A/N: This is my first ever fanfiction, I'm super nervous but I'm having way too many one sided conversations with various Author's Notes. If anything doesn't make sense, feel free to ask. I might have a panic attack or two before responding but I'll try my very best to reply and answer any questions you may have.
Breathe in, breathe out. I chant mentally before pulling the trigger, watching as my target drops to the ground, unmoving. People scream and dash to somewhere they hope is safe before peeking up and scanning the area to see where the shot came from. But they don't, they don't see me or the rifle or how hopelessly easy it would be to pick them all off.
Stop, don't think that way. He was a monster and deserved what he got, you don't kill innocents anymore. I remind myself sharply before disassembling my rifle and carefully packing it away. All is left is to confirm the kill and disappear.
I tuck the pieces into a bright pink tote bag and brush the lingering bits of roofing from my professional yet fashionable suit. I head to the roof access door and adopt a perfected look of boredom, one that suits my everyday hardworking citizen disguise. No one looks twice as I make my way through the building and out onto the street where the sirens are barely audible. I stride indifferently down the sidewalk, my matching bright pink heels making a soft clicking sound. The closer I get to the scene of the crime; the more people are frantic. Strangers scurry around me, fear written plainly on their faces. Rightfully so, I could kill you all with my bare hands.
The everyday hardworking citizen persona cracks causing my steps to momentarily falter, a sharp jerk of the head banishing the thoughts. Thoughts that belong in a past where killing was my only purpose and from conception I was nothing more than a weapon. A very efficient weapon.
"Ma'am?" I jolt back to the real world and curse inwardly. A police officer, decked out proudly in his uniform, stands before me with his head titled to the side in question. "It's not safe that way, you need to find an alternate route." He explains in a firm but concerned tone. I wrinkle my brow in mock confusion.
"Oh, what happened? Was there an accident? I hope no one's hurt." I say with a frown and glance down the road but only manage to see more cops milling about. The sirens grow increasingly louder as more head to inspect my handiwork.
"There was a murder. You need to find another way home, I'm sorry for the inconvenience." He states as his radio crackles to life. He turns away from me to answer and I smoothly slip away, kill confirmed.
An unassuming black car, exactly like the thousands of other black cars zipping about, pulls up just in front of me and the back seat door opens. I nonchalantly slide in and the door automatically shuts before the car pulls away from the curb and seamlessly blends with traffic.
"Why do you get to sit up front?" I tease as an exact copy of my own face twists around to frown at me from the driver's seat. She rolls her eyes and gestures to the passenger seat before settling back to watch the road. The self-driven car glides to a stop and I quickly slip into the passenger seat just as the begins again to navigate the congested streets of Los Angeles.
"Everything's going to plan, the plane leaves in two hours so there is just enough to grab a shower and nap." An emery board expertly flies over my sister's already perfect nails before she pauses, inspecting them carefully. She deems them fine and flicks the emery board towards me. She glances at me, narrowing her eyes as they inspect my everyday hardworking citizen outfit and frowns. "Seeing you without your tattoos is still like seeing you naked, unpleasant and scarring." She remarks before pulling out her phone and focusing her attention elsewhere.
My heavily tattooed self wouldn't fit the everyday hardworking citizen facade so they were covered with either clothes or a shit load of makeup. And though I've done it too many times to count, it still irks me. The itching stopped around the ninth time, thank god, but the uncomfortable feeling of smothering that integral part of myself hasn't. I shoot her an unamused look before reclining my seat and closing my eyes to squeeze in even the tiniest of breaks.
"How long is the flight from L.A. to New York?" I ask as I blindly slip off the pink heels and unpin the brown wig to free my naturally auburn hair. I massage my scalp to relieve the ache of being confined and snuggle into the passenger seat.
"A little over five hours. We should be arriving after midnight and you know I hate sleeping on planes so just crash and we can go out to eat tomorrow night." My sister, as always, reading my mind concerning the food aspect. I mutter something hopefully snarky before slipping into light sleep.
Which is disturbed way too soon. The car jerks to a stop and my sister is already in motion, reaching into the back to gather the wig and my tote bag before slipping into our current safe house. I slip into the pink heels before entering the unassuming apartment building situation on the edge of what's considered the bad side of town. Where the people are too naive to be paranoid of the neighbors.
Our apartment is sparse, just the essentials and what came with the apartment. While I was doing recon for the just completed assignment, my sister was switching everything from this safe house to the next in New York. She's handy like that.
I beeline to the shower, practically ripping off the work suit and enjoying the steaming hot shower. I lather and start scrubbing off the makeup covering off my beautiful tattoos, feeling lighter once they start showing through. Most of my tattoos are Neo-Traditional though there are a few done in realism or sketched out style. I tried to avoid tattooing areas that couldn't easily be hidden, such as my hands, chest, neck and face, but sometimes times call for a shorter disguise and my legs and arms are unavoidably covered in the dreaded concealer.
Once completely clean and relaxed, I throw on some pajamas and crash on my bed hoping to get at least some sleep before having to leave. But factoring in traffic and my insanely long shower, it wasn't twenty minutes before my sister was poking my to wake up. Not bothering to change, I trudge back out to the car and slump into the passenger seat. The ride passes uneventfully and finally I'm boarding the private plane and heading straight to the small bedroom at the back of the plane. Five hours of uninterrupted sleep.
The New York safe house reminds me of countless others, a converted warehouse in an area no one asks questions stocked with all the finest equipment. It's open and spacious with a kitchen against the left wall and a makeshift lab against the right one with nothing but potential workout space between them. The second story is situated above the kitchen, with only two doors leading each of our bedrooms.
I quickly investigate my room from my position on the bed, finding everything is set up in the usual manner. The large bed in the center of the wall opposite the door with a two doors to the left of the bed and a complete wall of weapons to the right. One door leads to a closet while the other is a bathroom. Simple and clean.
I step into the small closet and pull out my usual outfit. I strip and bunch up my clothes, tossing the clean ones on my bed and the dirty ones by the door. The bathroom is as expected, a shower stall and a sink with a built in countertop. There's no toilet, one of the perks of not eating human food is not needing one. I wash my face and apply moisturizer before detangling and tightly braiding my hair.
The only thing difference, sans tattoos, between me and my sister is our hair. Mine is constantly straight and an auburn red in color that barely covers my boobs despite the fact I've never cut it more than an inch all my twenty-two years. My sister's classic red hair easily touches her hips and seems stuck in that effortlessly beautiful beachy wave hairstyle that just looks lush and springy. Although to an outsider, my sister's hair is only three shades lighter and she straightens her hair often while my hair tends to be curly due to the braid I always have it in.
I finish by messily rimming my crystal blue eyes with black eyeliner and walk back to my bed where my clean clothes lie. Along with my sister, eyes glued to the screen of her phone. She glances up and frowns at my nude body before averting her eyes quickly.
"Must you always be naked? You'd think I'd be over it by now." She snaps with the slightest hint of a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. If I wasn't her sister, I wouldn't have caught it.
"Must you always be invading my space? It's not like I have anything to be ashamed of. You on the other hand-" I teasingly say with frowning and gesturing at her body. She snorts and her smiles reappears much more pronounced. We both know we have the same thin but toned body complete with B cup tits and a pert ass, thank god for our genetic contributors whoever they may be.
"It's seven am and I'm bored. Come play in the lab with me." She puts aside her phone to pout, tossing my panties and jeans at me. I tug the black lace and dark wash jeans on before slipping on the matching black lace bra and lace-up style gray shirt. She looks similarly with her black jeans and gray wrap style shirt.
"Fine, I was only going to sharpen my knives but they can wait." I smirk and spare a glance to the wall of weapons, equally made of guns and various types of blades. She rolls her eyes and sends me a knowing glance. My knives are never dull enough to warrant sharpening. I shrug as she leaps gracefully off my bed and we both leave to head towards the lab.
The lab, a must-have in all our safe-houses, is more like a playroom filled with spare parts and machines to fix or destroy. My sister and I both possess genius level intelligence and a love for tinkering with things. Her more so electronics while I have a passion for creating weapons, like a Taser from a toaster. A much handier thing to have in my opinion. We settle into a comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional curse as the sun rapidly travels across the sky.
It's almost 11pm before my stomach pangs with the familiar feeling of hunger and I abandon my current project of making an electrified knife from the leftover remnants of a television. Popping sounds fill the air as I stretch contently and get my sister attention by flicking some useless piece of metal towards her. She shoots me an annoyed look before it slowly turns into one of understanding. Shoving away from the table she was slaving over, she quickly stretches with ease and the pops of her own bones follow. Time tends to fly when we let our minds run free. She marches towards the makeshift kitchen and guzzles down one of her homemade smoothies, contently sighing as she finishes. We split to our respective bedrooms to change and dress in something more appropriate for the occasion.
I shimmy out of my clothes, keeping the lacy panties, but instead choose to don insanely tiny black leather shorts and an equally tiny black leather bustier. I layer over a cropped charcoal leather jacket and slip into some knee high platform boots to complete the outfit. The bathroom mirror provides enough space to thoroughly check myself out. My tattoos shift and wander restlessly under my skin and I brush my hands longingly over them in reassurance. My makeup hasn't worn off enough to need touching up though I swipe some extra red lipstick on and unravel my hair from the braid. Running my fingers through the silky strands and fluffing it lightly, I nod in satisfaction at my appearance and pick up the discarded clothes, tossing them in the newly created dirty pile by the door. I stop before exiting, lovingly staring at my weapons. The knives gleam enticingly and I can't seem to make myself leave without strapping any on. I feel almost naked leaving unarmed, in a way that actually being naked doesn't cause. Though lack of privacy during my childhood coupled with an overactive sexual drive made nudity lose its normal taboo.
Giving it, I finger a few smaller daggers before tucking one in each boot and another three in various built in sheathes in my jacket. A sense of calm and control descends over me as I amble over to my sister's room. I arrive just as she's lacing up her similar platform boots. We make it a habit to dress alike and keep the fact there is two of us a secret. With her black leather shorts and matching bustier, cropped black leather jacket and boots, only someone with prior knowledge of us being twins can tell us apart, or that there's two of us if we're spotted individually. It's part of the reason we were such good assassins, we always had an alibi.
"Ready?" She nods towards me before giving herself a quick once over, her fingers unconsciously lingering at the now visible tattoos on her upper thigh. It's a black and white tattoo of an owl locked in battle with a bear. Her hand rests against it and the animals move, battling endlessly without either ever getting the upper hand. She notices where her hand lies and jerks it away, the animals settling from the loss of contact.
I ghost a hand over one of my tattoos, a raven haired huntress, and feel the familiar tingle as my tattoo disguises me. Red hair becomes black and my features shirt, morph just enough to not resemble my sister, or the real me. "Of course, I'm starved." I grin and spin on my heel, anticipation rising.