Prologue.
A man stood out on the balcony, scanning the terrace below. His hardened eyes checked and double checked every bush and path of the garden before lifting his wrist to his mouth. "Gardens are all clear." The man spoke into his intercom, before walking into the well-lighted ballroom.
The ballroom was packed with people, dressed in fancy and festive attire, who were seated at numerous tables. Their dresses and suits paled in comparison with the splendor of the ballroom itself. The sterling silver utensils glistened on the table and the linen napkins lined the perimeter around glazed white plates. The walls and carpets shown with a happy glow as the lights from the many chandeliers lit the room. Facing the tables was a small stage, and, at the center of the stage, was a podium.
The man was about to speak again into his intercom when he was interrupted by a soft voice. "Excuse me, sir, do you know when Professor Grant will arrive?" The man turned to see a young girl, around seventeen years old, staring up at him expectantly with dark brown eyes. She was dressed in an undoubtedly expensive, black gown. Her gown was pretty plain compared to the rest of the attendees, but its one sleeved style showed off her toned arms without restricting her movement. Her straight light brown hair was arranged neatly in a ponytail, decked with flowers. She had slightly crooked teeth when she smiled and a small scar running across her forehead, which she had tried to hide with makeup. On the whole, she looked like a younger, slightly less attractive rich girl in a sea of rich people. She was someone that wouldn't be remembered that night.
"He has already arrived and will be giving his speech in five minutes." the man said stoically. As soon as the girl quietly muttered a "thanks" and walked away, he spoke into the intercom. "Ballroom is all clear. Let the professor in."
A moment later, a deafening silence took over the ballroom as the stately professor took his place at the podium. He was old, long white hair framing his long, gaunt face, but he still walked upright and proud as he entered the ballroom. Instead of wearing fancy attire, the professor opted for a simple, cleanly pressed, lab coat. He was tall, almost a full head taller than the secret service agents that had surrounded him. Clearing his voice, he spoke.
"Hello, my name is Professor Grant. I want to thank every single one of you for being here and allowing me to speak on behalf of people who mean quite a lot to me. Since they were discovered a little less than a year ago, their whole race has been discriminated against and the panic that this has caused has been very… very serious. I am speaking about mutants. Are they really what we judge them to be, which are freaks and demons? Or are they friends of ours, who are trying to help us? I truly believe that they are misunderstood. That they are-"
The professor was interrupted by a loud noise and, a second later, the horrified people watched him collapse, a bullet buried in his temple; dead before he had even reached the ground. One of the ladies present screamed, signaling for the end of the classy dinner and the start of the disorderly panic.
The man with the intercom was at the back of the ballroom when the shot was fired. He immediately ran down one of the corridors, yelling into his wrist "Saw the bullet fired from a vent to the left of the podium. In pursuit of the assassin."
Weaving through the many hallways of the hotel, he saw a flash of cloth turn the corner. "Hey! Stop! FBI!" he shouted, turning the corner. In the middle of the long corridor he saw a sixteen-year-old girl in a black gown, staring back at him with her brown eyes. Her hands and face were covered in dust, no doubt from the vent, and she was carrying a handgun, which pointed straight at the man's chest. "You." The man said, shocked.
The girl smiled, adding an evil glow to her dirty face. "Me." With lightning speed, the man pulled out his own handgun. Two shots were fired and both the man and the girl fell to the ground.
The girl was the first to get up, stemming the blood pouring from her side. She turned and ran from the scene, content with hearing her opponent choking on his own blood. Despite the pain to her side, she smiled. She never missed.
By the time the man was discovered, he was dead and his killer was gone.