Assassination.

A death wish, some might call it. No one knows who anyone is. Not in the normal world where all is good in life and you wake up your morning with a bowl of cereal. That's what I'd like to say. But considering I'm perched in some guy's apartment in some town where they have a fairly good bakery, holding my sniper seated on the window and eating a bag of corn chips, I don't think it'll suit me well.

We assassinators—or whatever the actual hell you normal folk call us—aren't always like that. Well, yeah, I've encountered the fair few back up at Headquarters who've had their tragic childhoods here and there, but as for me? Nothing too bad. Layla Heartfilia was a kickass, baddass bitch with a sniper, so who was too surprised when I entered in the universe with nearly the same face as badass Mom's and her abilities? No one.

We don't hate the universe either. No, the universe has a few good people and a lot of good food. You can even try some pasta around Italy; that will convince you. I'm an assassin because I was born into this world. And Mom wasn't some hardcore training assassin lady either. That's just discrimination towards hardcore training assassin ladies. No, Mom went and bought me a few dolls when I young. Although, I knew she killed people at bed time. But Mom was a nice lady. She was a beautiful lady; knew she was and got a few dudes trying to harrass her every once in a while. She eventually randomly travelled around France to try taking a month off doing whatever the hell single chicks do in France. She got people staring and staring and getting punched in the face and staring and even more staring. She was all that jazz until my Dad came along. So France provided her a few things; namely a few existential crises and a diamond on her ring finger.

Dad was from rich family. And Mom was an assassin. Rich family didn't like Mom for her fabulous attitude. So, they did the most rational thing teenage adolescents ought to do and ran away. They built a shop, got in a few fights regarding Mom's period, ate a bunch of salads and finally, took a trip to the local hospital one Thursday afternoon. Mom was pregnant. At that time she was feeling all kinds of things. She had been a bit dumb and hadn't mentioned throughout their marriage that she was a knife-wielding, gun-loving, trained assassin and maybe it was better to have told Jude, her beloved husband, that she was a knife-wielding, gun-loving, trained assassin.

A quick debate on whether she should fly to France out of nowhere again and a bowl of cereal later, she told Jude Heartfilia that Layla Heartfilia was a knife-wielding, gun-loving, trained assassin. Which would've turned out better if it hadn't been breakfast and if Dad didn't drop the plate he was washing and pass out. Dad was shocked obviously and they took a trip to Mom's closet that had an enormous array of weapons hidden effectively. Dad passed out again. They had a talk over a roast chicken dinner in the evening and Dad realized he still loved Mom. Even if he was going to pass out every time she held a gun in her hands like pro. Mom took on more jobs for the next few months but realized she was too tired to always have to wake up Jude from his passing out every time.

So Mama retired. The whole headquarters missed her, told Jude if he does anything bad they'll kill him in an instant—he passed out before they could get to the part where they were joking—and life went on. Until Lucy Heartfilia, badass bitch, came along. Mama thought I was born a natural, which I was honestly. She didn't want to waste that killer talent in me, but she also didn't want Jude passing out even more. So Mom made me choose when I was thirteen; life as normal kid or life as a badass knife-wielding, gun-loving, trained assassin? I chose who I was after a good downing of apple juice in the garden.

Mom went to work. Had a bunch of people in the organization train me a bit. I wasn't as refined as Mom at first. But then again, she was a prodigy at a young age. She had killer instinct and killer hair. Oh, and she smelled nice. But I persisted; told Loke to train me no matter what after a bowl of lasagne and told my Dad that he better get ready to pass out 24/7. The fact that he did pass out after what I said only gave me confidence.

At sixteen, I was doing good. Loke told me I was already at the level of my Mom when she was fourteen. And considering she was a prodigy, that was a damn good achievement in life. When I was twenty—skipped college, got a highschool diploma somehow—Mom said she was proud of me. Of everything that there was and that she did not regret the fact that she just went to France out of nowhere after her ex dumped her for some godforsaken dumb reason.

And then she does this thing; she goes to France again.

And there Mom died. This is not the part where it gets sad and I say 'there goes my tragic childhood'. No, because Mom died in a mission. When I was younger, when she'd sing to me whilst braiding my hair, she'd tell me that her happy place, her resting place, was on the battlefield. It's not something she should've said to a 6 and ½ year old drinking apple juice in front of the fireplace, but I didn't care. Back then, knowing Mom had a happy place where she wanted to be when she took her last breaths was everything to me. Because I wanted Mom to be happy. And she turned out that way. She held a sniper in her hand in her death. She closed her eyes with a smile. Dad knew and on her funeral, he cried a bit then smiled then told me if I wanted to go to an ice cream shop. Twenty-year-old me obviously agreed and I had the mint flavor.

Dad died a few years later. I had moved out but we kept in touch. He wasn't growing old; he was just a bit tired now and he wanted to get back to his blonde babe up in heaven. And so he did. That year, when I was turning 24, I chose the strawberry flavor.

Loke told me the organization was family and that they would send missions and jobs to me to help me support myself. I did. I wasn't doing anything that year in life. I was just reading books peacefully in my apartment. Thing was, throughout it all, Mom and Dad were rich. Like, wow. Mom was a high-paid working assassin and even though she'd splurge on a few good designer handbags, she saved up a ton over her years. When she had died, we opened up her personal bank account and Loke almost choked on his lemonade at the amount. Dad was essentially from a rich family, so no surprise there. But he was also the head of Love and Lucky. Our designer clothing store. Dad and Mom got rich from that and to add to a good convenience, I inherited it all. Love and Lucky still operates now under Loke. And it's still cashing like no tomorrow. Mom designed killer clothes.

But there was nothing to buy at that point. Maybe I would buy myself some good weapons, but the organization already had that. Maybe I would buy myself some killer good clothes and handbags but I already fitted and took in Mom's whole closet which had everything. Because she essentially looked good in anything. I'm telling you, Dan from Switzerland made a big mistake dumping her. So, I bought and read books. Went to cafes that had good coffee. Until Loke assigned me to some jobs after Dad's funeral. Those jobs sparked my love of kicking ass back from the dead.

The funny thing is I'm in France. Right now.

In some town I'm not going to attempt to pretend to know. It's fairly nice around the place. Good parks, nice people, really good restaurant that served killer soup, but just one shady guy in some opposing organisation that needed to be taken out.

Where I am also located is something else; I did not have the patience of getting a hotel. Usually Loke would do this kind of crap, but he was too busy and left me with no place to check in at some town in goddamned France. So I checked in back at headquarters. Turns out I was suppose to actually wipe out two people; the second guy not being in town for a few days. They handed me Second Guy's apartment location and I somehow passed myself off to the receptionist as 'Natsu Dragneel's' girlfriend.

And it turns out, 'Natsu Dragneel' is a photographer. Evident from the cameras around his room and a bunch of photography books stuffed in a shelf. He also apparently liked to listen to heavy metal and acoustic, evidently from a few CD's and a goddamned heavy metal poster of a band I'm not even going to pretend to know. I felt a little strange just lounging around casually with a tub of ice cream and chips at my second target's crib. I had also managed to get Pizza Hut delivering pepporoni pizza whilst listening to 'Natsu Dragneel's' playlist on Spotify. I had hacked his laptop easily and played a bit of FarmVille on his Facebook whilst I was at it. My little farm was not doing so good. He also had 'Hot Stuff' by Donna Summer on his playlist which I ate the pizza to.

Surprisingly, he doesn't have any weapons around. I double checked around, even looking for some secret compartments. Nothing at all. He must be something for him not to have a batch of goodies conveniently stacked in his apartment. Or maybe he was just an idiot. I ate a chip whilst agreeing to myself that it was probably the latter.

It's Tuesday now and 'Natsu' is going to arrive around Friday and I'm going to have to pack up and make sure I don't leave a single trace, find a place to snipe 'Natsu' and this 'Gray' peacefully and get on a plane back to headquarters to slap Loke for not booking an apartment for me.

I sigh and lightly look over once more to the apartment window. 'Gray Fullbuster' should be out by now. I take a handful of chips and shove them down my mouth, not really caring anymore. Maybe he'll be around tomorrow for me to shoot down and get it over with.

As I chew, my eyes widen at the sight; a dark-haired man, shirtless, was strolling along the path just from the apartment. He looks bored and I cock an eyebrow. Why is he shirtless?

I glance down the first target's file. Sure enough, the photo on the paper is identical to the man casually walking down shirtless on the empty street. This was perfect. I eagerly leap to my sniping position and held the weapon carefully, eyes looking through the viewer. He was walking slowly too.

My heart pulses and I feel the same excitement I always had when it came to this part. It's the same sensation over and over again ever since I kicked Loke's ass at the dojo for the first time, sending him flying across the room, all accompanied by my Mother's wonderful and encouraging cheers. It's like Mom's here with me again; telling me to kick ass and that she was proud as fuck.

I grin as my finger closes in on the trigger.

I expect the familiar faint shot a moment later but that's not exactly what occurs first. The sound of a door opening and a few footsteps occurs and my mind freezes. I'm in no position to leave now; I have my stuff everywhere and the crops in FarmVille are suppose to harvest tonight.

I whip my head around fast enough to meet 'Natsu Dragneel'. His face is frozen in confusion. He is carrying a duffel bag, he's stuffing a KitKat in his mouth and holding a bag of chips on the other. He's wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He has goddamned pink hair. He looks like he just got home from college or something.

His eyes meet mine and I don't know why but a chick holding a sniper with a bag of chips near her and your laptop opened isn't exactly what I guess to be the most normal sight in the universe.

"Huh?"

This is why I never should've gone to France.

Remember when I said I had a 'secret project' in the works in my other story 'Coffee Cakes'? This is sorta it. I had been planning an assassination story for a while now, I guess I've only gotten around to doing it now. 'The Heartfilia Files' will update one chapter every week since I'm still trying to sort out this story and because Coffee Cakes is literally updated every weekday. Everyone knows CC is my baby.

Other than that, I do enjoy writing this story.

Thank you for reading!

Till then,

Ice