Blaze POV

When the crowd of people descended upon her, Blaze was thankful that Charlie was there to help hold back the masses. Together they managed to work out a time to hold a conference between her and the public, with diplomats in attendance so that something could be done on an international level. Usually people would set up meetings afterward, but since it was a live broadcasting and an international news station, they had calls coming in from all over the world. The conference would be in a week and a half, which gave countries plenty of time to send over their representatives and have them not be too jetlagged by the time the conference began. Blaze's heart beat so quickly during the entire time she was in front of the screen, she was scared that it would stop suddenly and send her fainting to the ground. But no, she was stronger than that. Adrenaline pumped through her, but she wasn't sure if it was from excitement or terror.

The scientists probably knew where she was now. Did they have associates in the United Kingdom? If so, she wasn't safe every moment she remained on camera. Charlie ensured her that they would be safe, though she was sort of scared to ask why Charlie was so sure. It had gotten to the point where Blaze stopped questioning how Charlie knew people, but somehow people were always doing her favors. She didn't act or live as if she were rich, but apparently her family had donated a lot of money to different people, and even sponsored a few through school and the military. The men she would find waiting at the penthouse for them were trusted friends of hers. Maybe one of the coming nights, Blaze would ask for a more complete life story of Charlie. For now, though, she just rolled with what she had.

There was no way she was going to get through the crowd of people with cameras once the broadcast ended, because they were all still very curious as to who she was and why she had wings. She felt like a kitten that was in danger of being petted too much. The young kids of the Backstreets used to stroke her feathers all the time, and she let them as long as they didn't try to break the feathers or bend them too much. She was almost certain that the reporters would be as hands-on as possible to see if her wings were real or just a hoax. Sure, they are willing to come up with 'real or hoax' stories after the interview, so she had to do something to establish herself as real. How, though? Well, she had to get back to the penthouse somehow…she might as well fly there. Maybe she would do a few loops above the reporters so they could get visual proof that she was being genuine. Charlie had done a good job in choosing the news company, whose mantra was 'nothing but the truth' and had a good reputation for not messing around when it came to news stories.

Once the broadcasting had a minute's left of tape to film, she gave the camera a small quarter of a smile and turned, running off of the building and spreading her wings. She allowed herself to drop a few feet and out of sight before swooping around and above the reporters, who followed her with their cameras. She felt safer in the air anyway, especially if someone was coming after her. There were no helicopters or mini jets in the sky, though, and no men in swat-team-type suits coming to reclaim her yet. She kept her eyes open, and exchanged glances with Charlie. They didn't exchange words, but Charlie tapped her watch and cocked her head to the side to let her know that if she wasn't back at the penthouse in half an hour, she'd have the entirety of the UK police force and air force out looking for her. Blaze nodded and left the area of the top of the building and kept flying until she could no longer feel the lens of the cameras pointed at her. She took a long loop and eventually landed on the side porch of the penthouse. She felt strange, not having to hide her wings when it was still daylight, but she also felt a bit liberated. Maybe, in time, she ould walk around without a long trenchcoat in the middle of a hot summer.

She waited a few minutes before entering the penthouse. She knew that Charlie and Ty and Demitriev would be arriving soon, as was their plan, but it was nice just to have a little time to herself so she could get a grip on reality. Blaze's heart fluttered and she felt like taking flight again, or at least jumping up and down. She did it. She started it, at least. There was a lot of work that was to follow, but she had found the guts to make it happen and now no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop smiling. She put her hands over her mouth and tried to pull them down, to contain her excitement, but it was to no avail. When she heard the door open on the interior of the building, she decided to enter the room to meet her friends. Charlie dropped her things and ran to Blaze. Words were not necessary between them at that instant. Blaze's eyes were glittering in the light and she almost felt like crying from joy. The secret was revealed, and she could stop living in the shadows in a short time. This went not only for her, though, but for all mutants and experiments.

Right as she found the words, there was a large "CRAAACK" from outside. Lightning flashed and the sky opened its flood gates. It had been cloudy that day, but she hadn't thought a storm would occur until much later, or maybe tomorrow. She was used to the rain, by now, but the thunder and lightning still set her on edge a bit from time to time. She didn't have time to think, to register what happened, until loud music drowned out the weather outside. Blaze turned her head to the location of the noise and saw Ty standing next to the stereo, shrugging as if to say, "why not celebrate a bit? The sky's dancing with us." Blaze wasn't sure how to respond until Charlie grabbed her hands and pulled her toward the open area of the flat where they would have room to dance.

"Just let the music take you," Charlie suggested, and started hopping from foot to foot with the beat, making a little kick in between hops. Ty joined along, and Demitriev. PJ probably would have had a blast too, but her mom had taken her to school and had the afternoon planned in the park. Blaze listened to the rhythm, and let her energy flow throughout her body until she found the right part to join in at. She was more coordinated when doing aerobatics than when dancing, but the awkward steps soon became more natural to her the more she danced. She wasn't in some club, she was with friends she trusted, and with whom she could laugh and dance. The storm outside did not seem half as scary now, nor half as fun, as the storm that was happening inside. Blaze was sure that if there was anyone living under them, they would file a noise complaint against Charlie. But that didn't seem to matter. The music drowned out any fears for her safety that day, any fear of noise complaints, any sadness or fears for the future. It washed away the pain and suffering and all that was left was hope.

Veira POV

"What is your name?" Veira asked with every ounce of patience she had. For two hours she had gotten no response from him, even with the electric shock. He wasn't used to the shocks, though, so they were more effective than the whip. Electricity was more her passion, anyway. Modern science was cutting the way for torture both in electrical capabilities and chemical serums, and they left her patients with considerably less scarring (externally, at least). She had her scientists double the amount of the drug and tried again and again. After another hour, she got one word.

"Cole," he would reply dryly every time she shocked him. That simply would not do. She needed Simon by her side, not some defiant, considerably less violent or dangerous little snake. It satisfied Veira when she finally saw him twitch a bit. He had done that from the amped up amount of electricity running through his system, but it was still nice to see that she was getting straight through that tough skin of his and right into the core of his being. His father could have only scratched the surface with the bloody nine-tailed deathtrap. This was more of a mental and internally degrading tactic. It was also quicker and less messy.

"What is your name?" she repeated, and he spat back into her face. He had to lean forward a bit, but his projectile met its target and splattered over the ridge of her nose, right between her eyes. Even with this gross gesture, he was a sharpshooter who couldn't miss. Imagine what he could do with a gun or blade in his hand. Still, that was not the answer she was looking for. She slapped him hard across the face, but his head returned to its position, staring back at her with contempt. He did not stay down…no, he was never good at that. She was sort of happy about that. It made the game more fun. There was a red mark where she had slapped him, and she was almost surprised because she had never seen cheek red on any account. Simon never blushed, and even when he consumed wine, his face was always the same tanned colour. The only red she'd seen on it before was a time when he'd gotten a gash on his face from a fight. That scar didn't show, and she doubted if he remembered it because of the drugs he'd had pumping through his veins.

"What is your name?" She asked, ramping up the amount of electricity through him once more. She could see his teeth clench and his eyes narrow but still he gave her the same response. She had been under electric shock just once before, when she was young and accidentally brushed the device herself. The shock wasn't as intense as the one she was giving Cole, but she had howled in pain from it. She couldn't imagine the pain he was going through right now. She almost felt bad, because she didn't like spoiling her toys, but he was far from where she needed him to be. When he did get a second or two of rest, she watched him fidget in his seat and saw his bare chest push against the straps keeping him down. He had red ropeburn marks on his chest, but those would fade quickly. Her work would not. Simon Cole Azori was showing his discomfort, if just slightly. This was a momentous day indeed. Still, it seemed as if they were getting nowhere, and he was adamant about being of no aid to her.

It was always a struggle to tame him, but especially now, something was different. Maybe it was because he was older than before, or maybe it was something else. Veira didn't have time nor the interest in figuring out what had changed, though, because it wouldn't matter soon anyway. She ramped up the electrical shock again and brought the receiver to his chest. His body convulsed, and again. It persisted for what seemed like hours before one of her associates came in—the woman had been an expert on physiology and electrical currents in her day. The retired electrical maniac put a soft hand on Veira's arm as she reached for the dial again.

"One more might kill him," the woman whispered, quiet enough so that only Veira could hear. Cole, despite his keen ears, was breathing too heavily to hear anything other than his working lungs and racing heartbeat. His entire body was shaking out of his control. Veira nodded and sent the woman away, but hid a smile when she looked over at her work. She scanned his shaking body and felt like giggling, wondering if one more shock truly would kill him. It was hard to kill an Azori…that's what was always said about them. Only Azoris could take each other down. Anything else, including capital punishment by a government, was considered disgraceful to them. It was rare for an Azori to die of old age or on the job. They were reliable business partners. Despite the amount he was shaking, she figured she had another shock or two before his heart stopped for good. Every current sent through him made his heart jump, and she didn't want to make it combust, because that's when things got messy.

Veira couldn't help but smirk and remind herself that Azoris had no heart. Simon had no heart. Once more she ramped up the electricity and shocked him, but this time it was a shorter blast than before so his organs wouldn't shut down. It was enough to merit an angry, animalistic growl that turned into an aggravated roar.

"What is your name?" she asked for the thousandth time. She didn't have to wait for an answer as the man in front of her clutched the armchair and pulled himself to a seated position that was not bent in some terrible way. His eyes, if possible, seemed darker than before, and a rage surged through them like the electrical current through his muscles and tissue.

"My name is Simon Cole Azori and I am your end. By the time I'm done with you, the deepest abyss of hell will seem like paradise to you," he replied through grit teeth. His voice had not sounded this dangerous during the time she had known him, but it excited her still.

"Finally," she whispered quietly to herself. At least now she could see the headway she had made. Simon pushed against the bonds holding him down, but it was no use, and he couldn't slip out of them. She wondered how long she'd need them at all. Her associate had been right—she did kill someone that day, but it wasn't Simon. "Cole" was little more than a memory now.

Blaze POV

The original expose had gone even better than planned. Blaze had interviews and enquiries booked for the next few weeks. One thing she stressed, though, was that she was not the only one with this story. She was the only person she had met with wings, which made her stand out quite a bit, and the media loved her wings, but the fight wasn't about only her. With Demitriev's permission, she brought herself, Ty, Charlie, and PJ into the fight. And every day, she got another few calls from people around the world, mutants and allies, wanting to join and help any way they could.

Blaze had never seen this side of humanity before…in her childhood, scientists had been cruel, as had people who didn't understand that she was human too. She always felt like the world was against her, save in the Backstreets. But now, she felt more united with other people than ever. It was invigorating and scary at the same time. How was she supposed to be the figurehead against a corporation and system she had spent so long running from? She didn't think she was strong enough. But even if she wasn't, she had to be. For the others. For the outcast mutants, for the runaways, and for herself.

In all honesty, she wasn't as dynamic of a speaker as Charlie, who could talk to anyone with silver words as if she was born already gabbing away, but she had managed to get through the expose without messing up. Now, for the interviews, the group figured they would have to practice their answers so they would not be awkward or unsure of themselves on camera or in front of crowds. They were back at Charlie's apartment, and Charlie had made them all a cup of tea as Demitriev sketched them a few preliminary questions to think about. When he was done, everyone took a seat with their tea and pieces of paper and pens, and PJ sat on Blaze's lap. She didn't understand much of what was going on, but she was as much a part of the team as any of them. Demitriev was hesitant to get her involved, but Ty ensured him that she would be safe. He didn't go through the same Azori training, but he didn't have to. Instead of trusting his own fighting capabilities, they asked for security guards to man the streets around the building and the penthouse.

One of the guards was a mutant from Cardiff who had taken a train down when he had seen the news. He could increase his mass in different parts of his body, making his punch heavier than getting rammed with a truck. They'd be fine, Ty figured. This mutant, Ianto, was on watch every night in exchange for a place to stay in Charlie's flat. Now he and Ty shared a room, while Blaze and Charlie shared one. Demitriev often fell asleep on the couch with PJ. The place was beginning to get crowded, but they would figure out a long-term housing solution after the interviews were done.

Blaze answered mock interview questions all day about her campaign, the scientists and the institution where they kept her. It was painful to go into detail about the needles and the cell. Worse than those were the flashes of the tests themselves, and the physical examinations when she'd have motivation to fly or do something or else get prodded or jabbed with something uncomfortable. She shut out the majority of her actual memories and emotions and tried to recall the procedures more than the fact that they were done to her and others. By separating herself from it, the memories hurt less. However, this was countered by the fact that by taking on the scientists and the institution, she was thinking about it every moment from when she woke up to when she went to sleep. Charlie noticed more and more when they retired to the room for the night that it was taking her toll on the birdkid. She joked once or twice about having grey hairs at her young age, but Blaze wondered if it would actually begin soon. Her nightmares weren't as bad when she slept beside Charlie, but she still had them. Even with the heightened security, she felt unsafe at times.

"Ready for another question?" Demitriev asked, scanning his list once more. They had been at it all day and had only given themselves a few minutes' break to make food or tea or to play with PJ. Blaze would do anything to be as young as PJ and to watch the world open up to her, but Blaze's childhood was over. Ty had joked that she was the mother of mutants now. Blaze and Charlie nodded, and Ty gave his sideshrug which meant, "go on then". His 'isms', or his tendencies, were so unlike his brother it was hard to tell that they were related aside from by looks. And in looks, sometimes she still mistook him for Cole when she looked up quickly. He's another thing that she pushed from her mind. She didn't like pushing things from her mind, but she promised herself that there would be time to mourn him, or find his body and give him a proper ceremony, afterward. Though, she had never actually been at a funeral ceremony before and didn't actually know how it worked.

"What is stopping Mutants from robbing banks or killing people with their powers? How do we know that they are safe and should even have equal rights? With their powers they could become perfect killing machines," Demitriev posed the question to them. His tone was a bit harsh, but also cautious, with this one. He didn't believe the superstitions behind any of what he was questioning, but he wasn't the one they were trying to convince. Ty couldn't help but smirk to himself, and he didn't wait two seconds to respond.

"Sir, I personally know the perfect killing machine, and he's about as human as they get," he grinned. Demitriev didn't quite understand, but Blaze remained silent. It wasn't decent to speak badly of the dead. Charlie, who was walking back from retrieving the mail, took a magazine and whacked him in the back of the head with it.

"Don't talk about your brother like that," she scolded. Ty frowned, but it lasted for less than a moment and then he was back to thinking about an answer. Blaze chose to disregard his comment. She didn't have time to think about him now. He had been a prisoner, like her, but of a crueler fate. Blaze was thankful that she didn't have many scars, but that meant that most of her hurt was of mental and emotional origin. She figured, after her nightmares and all this was done, she would need to get tested and treated for PTSD. She hated doctors, but Demitriev had noticed her struggling to stay focused one day and had suggested it. He said he had a friend that could help her, and while she wasn't keen on more people analyzing her for any reason, she knew Demitriev's heart was in a good place. She told him she'd think about it. If it meant guzzling pills, she would refuse.

"There is nothing stopping a regular person from picking up a weapon and robbing a bank or killing someone either. A kid treated badly might end up in a penitentiary for a life of crime, while a kid showed loving care would grow up to be successful individuals in society. Maybe one would cure cancer or other diseases. Someone with gills, for example, could grow up to work Ocean rescues and save thousands. Someone with superstrength could lift debris off of a hurricane victim. There's a potential for good and bad in us all, mutants or not. It is up to us to decide what environment we have these kids grow up in," Blaze decided aloud. The room went silent and all eyes were on her. After a moment, the silence dissipated and she saw the others nodding and etching out their own ideas. She ended up saying that at the press conference the next day as well.

(Fastforwarding to the press conference)

Lights of cameras were flashing every which way with each question she was asked. The room was anything but small, though once it was filled with diplomatic representatives and reporters with their video cameras, the place seemed clustered. There were not many windows so that if there was someone looking to take her down, they could not get a sniper to get a good shot off. It was a precaution, but the lack of escape routes still left Blaze a bit anxious. There was a door behind her and a door on the other side of the room where the press entered. Her hosts, and main questioners, had been chosen through a process she did not know of, but they seemed friendly enough. Ty and Charlie sat at either side of her, with PJ on Demitriev's lap on Ty's left. Ianto did not wish to be part of the discussion, but he sat in the corner next to PJ and Demitriev, just in case they needed him.

Blaze felt restless throughout the lengthy introductions of the speakers and her group, but by the time the questions began to roll in from the diplomats, her shoulders dropped and she found that she was able to focus on each question without thinking about the fact she had a hundred cameras pointed at her face. It was strange, that not long ago she would have done anything to dodge a camera, and now, she was sitting in front of it, publicizing herself to the world.

"What is your goal? Where do you see this campaign headed?" one of the men reading out questions asked. She would have already forgotten their names aside from the fact there were placecards where she and the others were sitting, including the proctors' seats. His name was 'Dan', which she assumed was short for Daniel. Daniel, he probably had a wife and two or three kids at home, and they would all have comfortable lives. That's what she wanted, really. She wanted mutants to have homes and loving families, and for people not to be scared of her or the others.

"Well, Dan, I think a few things need to happen before we meet our end game. I am advocating equality of mutants to the level of human. Within the last half a century, people from different ethnicities and genders have become closer to equal rights. There's still prejudice there, and I know that people will face people like us with hesitancy. But all we strive for is to live normal, happy lives. You asked where I figured this campaign would lead?

Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, there will be a world in which PJ and the rest of us can grow up without fear of being imprisoned and tested upon as if we couldn't feel pain. I dream of a day when we will not be hunted by those who are scared of us, just because of how we were born. My goal is to take down medical research institutions which use unsafe, inhumane practices to study us. I understand that we are different in some respects biologically and may hold keys for curing diseases, but we should not be forced into cells and treated poorly. I would say that I was treated like an animal, but animals should not undergo such cruelty either.

I want justice to be dealt to people who take pride in harming others. I want all mutants, and all people in general, to grow up in loving environments where all basic needs are met and beyond. Everyone, no matter where they come from, has the right to grow and develop within their community. And I would like to create a community where mutants can gather to feel safe, where they can find jobs that fit their specialization, and where they can best help others.

There should be no more days where little kids wake up in institutions with no walls, and are injected with serums then asked to run through a maze with 'motivational' tools behind them, urging them on unless they want to be skewered by large metal rods. I apologize for my bluntness, but this is not a motion built off of butterflies and rainbows. It is a movement to manifest love and acceptance of mutants and people throughout the world," Blaze said, pausing so she could see the reactions of her audience. She had spared them the gorier details, but still she saw them frown when she mentioned the torture mechanisms used on her when she was at the institution. Silence followed her last statement.

Did she say something wrong? She felt her face start to go pink but fought the heat down from her face, and kept her expression strong yet welcoming. A handful of diplomats were taking notes quietly, and reporters were scribbling anxiously to get it all in, but the majority of them just sat there in awe like the proctors did. Blaze kept her chin up, but not high enough as to have to look down her nose at people. Head up, put some shoulder to it, and keep that heart strong. That was what she told herself once more as she waited for a response from the proctors. Someone at the back clapped, and then the room was full of people bringing their hands together. The noise seemed to bounce on the walls and it made her heart flutter.

"Tell me. What would you have us do?" Dan asked her. He asked it in a hypothetical manner. Sure, she could ask for them to exact revenge on the people who had wronged her. Did she blame every scientist who took a needle to her? Like she said before, she believed that there was good and evil in everyone. So, by default, there was good in them too. If only they could change their ways.

"The corporation that is running the operations dealing with mutants must be shut down. In time, should its medical research practices change to be more humane, it may get the license to function under heavy review. In order to do this, I need legislative bodies on my side. I also require social worker organizations to work with me to find homes for mutants and people who have been experimented upon. I would like to work with military forces to ensure the safe transportation of the mutants out of the custody of the scientists. A meeting between me and executive powers needs to occur in order to make sure these requests are followed through," Blaze listed off slowly so that the diplomats could listen in and take notes as need be. Dan's eyebrows were raised a bit, but it was more for comedic effect than to show his actual surprise. He had briefed her on the questions he would be asking her so she wouldn't be surprised by any of them, and she had given him a hint of what she was going to say so he could ask questions off of that.

"Well, little miss, it sounds like you're gearing up for war!" Dan leaned back in his seat. He meant it as a comical relief moment from everything she had been saying. He took her seriously, but the audience would need a moment to mull over what she was saying. Blaze smiled to him, knowing it would look good for the cameras. Charlie and Ty had made it a point of making her 'media ready' when it came to talking. There were little cues that could win over an audience, and both of them knew that from watching too many movies and news shows. So, one assignment Blaze had the night before was to practice facial expressions in the mirror. The 'determined look' was easy enough, but she was having trouble yesterday with her fake smile. She studied celebrity photos, but didn't know how their smiles could look so camera-ready and flawlessly genuine. Blaze's smile didn't show her teeth like many of the celebrity pictures did. Hers was a more modest smile, but one that hinted at a plan that would change the world for the better.

"A war against inhumanity," she replied softly. Not all of the reporters heard that, but the way Dan smiled back to her, she knew that she had just named her campaign. They took a few more questions that Ty and Charlie answered about their lives and about the diversity of powers. It was a relief for her to be out of the hot lights set up by the cameramen. She felt as if she was trying to fly as close to the sun as possible. She had at one point been close to breaking a sweat but was overall just hot and restless.

After the conference, she would schedule the meetings with each nation's powers that sent representatives. It would be a long day for her. She took a breath and shook out her limbs in an attempt to get comfortable before heading back into the hot light.

Veira POV

It was late evening by the time she entered her father's old office.

Simon lounged in a fancy red reclining chair placed behind a desk that had once been her father's. One clutched a nearly empty glass of red wine and the other lay casually yet not indecently on the chair's armrest. His legs were crossed and his heels lay on the desk casually, but somehow he did not seem to be acting informally. The desk wasn't his, so technically it was rude to have his feet placed there. However, as she approached, he did not take his feet off the table. Only once she reached him did he remove them so he could sit up straight, but that was more out of convenience and a bit of manners than an apology for being disrespectful. The problem with him and his father was that he acted untouchable, as if he owned the world. Basically, he was right to think that. No one in their right mind would take on anyone in the Azori family, especially those dosed with the Curse. Someone had attempted to steal the Curse and analyze its contents, but that person was never seen again. Luckily, Veira had her own scientists and chemists who found a suitable alternative. While it wasn't the Curse, it would work well enough to get the original Simon back. She dubbed the poison with the name, 'the Awakening'.

"Here is your assignment, Simon," Veira handed him the manila folder and stood in front of him, waiting for him to open it and confirm compliance. They exchanged glances when the folder slid out from between her fingers, as if they were testing their trust. She was nearly confident that her treatments had done the trick…he would do anything for her. He would even give her his life if she asked it of him. Not that she would do that. He was too valuable to toss away carelessly. And, they had been promised to each other since they were toddlers. She didn't like giving up her playthings to begin with, but he was also more than that. He was an Azori, but he was hers. She had been raised in an environment much like Cole's but with less violence. Instead of being beaten herself, she watched her father work on extracting information from people, and she was taught discipline through observation. No mind-altering drugs were needed to coax her into action. Now she was in control, though, and it felt good. Her father's passing couldn't have come at a better time. The client who contacted her was very influential and was willing to pay more money than any job her family had done before. And now, she didn't have to worry about chipping a nail while doing it. She had other clients to tend to, and usually she would assign her other men or women to the lesser jobs, but this time she had to take care of one of the men who betrayed her father. It was personal, so she had to find someone else for the big break. Not that she trusted any of them to be able to do it as well as Cole.

She watched him read over the file, and observed his eyes to see if any emotion passed behind them. This would be an easy job, provided he stayed on the plan. When they were kids, they worked together on a job and she almost got caught because he took a different exit route than they had planned. With all the chemicals she pumped into his veins, and with all the persuasion she gave him, she knew that his loyalty would not be in question. He wasn't her mindless drone, but he was more of his old self with an added devotion to cater to her will. But he thought he was doing it because he wanted to make her happy and that he liked to work with her, not because he had to or he was being drugged to obey her. And eventually, she wouldn't need the drugs at all. It would be like old times…they would be work partners and so much more.

"What significance does this person play?" Simon asked her as he glanced over the case file. He had always been curious as to who he was going to kill, because he didn't want things backfiring or blowing up in his face. He got that from his father—always so careful as to who he took out of the game so that his family wouldn't be targeted. Simon and his father always impressed her, though. They never questioned why or questioned her father's judgment. Though Simon escaped with his brother to America when they were young, the time he spent in Italy had not been wasted. The young boy had more blood on his hands than some of his older brothers and cousins before him. And the things he did in America for her when she sent him on the Curse…'Cole', as he preferred to go by, probably had no recollection of what she had him do. What they did together.

"Tsk. Now Simon, it's not for you to question. It's just someone who's causing my client a good deal of trouble," Veira clicked her tongue to the top of her mouth and shook her head. Simon glanced up from his reading to meet her eyes. The calm, icy look that sent shivers down most people's spines only made anticipation for their upcoming job well up within her. His eyes weren't hard, but instead had a piercing intelligence about them, as if he knew something she didn't, but in a good way. It was sort of like he was smiling knowingly with her, not plotting against her. She knew those eyes well enough. After a moment of silence, he shrugged and blinked as if the person didn't matter. In all honesty, it probably didn't. She could ask him to kill the president or prime minister of any number of countries and it wouldn't matter. He, like his father before him, had a passion for killing.

"Trouble is in my price range. See, my client's caused a good deal of trouble in the past," he raised an eyebrow and closed the folder with one hand. His voice teased her a bit, and a cheeky half-grin replaced his usual calm composition. She understood that she was the client in this respect, because she was technically employing him to carry out a job that she had accepted. It was relieving to her to see his dark smile again, even if he was teasing her.

"You'll take the job?" she questioned him. Veira had her doubts about sending him in on an assignment so soon when she was only a few weeks into his rehabilitation into the Azori life. His father didn't know he was alive, but she planned to keep it that way. She didn't approve of his father's training methods because they involved too many scars. Well, she had taken care of that bit. But if his father knew he was alive, she might lose him again, and she didn't want that. Simon smirked and tossed the folder to the side of him and onto the floor, indicating to her that the target would be an easy job and that he could care less about it. In the same motion that he threw the folder down, he grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to him so that their faces were inches away from each other. The folder billowed for a moment in the air before the pages within it spilled onto the ground in soft, featherlike motions. Veira heard it fall, but didn't look away from him. Her heart had skipped a beat when he pulled her to his level, because she had half expected that he had meant to hit her or knock her out. That would have happened if her persuasive techniques had not worked. The Awakening was strong within him, though, so she knew she was safe.

"Should be fun," he replied. She could feel his breath against her lips and could taste the wine on his breath. Though the wine was not sweet, it was savory enough to want some herself.

"Then let the training begin," she challenged and pulled him up from the chair. He set down the wine glass on the table and unbuttoned his shirt from the top down. It was her deceased brother's shirt, not Simon's own, but for that reason he did not wish to soil it. He and his father were strange in their odd respect for the cruel dead. She didn't mind him removing the shirt, though, because then she got to see her repairs—his skin was much smoother than before and only a few scars were visible. He was far from clean of the floggings he got as a child, but all that could be seen now were the deeper purple scars where he had been stabbed or grazed by a bullet. To make things even, she removed her own shirt. Though she still had less exposed skin than he did, it evened the playing field and let him know that she was hiding nothing up her sleeve.

Veira moved first, faking a kick to the gut and instead going for an around-the-side jab with her opposing fist. Cole shoved her leg down hard enough to unbalance her and destabilize her swing, which he easily ducked under. She had trained in martial arts under the best she or her father could find from around the world. The variety of fighting styles she knew gave her one advantage over him, but when it came down to it, the dance was far from one-sided. Simon's father only trained his kin, and his style was also a mix of the old masters with an additional unpredictability from the Curse's effects. Simon's fighting style was equally as confusing and erratic but dangerous and quick.

He sent a quickfire set of jabs her way and admittedly, she had a bit of a struggle keeping up speed-wise, but she was able to block all of them to the side one after the other. It was as if the electricity from his training had stayed with him, as he was faster than she had last remembered him to be. It had been years, though. Maybe he had honed his skill. Usually someone didn't fight like that unless they had something to lose. People who had nothing to lose like she did, and like Simon did, often fought with a different type of ferocity. He didn't have anything to lose, she was sure of it. The Awakening ensured that he didn't have a life outside of her and killing, essentially.

With his chest exposed from the deflected jab, she kicked him hard. He was knocked off his feet, but grabbed her foot to balance himself as he fell. As he landed, he had made her foot land down by his shoulder, which spread her stance too far for her to maintain stability if he were to spin in hopes to knock her off her feet. Instead of spinning, he launched her over him so she hit the wall behind his head. By the time she pulled herself up, he was standing and he pinned her arms and back to the wall. He could have had a blade at her throat, but he didn't. She still didn't trust him enough to give him a blade. The coming days would tell where his allegiance lay, though.

"Satisfied?" he asked as his warm breath sent goosebumps down her neck. The wall was cold against her skin and she was lucky that her back hadn't gotten too scratched up when he pinned her against it.

She brought her heel down hard on the top of his foot so he'd back away just slightly, which was enough to knee him in the side. He caught her knee and flipped her backwards off her toes. She caught herself with her hands and used the momentum to complete a back handspring while extending her other leg to catch his head with her toes. He dodged that as well, and spun around her, grabbing her arm so she'd spin as well. The motion threw off her balance and his foot slid behind her, causing her to tumble backward and land in a seated position. She was about to leap back up when he pinned her again, this time using a technique similar to that which she used on him when he was powerless to stop her anyway. His hands held her upper arms to the floor and he had one leg on either side so she couldn't roll away. Before she could come up with a witty response, he loosened his grasp a bit, leaned forward and kissed her. It had been difficult to change the hate he had to her to something else, and she knew better than to think he loved her, but the passion between them was real enough. She pulled him closer and smiled to herself. He was hers, and she was his. Now she knew that what he had said before was true—the target would be easy enough.

Meters away lay the folder with papers sprawled all around it and light lavender-purple eyes from the target's picture peeked out from under the manila cover. In the dimmer lighting, the pages blended into the floor. The assignment was forgotten for the night as dusk hit.

Veira awoke the next morning before the sun was up. She pulled the covers around her to block out the cold air, but she knew that she couldn't stay in the warm bed for long. Today was the day their plan was to be set into motion…a plan that would not only end with their target's death, but also a broken heart. The framework would take time to build, and it was up to Simon to build it. Leaving him on his own would tear Veira's mind apart, but she had a backup plan in place in case things went wrong. If Simon's mind diverted from the path, if he had second thoughts or a change of plans, or even so much as a thought that maybe he didn't want to kill the target, his brain chemistry would cause the Awakening to shoot pain through his body. And if his passion for Veira turned to hate, it would become poisonous. Her team loved to play around with chemicals, and she enjoyed the results. She heard the smallest rustle of sheets beside her as Simon put his arm around her stomach and pulled her closer to him so her back was against his chest.

"Morning," he mumbled lazily, as if he too had just awoken.

"Did you sleep?" Veira questioned. She knew it was dangerous to wake an Azori, but when it was Simon waking up and not 'Cole', he did not have nightmares about his past deeds. There were no regrets about killing when he was on the Curse or now, the Awakening. She wasn't sure if he had slept at all, though, as Azoris generally didn't. Many got deadish looks in their eyes from the lack of sleep, but Simon was one of the few who didn't.

"No, but you'd like to think that I did," Simon purred into her ear. She wasn't facing him, but she could almost feel his smirk behind her back. She did wish that he had gotten sleep, because that would prove to her that his conscience as 'Cole' was completely gone. She was confident that 'Cole' was gone, but Simon was unpredictable as himself too. Here in the dark, beneath the heavy sheets and under his arm, she decided that she was safe for the time being. He would do the job, and he would do it well. And then he would do the next and the next…they would be the greatest team of hitmen the world had ever seen. She knew that they had to get up and get to work, but leaving the bed was the last thing she wanted to do. Veira was an early riser and was very quick to wake up every day except for today. Today, she would have stayed in bed forever if he stayed with her. She stretched lazily and repositioned herself so that she was facing Simon.

"It's time to get up. Go shower and put some clothes on. There's a car waiting outside to take you to the docks," she muttered reluctantly. He didn't have a passport, so she couldn't get him a flight on a commercial airline. He wouldn't be able to get on anyway, because all of the security officers in the country were familiar with the faces of the most wanted. Simon made the cut. And, as it happened, her family's ties to the jet companies were doing poorly and there was an air-scan on any air transportation she had. She wasn't concerned, because she wouldn't be caught, but it was an inconvenience to her. Lying low was a necessity that all crime bosses got to know at some point in their careers. She liked it when people knew it when she was ending their life, though. There were snipers or other more subtle hitmen that people employed, but her services were more up close and personal.

Simon nipped her ear playfully, smirked, and got up from bed. Veira watched him pick up his clothes off the floor and head for the shower. It was time for him to put on a long act for what would be a very quick and painful resolve. She smiled, picturing herself in a large theatre where the red curtains were about to be drawn back. Act I, scene i. Let the show begin!