"

"Tomorrow?" The question is punctuated with short, punchy laughter. "Oh no Arnold, there is no tomorrow for you. Partly because I'm in a bad mood, and partly because I don't like people that are weak but, take it from me, I'm doing you a favor. I just think you'd be better suited to a more...slow paced job."

She offered him one doting smile and a pat on the arm, "And Arnold-"

"A-actually...it's Larry..."

"Well, that's even worse isn't it? When's the last time you heard of a successful man named Larry? I suggest you go back home to wherever it is you came from and get a nice, safe job like a cashier or a janitor. Find a woman with no standards and gently fuck her once a week. Maybe someone that will hold you when you cry yourself to sleep at night. Hell, pop out a kid or two...and hey! Maybe you'll even get lucky and one of them will hit the talent branch that you missed and that'll make your pathetic life worthwhile. That to me, Larry, seems much more...your speed."

Quinn squeezed his arm in mock reassurance, he seemed shellshocked and on the verge of vomiting - before turning sharply towards crew members crowding the craft table. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Get me some damn napkins!"

She didn't need a whip to crack, just the sound of her yelling was enough to hit the play button again and send everyone scurrying. Within seconds there was a wad of paper towels shoved into her hand and a bottle of Evian. Once Quinn had cleaned off the remnants of Larry's dignity from her heels she was once again off to find the ever elusive Rachel Goldberg.

The van she'd been living out of had a door open when Quinn reached it. Wrenching it back of the hinges she climbed inside, muttering angrily under her breath as she did so.

Her nose wrinkled at the scent of stale, unwashed blankets, an old half eaten piece of pizza, and the muskiness of sex that always seemed to follow Rachel around. Pungent and dirty, just like her. Quinn had sometimes wondered what she was like in bed out of sheer curiosity. Rachel never seemed the type to like clean-cut vanilla lovemaking; she had to like being fucked raw, the kind of sex where you wrenched your panties to the side and sat on a dick, or rolled on your stomach and gripped the carpet while taking it from behind, Rachel was anything but a nice girl no matter how bad she wanted to be.

Quinn knew that better than anyone.

"Rachel what did you do, crawl in here and die?"

The space was small so it became clear to Quinn quickly that Rachel wasn't in there. She gave a frustrated sigh before turning around to leave, pausing only when her shoe crunched on a balled up piece of paper tucked into the corner. Eyes narrowed, Quinn sat down on the edge of the van and opened it.

By the time you read this, Quinn, I'll be dead. That's right, somewhere even YOU can't get to me. I told you I was done. I meant it this time. Call me a cowa

I can't help but smile picturing your face when you read this. At least my corpse will be pretty. That should make you proud

By the way

I h Don't bother trying to stop me. It's already too late.

"You stupid fucking bitch."

Fisting the paper in her palm, Quinn felt a rage boiling inside like a kettle about to burst. The viper finally poised to strike, the lit match forcing her over the edge. After everything she'd done for that girl and Rachel thought she could escape that easily?

Rachel thought Hell was some place that she couldn't reach.

As if wrought iron throne smack dab in that circle of hellfire hadn't been sculpted with Quinn's ass in mind.

To be continued...