It was a cold night when Nina arrived to the Syndicate's business building, leaving her Honda Blackbird by the road side. In the hall, the only one there was the receptionist, behind a desk: a thin young woman, wearing a tight uniform and a pair of round glasses, with her hair in a messed up knot. "Good evening. How can I assist you?" "The best business is at midnight." Nina recited, as it was requested on the last email she had with her client. "Follow me." The attendant conducted her to one of the elevator doors lined on the wall. She gave her passage, and forced a smile on the other side. Then, she brought a small radio close to her mouth and spoke. "Loaded." Before Nina had time to ask, the elevator' doors closed.

"Name." She heard from the hidden speakers. "Nina Williams." "Password." She took a moment of reflection. The only thing her client gave to her was a phrase, not a word. "The best business is at midnight." The voice mocked. "I said 'password' not 'passphrase'." "It was the only thing that was given to me." "Things are always related. Think."

The best business is at midnight… She reviewed on her mind. Midnight. Time.

"Time." "Correct." Immediately after, the elevator started its vertiginous descent. As soon as the counter announced -2, the lowest level which had a button for, with the elevator still moving, Nina gazed the grill above her head, already outlining an escape. But then, it stops abruptly, and the doors opened to a large corridor, with suspense cameras which immediately turned to her at once.

As she walked, she passed blinded doors, all with a narrow window on top, which she presumed to be bullet-proof glass, showing offices, each one with a person behind its desk, typing. At some point, she was surprised when two men, holding combat riffles and wearing body-armors emerged from a hall at her right. Both stared at each other, evaluating the situation. Nina hasn't brought any guns with her… but she wouldn't need them anyway. Her mind already did a list of the moves: do a wall run, take the momentum to break the first's face, quickly kick the other one on his shins, take the nearest gun and shoot both in their heads.

"Ms. Williams?" The man of the left asked, while the other stared at her, biting his lip. She replied by nodding slightly. "Come with us. Boss is waiting." They guided her to a large conference room. The opposite wall was a huge screen, mimicking the landscape of the city at night. In front of it were the shadows of three men, the screen light partially revealing their faces.

"So you're the assassin…" The man in the middle rambled. "Welcome to my facilities." He spread his arms. "May I offer you a drink? Whisky? Cognac, perhaps?"

"I'm not here for your hospitality. Give me the target."

"Straight to the business, hã…" He smiled. "I like you already. I must say, Miss Williams: you have an impressive résumé. Still, I have to be sure you up for the task."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Choose a target. Any man in this room." His demand caught the others by surprise which shivered, after rolling their eyes through everyone. "Impress me."

She looked behind, gazing one of her escorts. The guy hadn't time to react: her right foot had no problem hitting his face; then, she spun, using the momentum to kick him again with her left. All people in the room heard his jaw cracked, as the man fell unanimated. With a free rifle now on the ground, the other one quickly pointed his gun to her head. She reacted instinctively: grabbed his arm, forcing his rifle to point to the ground. Then, she rolled him, positioning herself behind: her knee bent his spine backwards, and finally she evolved his neck with her right arm, and snapped it. Now with two men down, she heard the clicking of loading guns, as more guards appeared behind her, at distance, ready to shoot.

"I told you to choose 'a' target." As the chief of one of the world's greatest mafia organizations, he never saw a thing like that in all his years of leadership. Her moves were so quick his eyes didn't follow, and in a matter of seconds two of his men were knocked down. He had to put a considerable amount of effort not to stutter.

"He shouldn't point me the rifle while I'm working." And what upset him the most was her apathetic expression, her calmness, even when surrounded by laser-points of a dozen rifles. Her mind was a complete mystery. "Apart of that, I think I'm up to any task you have for me."

He cleared out his voice, and answered after a few moments, raising his hand to appease his staff. "Yes, you surely are. And if you made it, perhaps you'll take their vacancies." He smiled. "Your target's name is Steve Fox, a young man who has given cards on the last Tournament. One of the fighters is willing to pay us well for get rid of the competition. Kill him, and you'll receive your share."

Nina looked at the simplistic file, and raised her eyes to meet her client's. "You wasted two of your men just to see if I'm capable of killing a boy?" She twisted her eyebrows. The chief smiled. "You gave quite a show." He shrouded, trying not to seem pissed with her comment.

She is too valuable. Get a grip… From what he saw moments ago, the life of two men was a price he'll willingly afford. If you tame her, she will surely become the Syndicate's most precious asset.

"And do not get cocky too soon, missy." He repaid her back, trying to save his remnant pride. "You will have precisely twelve hours to finish the job. Starting now." He finished with a quick look on his Rolex.

"Where do I find him?"

"Latest info we have is that he usually goes to train on the local gym early morning. Try the Leana Hotel. You should have quite a view from there."

Without any more words, she turned backs, ready to leave.

"One more thing." The chief warned, opening a perverse smile. "There is another thing about him you should know." She stopped. "He's your son."

"Good try." She replied immediately. "I don't remember to have any. You have a spoiled sense of humor."

Ahead, another big, armored guy barred her way to give her a backpack.

"What is this?"

"Your weapon." Nina looked over her shoulder.

"I have my own."

"Boss insists."

She ripped it off his hands, and tossed it to her back. The man hopped to see her lost her balance because of its weight, but she handled it smoothly.

"It's a…"

"Sniper rifle, I know." She cut.

It is the only weapon we have to carry, in pieces.

"Don't wait for tomorrow! Clean this mess!" The Syndicate's chief ordered, as he had his eyes on the corpses left in the ground.

"Do you really think she will pull the trigger?" Someone's voice asked, echoing though the darkness.

"Did you saw the same as I did?" He started with a rhetorical question. "Not in a single moment I saw her hesitate. She has the same feelings as this damn computer!" He pointed to one of the screens. "With some luck, she might even bring us his head in a plastic bag!" He finished with a sick laugh.

It was not a good presage to arrive at the Leana's and saw the decadence of the main façade. Upon entering, Nina was greeted by the worst décor, and a fat woman of thick curls sticking out of her head, an exaggerated makeover, and spots of white powder under her nostrils.

"What do you want?!" Her words were dragged out of her mouth, as she showed her teeth, black as coil.

Nina asked for a key to any room, and the woman just picked one randomly, tossing it towards her. "Have fun."

As it wasn't bad already, the corridor was a complete mess: the wall paper was ragged, and the carpet stunk, the geometric figures masked in dirt and spots of… whatever that was.

The room that awaited Nina when she wasn't any cozier, too: the air was heavy with a gigantic cloud of dust and the stench of mold. The dinner room only had one tiny table of barbed wood, and a couch which wadding had stitches in every corner, in front of an old television; all of these above the dusty floor of an aviary.

Not wanting to explore more of that stink-hole, she managed to sit by the window frame, and took a brief nap, leaned against the window.

Then, she awaited the sun to rise, and attempted the streets. The sniper was already mounted, loaded and ready to shoot. It was the only thing to make her ignore the coldness, the unbearable smell and a growling stomach. And, at last, she spots him, walking the streets. Through the gun sight, she took a closer look to his face: it definitely matched the profile picture on the Syndicate's file… and it was definitely similar to hers. She had him locked, but she couldn't pull the trigger. Somehow, in her gut, she knew the Syndicate bastard told her the truth: Steve Fox is her son.