she'll always leave the man she loves

she'll always be alone

it's a dark philosophy

and it haunts her constantly

she's a false alarm

She always wore the same thing when on the job, her black knee-high boots and jeans were originally part of a plan to remain inconspicuous when she had started out. It was easier to blend into the large crowds on the streets of Tokyo that way. Among the underground, however, it had become a signature look. A warning bell for whomever she was coming for.

Her leather jacket was left open, the bandolier was strapped tightly to her shoulders, allowing easy access to her silencers. Her wild curls were slicked back tightly to be put in a low bun, large black hood partially shielding her head and her light brown eyes.

She walked into the rundown hotel lobby, heading towards the small reception desk where an old and tubby man currently sat. He'd stopped chewing his instant ramen as he noticed her, realising who she was. He felt her gaze for several moments, deliberating whether to hand over the keys or not. Her silence unnerved him, and he realised no amount of stories could prepare him for ever coming across the real thing.

Her demeanour was of formidability, and dread. He knew, now, why she had been graced with the title Shinigami. God of Death. He looked away from her briefly, taking in a slow breath. When it came to being killed by a mob boss, or being killed by her, he knew what he would rather choose.

Reaching for the draw of room keys beneath his desk, he pulled it open, withdrawing the keys with a door number attached. Placing it on the counter, he slid it towards her.

'He has the floor and staircase covered.'

She nodded once, gloved hands taking the keys, and placing them into her back pocket. She pulled one of her guns out of its holster, and turned her head away from him, towards the staircase doors.

'Before you leave, you will do one thing.' Her voice was monotonous and cold, and he wasted no time abiding by her order.

Four men in suits dotted the hallway of the sixth floor. Two on either side of room 64, another by the stairway entrance, and another by the lift. The discussions that had surrounded them prior to taking the job had left them on edge, and like most, their boss had dismissed the rumours as just that. Rumours. Besides, he hadn't heard of her taking on eight trained security guards before. No woman was that strong.

The elevator made a pinging sound, alerting all four men on the floor of who exactly was on their way up. They simultaneously reached for their guns, starting towards the elevator. Readying their aim in silence, the anticipation made their grip shake slightly. The intake of breath was audible as the elevator reached their floor, and another ping resonating through the sixth floor as the doors chimed open. Their aim pointed towards it and ready to fire at her.

It was empty. And the man closest to the lift placed a free hand on the doors to keep them from closing, poking his head in with his gun still aimed inside. The three behind him inched closer, as if she would still jump out from the lift.

He looked back to his colleagues, confusion etched into his wrinkled features. 'She's not here.'

Akimatsa, their leader, reached for the HT he had on his waist. 'Zu, is the stairway clear?'

He received static in response, and the seconds following where tense as he raised his voice. 'I said is the stairway fucking clear?!'

'We've been compromised.'

The lights of the entire floor shut off, and the panic set in quickly at being suddenly blinded by the dark.

'Stay on guard! She's switched off the power.'

'Do we know what we're dealing with her?!'

'Should could be anywhere!'

'I said stay on guard! Keep your mouths sh-'

His orders were cut short by the faint sound of her silencer.

'Akimasa!'

'She must have come from the stairwell!'

Shots were fired off at random, blindly, their eyes still attempting to adjust to darkness. She crouched on the floor, using her hearing to track their movements as her eyes attempted to focus in the dark. Closest to her, on her right, there was shuffling by door 64. She aimed, the bullet in her silencer collide with his head.

She had counted the seconds since the lights had been shut off, ninety seconds before the backup generator would kick in and re-illuminate the hotel. She stood and moved to the opposite wall, her breathing soft and calm, prepared to alter any plans.

She stood directly behind man number three, shooting him in the head and letting him fall to the floor. The youngest, by the elevator was all that was left, and folded himself into the corner. Awaiting any signs of movement.

'Daisuke?! Eichii?!' His voice was panicked, hands shaking. If she had been anyone else, she would have pitied him.

The generator lights tight on, illuminating the hallway in a red glow. His eyes refocused, zeroing in on the her across the hall. He raised his gun, but his finger didn't make it to the trigger before a bullet landed between his eyes.

Hiteo Yakamura had been repeatedly told one thing when entering the workings of the underworld, something he'd kept in the back of his mind, but had begun to take with a grain of salt the more comfortable he had gotten. Greed can change a man, many say, and until the last week he had found it a laughable statement.

Do not displease Kamata. Do not steal from him. Do not lie to him. Do not betray him.

The stories of the Shinigami had always been the equivalent of urban legend among the men who had worked for Yakuza. No one who had crossed Kamata had ever seen her and lived, it had always been stories. From a friend of an acquaintance. She could not be bought, could not be turned by the highest paying customer. The only things he knew about her for certain was that she had two laws. She only served Kamata, and she had own personal hit list. One, if rumours were true, that she had been accumulating since the age of thirteen.

He sat on the bed of his worn hotel room, flinching at the sound of each gunshot. Dread encompassing his stomach until it choked on his breathing. He knew his fate, yet still he gripped onto his gun, pointing it at the closed front door. The yelling continued for a few moments, and dramatically ceased. His room once again had light, but the generators were weak in the place like this. It was just enough to see the shadow of two foot at the foot of his door.

Instinctively, he fired several gunshots, unloading his pistol with a carelessness of a man who knew his end was inevitable. Sweat beaded at his forehead, his breathing becoming laboured. One bullet remained, he'd wait until she opened the door.

A soft, cool breeze filtered into the room. Cooling his skin, and for several moments his mind barely registered the meaning of feeling the wind on his back. The balcony doors. He hadn't checked to see if it was locked.

He turned, gun gripped tightly in his hand, ready to raise and aim. But it was too late. The end of her silencer rested directly against his forehead. Still slightly warm from her firing a recent shot. She was taller than he expected, coming to reach the same height as him, her hood partially shielding her face, the dimness of the room hiding her features.

He dropped the gun, raising both hands in surrender and sank to his knees. No longer surprised with how quickly and silently she had infiltrated his room.

'You carry your title well.'

She said nothing, and he assumed she was simply staring at him.

'May I at least be given the courtesy of seeing the face of my executioner?' His voice was tired, but a small chuckle escaped his lips.

To his surprise, she complied, and used her free hand to pull her hood back. Her grip on her pointed gun never wavering, and was unnervingly steady. She was younger than he expected, light large eyes that he could just barely make out, slim nose and plump lips. If he had crossed her on the street, he would have brushed her off as innocent looking young adult. A Child.

He nodded in respect, closing his eyes.

She pulled the trigger.

Her phone rang at a time too early to be pleased about it, she reached out from underneath her duvet, feeling around the nightstand for it.

'You woke me up.' Her voice was deep, laced with sleep.

'It's three in the afternoon.' DK said sarcastically. Voice gruff.

'Please refer back to my original point.'

'Uncle said know you need your car looked at.'

Irritation instantly slipped into her tone, 'I texted you about that three days ago.'

'I've been busy.' DK's tone was clipped, but she could perfectly imagine the smug smirk he would have on his face at that moment.

Pushing the duvet off her, she sat up in bed. Her black sheets tangled around her. She squinted as the sun streamed through her windows. 'Doing what? Playing gangster monopoly in your little storage room?'

'Do you want that car looked at or not?' He spat out petulantly.

For Fi, dealing with DK was like having to hand over your toys to your screaming little brother.

'Yes, but I have a job tonight, so it'll need to be after.'

She heard yelling and laughter in the background on his side, followed a bark of orders from DK for them to shut up. 'My business partner owns a repairs garage, stop by after your job and he can take a look. I'll be there.'

'Alright, text me the address.' She was about to hang up until DK piped up again.

'And Fi?'

'What?'

He hesitated for a moment. 'Make sure you're cleaned up.' And hung up.

Sophia put her phone down back on the nightstand, pulling the duvet back over her head. Unwilling to face the world just yet.

She knew what DK had meant.

Don't have any blood on you.

Hiii, so this is a new story. I'm still refining the details of the story, but it's pre Tokyo Drift storyline. I'm trying something a little different with it . . . I think it's obvious that Sophia is massively inspired by Colombiana, Arya Stark and O-Ren Ishii in Kill Bill.

If you like it, please drop a review! Greatly appreciated.