a/n: well, beck / jade is my victorious OTP, & i was messing around with a few ideas, until this came to mind. &, well, who doesn't think that jade wouldn't make a bada$$ assassin?

DISCLAIMER: i own absolutely nothing, aside from the plot.

Jade was quiet as could be as she pressed herself against the wearing-thin, cardboard-like wall of a long abandoned apartment. The air smelt of cigarette smoke, she noted, as a gust of wind blew into her face. She directed her gaze away from the khaki walls, toward the brightly-lit streets of Hollywood. Her face took on a serious expression as she murmured to herself, "This won't be to easy."

She reached into her trench coat, grabbing at the holster of her weapon, her lifesaver; her gun. Being a hitman - or a hitwoman, as she called herself - was a dangerous, life threatening task, and the only person you could trust was yourself. But half of the time, Jade didn't.

She had no idea who she was. It was so painful. Who was she, before she woke up into this life? Before she was trained and taught to feel no emotion, to only kill or kidnap who she was assigned to. What was her full name? How she wished the association would've told her. Did she have a family, or was she an orphan? Was she poor, rich, or somewhere in between? When was her birthday, where was she born, who were her friends? She gripped the handle of the gun tighter, cursing herself for becoming so weak, emotional, vulnerable. Why, if she were to even ask Sickowitz about who she was, he would hardly even hesitate to put a bullet through her head. After all, just because Jade was one of the best assassins, didn't mean that she couldn't very well be replaced.

Clearing her mind, she focused only on her task.

"Kidnap Beckett Oliver," she breathed.

Beckett Oliver was a handsome, interesting actor, not even Jade could deny him that. He had deep brown eyes, that reminded her of a swimming pool of chocolate. His hair wasn't exactly shaggy, but long and luxurious, and a beautiful ebony color. His skin was tanned, especially on his stomach, where a six-pack was visible through any shirt he wore. He was always wearing a flannel, no matter what the weather. In general, he was very attractive, and, for some reason, reminded her of an Arabian prince she could only faintly remember. He was born on May 27, 1995, in Hollywood's richest hospital, and he was of mixed decent (Caucasian and Indian, to be a bit more specific). His Indian mother, a singer, had died on September 19, 2001, in a brutal car accident on her way home from an eleven month tour. He had no stepmother, since his father never remarried.

But, even though he was goodlooking and there was a mystery to him, that was not the reason Jade was hired to kidnap, and possibly, assissante him. No, no, Jade was hired because Beckett Oliver was the son of the world's most famous, most amazing actor; Jameson Oliver.

Jameson Oliver was a handsome man, indeed, and it was no wonder where Beckett got his amazing good looks from; his father was fair skinned, with bright blue eyes, and blond hair, strikingly similar to the rays of the sun. Of course, one may question why they would look so similar, but they had the same beautiful, god-like facial features and body shape.

Realizing that she was beginning to fantasize about the actor's son, she reminded herself that he may not be living for long; his father was a multimillionaire, but he had opened his mouth one too many times, and the association was ready to either take his money, or take both his and his son's life. Either way worked for them.

She glared into the night, almost instantly spotting Beckett by the flocks of crowds and paparazzi that swarmed around him, and by the tall body guards that surrounded either sight of him. She put her gun up to the window sill, first pulling night-vision goggles over her sharp blue eyes, and glared down at the body guards. Target locked, she fired one shot after another at the three men, watching crimson blossom out of the hole just underneath the center of their clavicle. For god measure, she fired a few warning shots at the crowd of photographers, who soon tore away from the scene. With a Chesire cat grin, she tightened her grip on the gun, spotting the main-power cable she was looking for, just in between an alleyway. She pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, watching in marvel as the bullets whizzed through the air, cutting into the cords, and instantly shutting off the city's power.

Every light went off, and Jade turned on her goggles, finding Beckett once more. She looked at a fire escape ladder at the side of the window, and jumped onto it, still watching him as the ladder slid out from under her weight. She jumped off just before it hit the floor, and stuffed both her weapon and her glasses into her trenchcoat. She ran through the commotion, looking like a normal civilian, running away. Only, she was running toward the crime.

Beckett stood, staring down at his guards, and, presumably, his friends. She watched as people bumped into him and cursed his name; he was no longer the famous actor, he was like everyone else, and at that point, he didn't matter.

Within moments, she was next to him, pulling him away. It seemed to snap him right out of his shock as he began to thrash, curse, and scream at her, "Let go of me, damn it! Let me go, let me go, let me go! Help! Help!"

Jade slammed him against a brick wall, holding onto his neck and pressing down against him, despite his obvious height advantage, hissing at him, "Say another goddamn word, and I'll put a bullet in your head faster then you can scream 'help me'."

He tried to put on a brave front, she noticed, but despite his impressive acting skills, fear shone plainly in his eyes. She smiled, sickeningly sweet, as she pulled him through the streets, into the back of a waiting van, that one of her fellow members, Sinjin, was driving. Before he could resist her, she locked the doors behind her. But, the boy was foolish. Desperate for a way out, he grabbed her and threw her forward, toward the glass wall that seperated the back of the van and the driver. He swerved slightly, but he soon gained the pace back, glaring over his shoulder at Beckett, who was struggling to unlock the door. But, she was far too quick for him. She tugged on his hair, pulling him away from the exit, and down, against the glass wall, tight against her body, crushing him against her pelvis and her breasts.

He panted heavily, spitting out like venom, "Who the fuck are you, and what do you want with me?"

She looked at him through her eye lashes, biting off with the same amount of fury, "I'm your worst nightmare, and I suggest you don't fuck with me. I've been trained to kill people like you."

That ought'ta shake him up, she thought, but it 0only fueled his anger.

"What the hell do you want with me?"

"It's not what I want from you. It's from your father. My corporation wants your father's money. Oh, and I suggest you play nice with me," she gave him a sly, almost suggestive smirk, "I'm your assassin, after all."

a/n: so, how was that for a prologue? what do you guys think so far? i know it may be a bit OOC, but i'm doing the best i can.

so, R&R?