The bell rang. About time. I threw my notebook and pens into my leather messenger, the best a girl can get, put it on one of my shoulders, and got up.

"Come on, Leon… hurry up."

"I'll hurry up when you quit hitting my foot," he said slowly as he gathered his materials and put them into his messenger. He slung the messenger across his chest and got out of his seat, not even bothering to tuck the chair back in. "Now we can go."

We left the classroom, continuing down the hallway, teenagers gawking. I was almost tempted to call them out. "It's rude to stare," I hissed at a lanky boy. "God this place is too clean."

Leon shrugged and continued on, shoving his hands into his snug leather jacket. Leon was literally the epitome of effortless cool that so many people tried to imitate. But all Europeans were born cool. Well, at least the ones I had met.

"So… what is it today, Leon? What new adventures wait for us?"

He grunted. "Can't cut class," he said while rubbing the bridge of his nose. He glared at nobody in particular, annoyed by the very fact that we were being paid by the amount of time spent in school, not by our services. What a sly man, that Boss of ours.

"You can do it, Leon!" I cheered on, shaking him back and forth to annoy him more. "Just a few more classes! I believe in you! Si se puede!"

He directed his glare at me. "It's a little Mexican humor there…"

"I know," he whispered harshly. "Fuck my life. Should've stayed in France…" Leon began to mutter quickly in French, his sentences whipping at speeds that would make auctioneers dizzy.

"If you stayed in France, you wouldn't have met me and I'm pretty damn sure our missions would have been quite boring," I ventured. "You know, like that time with the vampires in New Orleans?"

Leon grinned and shook his head. "During Mardi Gras?" For this, he said "Mardi Gras" the way a Frenchman would: nasally and full of spit. "Our semi-failed mission."

"Your semi-failed mission, monsignor Leon. I did my job and killed them all. You got yourself shackled to a bed."

"Didn't mean I didn't enjoy it," he quickly threw in. "But it doesn't matter, they were dead after the sex, you know? So really, it was a huge success."

"Sure. See! Without me, that wouldn't have happened."

Leon shrugged. "Different place, different time. I'm in the mood to kill something," he added flatly.

"You know what? Fuck these last classes," I said defiantly. I shoved my hand into my bag and rummaged for my set of car keys. After a good minute or so while we kept walking down the hall, I finally found them. "We're gonna go kill something. Now hurry your ass up before we get caught," I said as I broke into something of a jog. Out the door and into the parking lot we went.

"Shit, where did I park?" I asked aloud, scratching my head, keys in hand. "Fuck I can't remember. Where is my baby…?"

"Your 'baby,' Leon answered, "should be next to the Volvo, remember? Jesus, Antarctica gets more sun than this place…"

"That doesn't help things because I don't remember where the stupid Volvo is either," I snapped. "And you're strangely right. AHA! There's my baby!"

To most people, an old car was parked peacefully in its place next to several newer cars, although the shine of said old car was far more spectacular than most. A wonder what a little turtle wax can do. But to Leon and I, this is our haven. Our escape. This is a midnight blue 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT with two trademark red lines running across the sides. This, reader, is my baby, Thor.

Now, you might be asking, If its name is Thor, why isn't yellow? Isn't Thor, like, the god of thunder or something? You're a good one reader if you figured that out. But you're even better if you managed to figure out the reference to Thor in Marvel. Brilliant job. Points for you. Leon and I made it a point to name our fleet of cars after the Avengers because, well, we're doing the world a favor and ridding it of villains known as vampires at the expense of your fun and violence. Also, we did it because it's fun trying too hard to be made of win and awesome.

Leon slipped into the passenger's side, putting his messenger bag onto the floor. Once inside, I threw him my bag. "Pedal to the medal, curious Georges on the loose," Leon warned, checking the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, yeah, buckle your seatbelts and all that." We both strapped ourselves in at the same time, awaking the mighty god Thor from his slumber. Shifting the gear into reverse, I started to pull out of my parking spot as quickly as possible. Less than ten seconds later, Thor flew out of the high school campus and sped down the street.

Leon turned on the radio; AC/DC started singing about how they were going to hell. "Such a fitting song," he said, popping open the glove compartment. I'll let you know that my glove compartment is actually much bigger than normal glove compartments, which would explain why explain why he was getting his gun out and loading it. Most guns would be light silver, but Leon's was custom-made out of black metal from a gunsmith that would rather remain anonymous. Stupid Frenchmen.

I saw Leon out of the corner of my eye point his gun outside. "Hey, keep that thing to yourself, we're gonna get pulled over if the cops see you."

Leon scoffed. "They should know better than to even question me." What a badass. "What are we murdering today?"

"I don't know… deer? It'll be painfully obvious if we kill a drifter or something. We'd have to go outside city limits though." I lowered the window and let my arm dangle out loosely. "Got a smoke?"

"Yeah, it's in my back pocket, hold on…" He unbuckled his seatbelt and arched upwards. We reached a stoplight in a timely manner as he tried to pry his cigarettes out of his back pocket. Leon's Sex Pistols shirt (which has enough history going back to the days of his father's youth) rode up, allowing me a lovely view of his deep-cut V-line and two of his probably eighteen abs.

"Liking the view?" Leon asked with a smirk. "It's green," he pointed out, not bothering with the seatbelt and handing me a cigarette. He pulled out another cigarette with his mouth from the box, throwing the box onto his bag.

"Light me," I ordered as I drove at a moderate speed down the street and past the intersection. A lighter magically appeared and burned off the edges of the paper. Soon enough, Thor was literally fuming. "Thanks." And the view got me all hot and bothered.

My cell phone began to ring in a riotous manner, to which I rolled my eyes and didn't want to answer. "Can you get that?"

Leon grabbed the iPhone from the outer flap of my messenger and pressed it to answer. "Yeah?"

"WHY ARE YOU NOT IN CLASS!?" I heard Boss roar over the phone that wasn't set to speaker. Damn, caught red-handed. Oh well.

"Because we can," Leon replied slickly, running his hand through his hair then taking a drag from the cigarette. "Are you okay with it?"

"LIKE FUCK I'M OKAY WITH IT! DO YOU THINK I'M PAYING YOU TO GO AROUND FUCKING JOYRIDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DAY?!"

"Man, he's dropping a lot of F-bombs," I told Leon, taking a left turn. He rolled his eyes and pulled the phone away from his ear in annoyance.

"We're doing you a favor, we're off to kill deer," Leon said coolly. "Less deer, more murdered people, more jobs, more money."

Boss shut right up because he knew that Leon was right. Leon was a master catalyst too. He's good at a lot of things as you can tell. Hell, every girl that has ever laid eyes on him has gone off on him, therefore getting into fights with their boyfriends, therefore sitting their sorry asses down.

"Fine," Boss answered, sour. "But bring me the damn deer as proof."

"Yeah, whatever." Leon hung up and took another slow drag. "How far out are we heading?"

"Far, but not too far out. We're in the middle of fucking nowhere, shouldn't be too hard to find a mystical forest outside the city. Or," I began, a brilliant idea forming in my head, "we could go on the Cullens' hunting grounds. Don't we have the coordinates?"

"Yeah, in my bag," Leon said, grabbing his bag. When he opened it, he pulled out a black binder, flipping quickly through the pages. Leon, as if he wasn't badass enough, is extremely organized. He has to be. He can't afford to mix up his missions and mess up the head counts and rates. "I'm setting up the GPS."

"Good thinking."

"Continue straight," a mechanical woman announced.

"This place is so damn dead," Leon griped, letting the smoke escape his mouth. "Shouldn't even have put on my lucky shirt, attract all the wrong kinds of girls," he mumbled.

"Did the teachers call you out on the shirt?" I asked, holding my hand out of my car and tapping the butt of my cigarette.

"Turn left in one mile," the GPS said.

"One of them is a closet Sex Pistols fan, tried to hit on me." Another drag. "Got up and left class. Mostly looks of stern judgment."

I began to turn left when the GPS said so, because that was the logical thing to do. Leon sank into the seat and reclined the back, flicking out his cigarette. He stretched out, from what I could tell, and slipped his hands underneath that gorgeous head of hair of his. One more, his shirt rode up. Too bad I was driving.

If you haven't noticed, I have something of a platonic crush on him. His nose is sculpted perfection and if you didn't know him, you'd think you'd be seeing a young, curly-haired Chris Cornell. Except more ripped and deeper set eyes. You can't get away with having semi-buff arms when you're running around carrying 50-pound rifles and putting them together in record time.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Non. Bad dreams kept waking me up." He started feeling up his abs, like any other guy with a decent set of abs would. "Tell me when we get there." He sighed deeply and sank into silence.

Fifteen, twenty minutes passed with nothing too interesting going on. Leon napped with a firm grip on his gun as though he was going to kill something in his sleep. I wouldn't put past him to pull it off. Now you might be wondering, how did a girl such as yourself get into this business? Actually, you probably weren't wondering, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. Because I could. No, reader, there was no traumatic past like the Winchesters, or a calling by a higher being like Van Helsing. I wanted to. Simple as that. Leon... well I can't say for him, but I bet he enjoys it as much as I do.

"You have arrived at ---"

"Shut up," Leon growled at his GPS quite suddenly. He groaned loudly mid-stretch and popped his neck, scrambling to get up without having the gun accidentally go off and kill one of us, namely himself. After putting the safety on, Leon put it in his bag as a backup plan.

I slowed down to a stop being ever-so-careful not to blow out one of Thor's tires, because then we'd be screwed among a bunch of half-angry vampires, which is worse than angry vampires or so experience tells me. "It's time to work," I said. I put Thor to sleep and both of us exited.

Through several connections, I got the upholstery changed to black leather and took out the back seats to make room for our weaponry. Backseat passengers can go screw themselves, they have no reason to be hanging out with us anyway unless they have a death wish. Most people would see an elevated area behind the two front seats and wouldn't make much of it. Ah, but you see, there's a trick to it. I will show you.

I opened the backseat door, as did Leon, but on the other side. Both of us made fists and began to hit the edges of the "storage bin," as we like to call it. The code to open the bin was to bang the center of the edge in a triangle, twice on the bottom left, once at the top center, and twice again on the bottom right. Both ends flew upward, revealing my very favorite weapon: A Savage Model 99 hunting rifle. Hell yes, reader, I mean business when it comes to deer hunting. "Hey, you have my bag?" I asked Leon. "Need to put my bullets somewhere."

"Yeah, I got it," he answered as he loaded up another hunting rifle, except his is a Marlin Model 336, customized black, like the rest of his arsenal. Box of bullets and rifle in hand, I closed the bin and the backseat door, meeting Leon next to the trunk of my car. "Take the bag, I've got enough to deal with mine." And so I did, putting the small cardboard box of bullets in the bag to join my binoculars and a spare scope in case of anything.

"We're having deer for dinner tonight too," I reminded him. Leon scoffed and shook his head as we walked into the forest not-so-silently. He had swung his rifle behind his back to put on a pair of black leather gloves. He stretched his fingers out as far as he could to adjust the gloves for maximum movement, cracking his knuckles while he was at it. "So, what's the plan?"

"There are eight Cullen vampires, if I remember correctly," he began. "All assumptions right and in order, each kills one deer every month. Watch out, deer crap."

"Wha- OH!" I sidestepped the excrement with a bit of a fumble. "Thanks, man."

"Anyway. Plan is, we kill enough to put them a year behind. Take back one as our prize, the rest we can drain their blood and leave them, or sell them."

"You're saying we have to massacre roughly 64 deer."

"Exactly what I'm saying."

Birds chirped away in the the treetops over us, some sounding much farther away than others. A few twigs snapped underneath our shoes and dry leaves cracked with every step. An owl would occasionally hoot in the distance as we continued further into the half-dead, half-humid forest. I spotted something move very slowly between the trees. I slowed my pace down and aimed with my rifle so I could get a good view of whatever it was with the scope mounted on it. One lonesome deer stood slightly bewildered, deciding if it should go straight or turn around, or nothing at all. Two seconds later, it laid sprawled across the grass with a bullet through its heart. "Guess we better start."

"Chingao, this fucker is heavy! How many deer does this put us at?" I dragged that bad boy to the pile of dead deer we had started making in one of the clearings near Thor, which started to attract a lot of flies and that annoyed me greatly.

"67 in this pile," Leon said with a bit of difficulty, breathing heavily as he pulled one of the deer from the top and threw it aside. "Time to get dirty." He knelt down next to the deer and slit its throat with a knife sharp enough to surgically remove an eyeball. The blood trickled along the edge faster and faster with every additional bit of pressure he put to open the gash wider. "Start draining the rest except for the buck, that one we take."

I sat down next to the freshly-killed dear to gather my breath and wipe off the sweat off my forehead, staring at Leon. His arms... oh God his arms. They tensed up as he grabbed another deer by its two knobby front legs. The grime and beads of sweat almost slathered across them made me want to jump him right here, right now. "Get off your ass," he said flatly. "We're gutting those bitches too."

My jaw dropped, the fantasy dissipating into darkness. "Hell no I'm not gutting a damn deer! I've seen some sick shit in my life and I've done it too, but I've never gut anything, let alone a deer!"

"Fine. You drain the deer," he pointed with his bloody knife, "I'll cut them open."

"I like it when you get all... commanding," I said in something of a jesting tone, grabbing my knife from my bag and getting up at the same time, scanning for the deer I had just left. Ah, there you are, you fatass, breaking my back and screwing my arms up.

"Not just you, chere," he replied with a broad grin. "Shut up and slit throats."

"That's... very artistic of you, Leon. Just let out that inner Parisian."

"Art. Humor. Same shit. And I'm not even from Paris."

"Really? ...Wow."

"Yeah, whatever..."

"Let's go, Joker, before Batman finds you."

"The Joker always gets away."

I had to agree. The Joker never really did die, not in the movie, not in most of the comics, not anywhere. We took one last look at his marvelous mess of intestines, spleens, lungs, whatever innards had been set down in a picture of two eyes and the Bat Signal for a mouth with a message underneath that read, "Why So Serious?" and headed out. We had already loaded up our rifles and the buck, so it was a clean getaway we made. Well, except for the organs and the deer at the bottom of some lake, of course.