Thanks for all the support so far, guys. D! I really hope you will be sticking with me, because I usually need a lot of encouragement or else I end up losing interest in my own stories. I'm lame like that. Sigh

Added Notes: I've gotten a few prods about Erik killing that maid girl, and I just edited chapter one so I can include this note (the actual chapter isn't changed). First and foremost, I am aware that Erik doesn't seem the type to kill females, but I would also like to remind you that nowhere in the movie, or Kay's book, or Leroux's book (I assume, since I've read it, but I don't really remember it because I didn't really like it) does it ever say that Erik does not kill women. Specifically in Kay's book, I quote Erik, "I had done many terrible things, but I had never harmed a helpless woman."

My take on this entire business is that Erik does not kill women because he finds it unworthy of his time. Women do not put up a fight, and there is not much of a point in killing them. But above all, I write a slightly darker Erik, and he did not become the most successful assassin of Masquerade Inc. by refusing to kill whoever he was assigned to kill. What makes him highly successful is that he rarely feels remorse. I quote Mademoiselle Perrault, from Kay's book, "I don't think he would consider it wickedness—simply the next logical step toward his objective."

I fully agree with that. Erik's view on reality is warped enough already. "The end justifies the means" is Erik's "motto", I believe. Erik does not go out of his way to kill women. In this story, he kills because he has to. That maid would have flushed him out of his hiding spot if he had not stopped her. So, to remain hidden and ensure the success of his revenge on Quarienne, he had to kill the maid.

It's just logic.

In Kay's book, specifically, it merely says that he had not killed/harmed/etc any women before, but that didn't mean that he was going to never harm a woman. He did come dangerously close to whalloping the Khanum, if anyone remembers/has read Kay's book.

At any rate… I don't believe that Erik killing females is out of character for him. On a psychological viewpoint, he has so many disorders that it might actually be out of character for him not to kill a woman. I mean, the only reason that Kay-written Erik does not harm women is because of Mademoiselle Perrault, who was extremely kind to him in his younger years, and who happened to be quite a fluttery type of person. Then again, he has probably harmed plenty of the ballet rats at the Opera House. Just because something isn't mentioned, doesn't mean it didn't happen. I could use the ending of Kay's book as an example, but I don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't read it.

But I digress.

I hope I got my point across… which is that, more or less, this is my version of Erik and it does not contrast to his personality, IMHO. I'm not trying to shoot down any critique, either. I love hearing what people have to say, but I had to get across the fact that I do know a lot about Erik's character, and I am not one of those people who attempt to write a creative story who have only seen the 2004 movie. NOT that everyone who has only seen the movie is a bad writer, I assure you! Oo

… wow, that was a really, really, really long note. I better shut up now, lmao. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Disclaimer: Disclaimer goes here.

One.

Erik stared at the man in front of him. The man stared back. There was a long interval of silence, before the man finally spoke.

"So?"

Erik leaned back in his chair, looking away contemptuously. "So what?"

"So is he dead?" the other insisted.

"Of course he's dead, you dolt," was the blasé reply.

"So?" The man winced, fidgeting.

Irritated now, Erik sat up with a glare on his face. Of course, the man couldn't see this; Erik was wearing the required mask. But the look in the poor guy's face suggested that he could feel the throbbing, not-at-all entertained vibrations from him.

"So what?" he repeated, for the second time that morning. His voice was edgy now. Christ, his old boss wasn't half as vague as this new one was.

"So, why are you here?" the other ventured to ask, sounding nervous, feeling as if he was the employee and not the other way around.

Erik stared at him flatly. "I want a raise." He shrugged gently.

"Phantom!" his boss burst out incredulously, gripping the edge of his desk with white knuckled hands. It seemed that amazement had finally broken his apprehension and he was now exclaiming, "You are already at the top of the list, we pay you the most, you know that! My God, man, if you keep asking for raises, you're going to end up being paid more than I am!"

Erik didn't flinch at the outburst of his "nickname", only coolly replied, "Then perhaps I should be paid more than you; you do nothing more than shuffle papers and give everyone assignments."

Such unrestrained arrogance! The thin under layer of a threat did not go unnoticed. The man bit the inside of his cheek nervously; this man, he thought, this Phantom… had the most beautiful, captivating voice. But that voice was dangerous. If you listened to it for too long, or too closely, you would be sucked into his trap.

It was Erik's signature way of killing. He lured others toward him with the power of his voice; this technique he used especially on women victims. First he would gain their trust and they would blindly and obediently follow his voice and even while he reached out to snap their necks, they would be powerless to run.

The boss trembled. He was new on the job, and had not yet gained the indifferent approach to life that all the "old hands" had here. He had only been here for a month or two, and already he had had several unpleasant run-ins with the infamous Phantom.

He had been warned time and time again to "stay out of his way" and "never question his motives". The Phantom was not a man to be crossed, so the stories went; he had been working for the company for close to twenty-six years, but his allegiance lay with himself. There was not much known about the top killer at Masquerade Inc., except that he came to them when he was sixteen, and that put him at forty-two years old.

It was not explained how the Phantom managed to be accepted at such a tender age. The company did not hire anyone under nineteen; the Phantom must have been quite a persuasive boy. The new boss swallowed nervously, and averted his eyes from the piercing yellow gaze.

It was those eyes that the boss was scared of; those hauntingly yellow eyes that were constantly boring holes in whatever they were looking at. It was not that those eyes lacked expression. It was the sheer amount of emotion that they burned with that scared the man the most. He had seen demonstrations of the Phantom's awesome proficiency with that thing called the Punjab lasso, and it was the blatant pleasure that shone from those eyes that made him want to piss his pants.

The Phantom had no qualms about killing. He liked to kill. The eyes showed it all.

"I suppose," he began indecisively, still not meeting the Phantom's oddly golden eyes, "I could consider it… but you know that we didn't send you to snuff out Quarienne, so we cannot pay you for that."

"It was an act of revenge on my part," Erik replied composedly, "but I still want a raise."

Erik was highly aware of the fear and trepidation that emanated from his "boss"; the poor man, hardly used to the flippant ways of the experienced employees.

"I'll think about that," the man finally muttered, and Erik allowed himself a small, triumphant smile.

He stood up, satisfied for the time being. "That is all," he cut short the "conversation", already turning to leave.

"Wait, Phantom!"

Erik's hand was already on the doorknob of the head office door, but he turned to fix the boss with a semi-impatient look. "Yes?"

Now the man was really squirming. "Well, there is a new employee…" he trailed off meaningfully.

Erik stared at him blankly. "And you want me to train him."

"Her," the boss corrected quickly (Erik arched a brow delicately), but nodded, "Yes, you are the most, uh, experienced and efficient, and it won't be too much of a hassle," he went on hastily, wincing at the stony expression on the Phantom's face, "it really won't be, she's a fast learner."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Will I get a raise?"

Defeated, the boss only nodded mutely.

"Excellent," Erik said carelessly, "I'll be in my office." He was halfway out of the door when the boss stood up.

"Phantom!"

Erik grit his teeth and turned again. "Yes?"

"When – when might I send her to you?"

"When she is ready," was the short reply before he finally swept out of the room.

The boss collapsed in his chair and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

Erik moved through the halls of the enormous building, glancing occasionally from left to right. A few employees hailed him, and he lifted his hand lazily in acknowledgement. There was a brief company meeting this afternoon, and all who would not be busy on "assignments" would be attending.

Masquerade Inc. was a big, highly successful business that dealt with paid killings. The system that they used was called "reciprocity". You give some and you get some; the workers did your dirty work (you know, kill a lord here, snuff out a lady there) and they don't give a lick about your motives or whom you want them to kill, as long as you pay them well.

It was not a difficult strand of work, really. The way Erik saw it was "if you need to kill to survive, then you need to kill to survive". It was a dog eat dog world out there, and Erik had no love for humans at any rate. Humans were disgusting creatures, quick to judge, and quick to scorn. Erik felt no fondness for the human race. He often spoke about Homo sapiens as if he were not part of them. Then again, not many people considered him human at all.

He edged by a few desks; the layout of the building was quite simple. There were twenty-one stories, and approximately fifteen rooms on each floor. The first floor had a grand foyer; what it looks like, is that you walk in the main double oak doors, and you are faced with the secretary's desk. That desk is nestled snugly between two wide horseshoe-shaped sets of stairs, which lead up to the second floor. The entire building was beautiful and rich in colors, what with all the heavy red draperies, and the glittering brass ornaments.

Indeed, the building looked more like an opera house than a stone-cold building for blood business.

Now, the first floor has a reception hall, and to either side of where you enter (through the main doors, just to refresh your memory) are two long hallways. The hallway on your left leads into various rooms where you might find some of the "big boys". They usually filed the assignments (who had to stab who, etc, etc) there. That was the "manual" side of the first floor—you understand, yes? All the paperwork is done on that side.

The other side on the first floor is for interviews. Each employee is interviewed through a series of heavy questions, to which a disliked answer from the interviewee quite literally results in his or her death. Surely you understand that as well. You do not walk into a building with undercover murders and expect to leave unscathed. Unless, of course, you get hired; then you are free to walk about however you want, as long as you keep that mask on.

As for the other twenty floors, they are simply there to hold all the storage rooms and training rooms. There are rooms where new employees go for "orientation"; what this means is that the trainers (a group of "retired" workers who now do the training for the new fry) take a few of the stray "you don't have to kill So-And-So right now because So-And-So is not important enough" assignments, track down the victims, and politely ask the new members of M. Inc. to, pretty please, kill the victim in whatever way suits them best.

If the new member is squeamish, or cannot complete the murder, he or she is executed on the spot, and the next person in line is requested to do it (unless there is only one new member at the time of the training). Once that part of the training is over, each trainee is given and put under the "care" of a trainer—or in Erik's case, simply someone who knew the business as well as the back of his own hand.

Masquerade Inc. ran on fear and trust—fear your superiors, but trust them, and in turn, they will look after you.

It was like one big, somewhat happy family.

It was this thought that was passing through Erik's mind as he climbed up the impossibly long flight of stairs to the fifteenth story. The hundreds of stairs did not weaken him whatsoever; Erik was hardly affected by the constant climbing that would tire out any other man within minutes. Steadily, he plodded on, until the ground leveled out and he made a right, heading for his own office.

Each employee had their own workspace, and it was strictly verboten (that is "forbidden" in German) for any employee to enter the room of another's without permission.

So, when Erik soundlessly approached his office, and found the usually locked door open ajar, his anger was quite justifiable. His eyes immediately narrowing, his left hand reaching for the faithful Punjab lasso at his side, he eased the door open another half inch. He stared into his office, and rolled his eyes before pushing the door open and striding in.

It was a girl. The girl, he deducted indiscriminately, the one he was supposed to train. She had not touched anything, he noted with satisfaction, and her back was to him. Her hands were folded behind her back, and he quite clearly saw that she was not armed. She was peering with interest at the various framed paintings that were hung up on the walls.

Erik stood silently, his expression (which would be lost on the girl, due to the mask) austere.

Finally, she turned around, and Erik could see her light blue eyes, widening in shock, from behind the dark red mask she wore, which covered the top half of her face. Apparently, she had not heard him come in, he mused, quite pleased with his own stealth.

Her hands came up to her mouth, and she stammered a few excuses in hasty apology. Erik raised a brow; if she had been hired, then she was definitely not a fluttery "oh dear me" type. Then again, Erik did not know of just how intimidating he could look. He was tall, well over six feet, and always dressed impeccably. The stark contrast of the white mask against his otherwise completely black outfit would scare anyone half out of their wits. Not only that, but when he grew irritated, the negative vibes practically radiated from him in waves of throbbing energy.

In a soft, deadly voice, he spoke. "Do you know the penalty for entering a personal space without consent?"

The girl – well, she was more of a young woman, most likely in her late twenties – looked stunned. She was trembling slightly, but not with fear. Yes, she was scared, she would admit that one-day, but she was quaking because the voice that issues from those thin, sculpted lips was undeniably beautiful. His voice – dear God, his voice! – had a depth and timbre that simple mortals could never hope to have.

"Monsieur," she breathed, awed by the sheer power of his voice, "I am sorry, so sorry… my name is--"

"Do not tell me your name," he cut across her, brushing by her. He took off his heavy cape and hung it on a stand, turning to fix her a stern stare. "There are no names here. There are no names, and no identities, and you should do well to remember that."

"Yes, monsieur," she said, obviously humbled by his cold, aloof personality, "but how will--"

"You will earn yourself a name," he interrupted her again, already knowing her questions. The trainees never asked anything original. "Your earned name will be your code name here."

She nodded mutely, and Erik stared at her for a while. Finally, he sighed, and gestured for her to exit the office. She did, and he followed.

At the door, he stopped her with a wave of his hand and gave her a few more parting instructions.

"Never take that mask off. Never take anyone else's mask off. Never refer to yourself by your actual name, and never refer to anyone else by their name." He paused to regard her. She was staring up at him with an expression of great profound wonder on her face. He almost snorted. These girls, these women; these female things – they were all the same. So easily snagged by his voice. "Do not doubt. Do not hesitate. If you want to live, you will kill."

He smiled oddly at her, and she shivered, but was unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes.

"Welcome to Masquerade."

He turned to go, but she ventured a question, and Erik was vaguely pleased that she sounded less nervous than she did five minutes ago.

"Please, monsieur, could you tell me a little about this place?"

Erik paused delicately, but did not move to face her just yet. He was not unfamiliar at all with the training program; if she had made it this far already, then she had already been informed about Masquerade. Everything that she needed to know about the building, its employees, and the expectations of her, she would by now already know.

Erik was not wrong to be suspicious; the young woman had asked him to stay to speak a little more because she found that she didn't quite want him to leave. She twisted a lock of her vivid red hair around her finger, and hoped that the mask she wore was wide enough to cover the blush that had painted her cheeks for no apparent reason.

His voice was so beautifully pitched, so beautifully modulated; she simply wanted to listen to him forever and a day.

Erik rolled his eyes. Women, he thought contemptuously. He did not see the blush on her face, and even if he had turned around right then, he most likely would not have commented on it. But he recognized that hopeful tone in her question, and saw right through her un-thought out bluff.

But he would humor her—for a few minutes, anyway.

"What would you like to know?" he finally said, turning slowly to look at her.

She composed herself visibly and straightened. "The company. The company's name, that's not its actual name. Where did the idea of masks come from?"

"From me," he answered casually, watching the way her eyes widened in surprise, "You are correct, mademoiselle, and you know that the company name is actually Aiguilles." He nodded once, and she blinked in acknowledgement. "Masquerade is the company's soubriquet. As the employees have their own codenames, so does the company. It is nothing special; merely a more common, everyday name that the company uses."

She nodded slowly.

Erik stared at her for a second or so more, and then dipped his head curtly. "If that is all, I shall be seeing you tomorrow morning sharp, mademoiselle."

She hurriedly nodded again, and he took his leave quietly.

He needed to check for new assignments.

A/N: And chapter one is completed! By the way, this is in NO WAY an E/OW phic. That new trainee does play a big part in the story, though. I know, no Christine so far, but never fear! She's on her way, I promise. Stay tuned for the next chapter, and please leave a review. (: