#1 Oh hello! You've decided to continue reading this story? How especially kind of you! :D Glad I didn't scare you off… As a reward I'll let you get straight to the chapter alright? Right, then. Off you go. Don't let me distract you, SHOO.

#2 (Turns out it's been hours since I wrote that message up above… I am staring at the computer screen trying to think of how I'm going to draw out this story and top my last chapter… And my brain is completely blank.)

(FIXED ALL THE SHITTY TYPOS THAT I COULD FIND... made a few minor changes. SHOULD BE BETTER NOW)

WARNING: reference to dark and depressing stuff ahead…more killing… INTENSE SHIT. ;)

Chapter 5: Shit Happens

*BZZZT*

-Desert the body, exit through the door you entered. There will be a person holding a card with your surnames to take you to the next check point at baggage claim.-

Neither of them bothered to take a second look at the bloody body lying limp in the chair. They slipped out the door careful to make sure no one saw in as they opened and closed it behind them. The Agency would sort out the mess, the two operatives had more important things to tend do.

They had their bags slung over their shoulders and they were walking quickly, but doing nothing out of the ordinary that would bring any extra attention to them. There were always people rushing in the airport so really it was just the norm. It only took them a minute to spot the sign. 'Weston.' They approached the guy that held it up, studying him as they came closer.

This boy had a few similarities to the one they had just taken 'care of'. He had a Middle Eastern complexion, dark hair, and was pretty tall. He was smoking a spliff and didn't seem to be too excited about standing there waiting for them. "Are you the Westons?"

Nine and Ten nodded to him.

"I'm Anwar, you're joy trip this morning…." Anwar looked to see they only had backpacks… "No heavy luggage you need to get?" He spent a lot of time in airports, and it wasn't often that people packed light these days, always needing at least triple the amount that was necessary.

"No. Just take us to your taxi."

"British people. Swell." Anwar recognized their accent; it reminded him of his own old accent, the one that had faded after spending years around the American culture. He had come to the States to make something of himself and instead he ended up being a fucking taxi driver, like his dad, in the busy phenomenon of New York City. The pay was shit, and it didn't take long for him to find out that he was just another Muslim boy to the Americans, often getting slurred at in angry anti-terrorist rants. He never responded, just shook his head; there wasn't much point in saying anything back. He knew himself well enough to know he wasn't really a raging bomb psycho maniac… in fact when one of his dear friends who happened to be gay hung himself, he kind of gave up on religion abruptly altogether. He tried to forget how he had told his friend that his religion didn't allow him to be friends with the guy anymore because of his sexuality, which also happened to be the last thing he got the chance to say to him. For a long time he had nightmares about it… now he was just a soul-less cab driver.

"This is it. Please don't leave any shit in it." Anwar had to nightly clean out his cab because people were always leaving food wrappers and other random shit carelessly for him to find later on. He just told himself it was worth it to ask it of all his passengers to have some decency anyway, maybe it would save him from a nasty mess one day… who knows.

Cook and Red slid in the back-seat. Taking in all the movement around them, they weren't even in the city yet. They were only at the JFK airport and the crowd was still all hustle and bustle.

"Where to?" Anwar met Cook's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Know any posh hotels in the city?"

"I know one." Anwar stopped looking into the mirror.

"Alright." Cook took him seriously. They both knew the driver was trying to make a crack that there are tons of hotels in N.Y.C., but neither of them gave a shit enough to say anything or even laugh.

"You know there are shitloads, right?"

"Yeah, man. Just fucking take us to one, kay?"

"Sure, sure." They both knew the driver's tone was dripping with resentment for his job. Still, they didn't give much of a shit. They just took the time in the cab to relax into their seats for awhile. The adrenaline from the last objective was starting to cool down, bringing them back to their normal selves. About twenty minutes later they were sitting in bumper to bumper traffic.

Red could hear the muttering voice of the Muslim boy. "Allah if you make this fucking traffic go away I'll come back." Thirty minutes later, and only a few blocks closer to the city, "C'mon… Just let us move a little bit, I swear I'll be a good little boy…fucking hell." He honked as people started to walk in front of his taxi, preventing him from moving a few feet closer to the taxi in front of them. "Fucking New York residents, not giving a shit about the people who have to live in a fucking car waiting for them to get their bloody arses to the other side on a green light."

It was that last time he cursed that Cook and Red realized that he must have been from the UK at some point or another. There was a hint of East End in his pronunciation. Cook had interest in asking the boy who came from the same country as him about his story, but fact was, he was on a mission, and mingling was best if kept to a minimum unless it was specifically called for.

"Here we are at the finest of them all, the Trump International Hotel, that'll be sixty-sixty two for the ride and a shitload for the stay. American cash only." Anwar was definitely skeptical these couple of teenagers would be able to afford the swankiest hotel, but they wanted a fine hotel so he brought them to the finest one he knew.

Cook reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, already stocked with a fair amount of American money. He handed Anwar seventy and told him to keep the change. Usually this would be taken as a kind gesture, but for Cook it was more about not wanting to wait to get his change back so he could get out of the car faster.

Nine and Ten grabbed their bags and got out of the cab and headed into the five-star hotel. They analyzed the place; it was definitely not another shabby little inn they usually stayed at when on duty. The red-head walked through the lobby directly to a preppy looking white bloke typing at a computer behind a high desk. She read his golden name tag, 'Chris.'

"Hello, Chris, I'd like to make a booking for two."

"A reservation? What kind of room would you like? And what will be the duration of your stay?"

Another brit? How the fuck did this place get so loaded with them? First Freddie, then Anwar, and now this Chris bloke…You'd think we were still in the U.K. they way we keep casually finding them. Nine suppressed a laugh.

Cook stepped in front of his partner, "We'll book the best of the best, and we'll be paying nightly, not sure how long we intend to stay."

Chris took a moment looking them up and down, judging them by their street attire. "How old are you lot?"

"What's that matter to you?" He didn't want to give out more information than necessary.

"Because in America, when you want to reserve 'the best of the best', you have to be twenty-one or older…"

"Listen, I throw in a hefty tip if you just let us make this booking."

"Years ago I may have been enough of a tosser to accept that wager, but I have an American code of ethics now and don't play that way…"

Chris remembered the day he nearly died due to overdosing, which was even more fragile than the regular case because he had a serious medical condition to worsen the effects. He had come to the states to get away from the easy access he had to drugs and to try and get better advice from American doctors on his condition. Unfortunately, he was poor, all his money was spent on the drugs he used to overdose in the past, so he couldn't get the medical help he wanted, let alone buy a ticket back to his hometown. Chris couldn't help himself when he felt resentment for the rich as well as the brits that he came across. Ironically, he came across many of both by working at one of the most expensive hotels in one of the largest culturally diverse places there is.

The red-headed girl took her turn to be the voice of persuasion.

"Tell you what, I'll just give that chap over there the tip, maybe he won't feel the same spontaneous resentment you do." She winked at Chris before starting to go to the guy at the next desk.

"Wait. I'll do it. It better be worthwhile…" The feelings of resentment turned into that of submissiveness, perhaps this was going to be his only chance to make enough money to either go back home or get a good doctor…

"Sure thing." Cook gave his cheeky grin. The red-head never failed to get what she wanted; she could tell by the barely there dirty smell and the low self-esteem that this guy was probably low on money and offering more would be a deal breaker. In addition, tt always helped knowing one of the most effective rules of persuasion: Human nature is to take a beneficial deal, even if they didn't want to originally, when they are aware that they are not necessarily needed and the beneficial deal can go just as easily to someone else.

So with a newly adjusted attitude Chris asked, "Would you like single or double bedroom?"

"Double." Red and Cook didn't need separate beds, but the having the option was nice.

"Lucky for you, the best we have is available on short-term notice, so will it be the Two Bedroom Park View Suite?"

"Yes."

"Please note the entire property is non-smoking. We have the Jean Gorges restaurant exclusive to our guests, a 55-foot heated pool, a six-thousand foot fitness center complete with personal trainers, extensive spa treatments, personal shopping service, maids twice daily, busin—"

"It's alright no need to explain, here's the credit card. And here's five-hundred in cash for you mate." Cook slid the stuff over the counter.

"I need some kind of I.D., make sure you aren't getting the most expensive room on the lot on someone else's charge." Cook didn't hesitate for a second, sliding over his passport. The identities matched up perfectly.

"Alright enjoy your stay… Mr. Weston, if there's anything else you need, let me know. Your room is on the seventeenth floor… it's got a brilliant view…"

Red interrupted his standard customer speech, "Chris, could you do me a favour, make sure we don't get interrupted by any of those maids during our stay?" She casually slipped another five-hundred over the desk.

"Absolutely. Do you need anyone to take your bags up?"

"Nope, we're fine. Goodbye Chris." Nine and Ten were already walking away.

"Have a nice day Mr. Weston, and Ms., um...?" Chris wasn't even looking at them, he was busy counting the large tip now in his possession.

"Bye." They were into the lift before he could ask her what her name was.

"Floor, sir?" They turned to see a man on their right, standing in a special uniform with white gloves.

"Seventeen."

He pushed the button for them and put his hands together, standing there silently as the elevator went up.

"This place is really high-class." Cook mumbled.

"You better not turn into some spiffing cock-head."

The button-man coughed a little at the sudden cursing of the female. It wasn't too often that the people in this hotel spoke in such street slang. It was only for the highest class, but he looked away trying not to pass any judgment or make them feel uncomfortable.

Cook chuckled at the reaction and followed his friend through the open doors of the lift. They reached their room and he was excited to see the expensive grandeur that was waiting for them behind the sturdy door.

"Holy shit."

"Close your gob Cook, if we are going to be staying in a high-class place we better start acting like we belong in it." They dropped their bags to the floor.

*BZZZT* It was Cook's phone that buzzed this time. He reached into his pocket flipping it open.

-Treating yourselves are you? Then be prepared for all work no play. An agent will be up shortly to talk business with you about your next objective.-

"Oh, so now they want to talk to us in person…."

*KNOCK* One knock was enough for them to hear. They stopped exploring the room for all the special features; it was a huge loft, definitely easily fitting the both of them. Their curious eyes and minds and went back to professional mode, answering the door.

They were a little baffled at the appearance of the agent. He had an immense amount of curly hair surrounding his pimpled face. A little young looking but his well-fitted suit and tie aged him a few years for his benefit. He held out the hand that wasn't holding a briefcase towards Ten.

"I am Eight. Here to assist you on your next objective." Another Brit, however, it was expected this time, because all people within the Agency were British.

"Ten." Strong hand met clammy one in a firm shake.

Ten opened the door wider to allow him in, and introduced his partner. "Nine."

Nine nodded to the new fellow in acknowledgement showing small signs of disinterest.

Eight brushed past them and made himself comfortable taking a seat on the leather couch beyond the large foyer. He placed the black briefcase on his lap opening it to reveal a slim laptop. "Down to business. I recommend each of you take a seat on either side of me to get the most optimal view of what I have to show you."

They did as instructed, watching as the boy went through a large number of advanced access codes. Nine and Ten were extremely good at hacking but what the boy was doing and the speed he was doing it was way beyond them.

"Designed it myself." He showed a hint of pride at his profound work. Cook rose his eyebrows in an attempt to show he was impressed. Fact was, this job wasn't about flattering a technician it was always just business.

A few minutes later the home-screen opened up to a classified Agency database specifically created for their private mission. Eight pulled up a few maps of a specific building.

"This is the central headquarters of the underground organization Love and Peace. You're job is going to be to infiltrate it, terminate everyone within the building, burn all documents, and to come out with one specific hostage, Naomi Campbell."

Nine analyzed the picture carefully suddenly feeling something deep in her stomach. "Excuse me, I have to use the ladies." She left them and went to the fancy bathroom. She sat on the toilet for five-minutes trying to relieve herself but nothing happened. Odd, that's never happened before. She washed her hands and wiped them dry on a soft hanging towel. The feeling didn't go away but she chose to ignore it, and returned to the boys on the sofa.

"What can you tell us about the organization?" she asked.

"The Agency decided that it's better for the active agents to know as little information about the details as possible. So, I myself do not know, and in fact, they have prohibited us from looking into it. Not that I have any interest in going against protocol. " This was unusual, but neither did Nine or Ten have any urge to go against their instructors. It wasn't often the Agency suggested their don't ask, don't tell policy, keeping everything extremely under wrap.

*KNOCK-KNOCK*

Nine and Ten shot up from the couch in their defensive stances, but Eight walked to the door unconcerned. He opened the door and took the four huge black duffel bags from the cart the bell-boy had brought up. Eight generously tipped him then shut the door. "Your supplies," he motioned to the bags with his hands.

They opened the bags finding a fair share of weaponry. All the guns were small, compact, and had silencers attached to them. Ten picked up a box opening it to reveal three very cushioned pairs of tinted red sunglasses. He nodded in approval and put them on, not surprised that everything he saw was now in the shade of red. He didn't question why they had to wear them, but he noticed that they completely covered all of his vision range, including peripheral.

They equipped themselves with the gear, making sure everything was concealed. They had on baggy sweatshirts and trousers so as not to be able to recognize any of the items hugging their bodies in disguise once they'd be out in the open. One of the duffel bags had stuff that they didn't need and ended up just leaving alone. Once finished, Ten turned to Eight with a few more questions.

"How is their security?"

"I will be able to monitor it from my computer but it should be very low. They aren't expecting the kind of threat we are posing."

*BZZZZT*

Eight opened the mobile.

-Change of plans, there will be another objective inserted prior to the infiltration. A riot is scheduled to take place in Time Square at eight p.m. Ten and Nine will discreetly place bombs along the planned protest area. Bombs should be powerful enough to make sure the attack is fatal. Make sure you are well clear of the area when you hit the detonator. Wear your tinted glasses. Do not observe the protestors with special attention. Once the bomb has been set off complete the infiltration task. The fourth duffel bag has items needed to make the bombs. Delete this message.-

Eight told over their new job and wasted no time helping them prepare the fatal bombs that were going to have a catastrophic effect. There was going to be no problem being discreet. Nine and Ten climbed into the sewer system from a distance and walked through it to the target mark. There were only a few other people who had the unfortunate coincidence of witnessing them, only to end up being swept away in the murky waters, never to see the daylight beyond the sewers again.

They were able to successfully place the bombs along the top of the route they had taken which would end up exploding beneath the very feet of the rioters. It was going to be a well executed surprise and it was definite none of the protesters would ever return home after the eventful evening. Ten and Nine emerged a few hours later from where they had entered, Eight waiting for them in his car nearby. The curly-haired operative gave them each a change of clothes and they returned to the hotel.

The threesome sat and waited watching a camera that Eight had installed in the planned attack point and set it up so that it's feed would show up on their hotel room's large TV. They sat their waiting, making sure that nothing was going to end up interfering with the overall result or cause anything to happen prior to the planned schedule. They wore their glasses watching the red-tinted screen as people started holding up banners and signs that said 'L&P' all over them. Never paying too much attention to what was written on them as the Agency had directed.

*BZZZT*

-It's time.-

Ten didn't hesitate to hit the detonator. They turned off the TV after they saw the initial explosion. Every bomb had gone off at the same time to avoid giving any of the protestors the chance to escape. Once again there were no emotions or after-thoughts for what they had just done. They just stood up and went out of the room down the lift to Eight's car. He drove them to the organization headquarters and they prepared to complete the next objective.

Ten and Nine didn't waste a minute to enter the building. There was no one protecting the entrance, so she had no problem making sure the entrance was chained shut. Eight was going to cover all the other possible exits while they continued doing what they were there for. They walked through a hallway until they met a middle-aged woman at a desk. There were a few people sitting on scattered couches reading magazines completely unaware that their fellow protesters had just been blown up.

"What can I do for you?" The woman had a very sweet voice, but it didn't mean anything to them.

Nine's eyes glanced at the name tag, 'Gina Campbell.' She looked into the woman's eyes that were tinted a light pink, her hair too was a very light shade. Likely related to the package, but still not Naomi. Nine turned to Ten and gave him a nod. At the same time they pulled out their guns, and shot everyone in the room. Her first hit went straight through the woman's heart. All the bullets were kill-shots. They moved so quickly there wasn't even a scream, just the soft thuds of the woman falling face first onto the desk and the others head's hitting the walls as their bodies fell backwards. Ten had even managed to catch the falling body's of someone who had been standing and laid it gently on the floor to avoid it making a loud noise.

They checked the room to make sure everything was covered before they pulled out jugs of lighter fluid which they dispensed liberally around the room, making sure to get any files that were in the secretaries desk. They moved on to the next room, identifying that none of them were the hostage and then shooting them all, and covering everything with the lighter fluid. They had done so in at least twenty different rooms, killing over fifty people. Not one of them realized what hit them before they died.

Ten noticed there wasn't a single security camera in the building, so there was no way for anyone on the next floor to have any idea of what had just happened. They climbed the steps in silence, adrenaline flowing at full throttle, getting ready to kill the next batch of people. The room they walked into was a lounge, with another secretary and a few people lying about. All the faces turned to them and then to the weapons in their hands. Still, they were all dead before any of the victims had the opputunity to draw another breath.

Ten and Nine's eyes saw two the black office doors that their hostage was going to be behind. They each split up going in opposite directions to take care of the people in the other rooms before going about the biggest part of the task. They finished quickly and met together before the doors. Ten was going to go in and snatch the girl and Nine was going to cover the place with fluid. They tucked away their guns and walked into her office.

Ten wasted no time walking right up to the girl who was sitting at a desk dealing with papers who only looked up a second before her face was covered with a thick and tight black mask. It was meant for the job, no holes cut out for the eyes, but not woven tight enough to suffocate the package. It only took him a second to restrain her limbs and throw her over his shoulder. Nine paid them no attention, doing her part and making sure everything was well soaked. She threw all the files and books onto the floor to make sure they would be no chance of them surviving in the desks and cabinets.

The hostage was trying to give Ten a hard time, but she was no match for his strength. They exited the office and went down the stairs, leaving the only exit that Eight had left unlocked. Muffled screams and shouts were crying out through the fabric, but not long. Nine batted the girl's had with the back of her gun to keep her silent. She was likely going to be unconscious for awhile. Nine and Ten re-entered the building leaving Eight with the girl in his car.

The two agents were going to have to make sure everything lit rapidly so the fire department wouldn't have time to put it out before everything caught fire beyond recovery. They set up a few of the extra bombs in strategically distanced places so that all parts of the building would implode.

In another twelve minutes they had done the job, and the building was completely on fire while they were driving away, back to the hotel. The only thing about the building Nine had noticed was that the different shaded stripes of red were everywhere. They weren't really red but she was curious what color what they actually were, not making any effort to take of the glasses she had orders to wear. She already knew the hostage's eyes were blue and her hair was bleach blonde like the picture Eight had shown on the computer.

The shoved the still unconscious woman into a duffel bag which Ten had no difficulty bringing upstairs. There was no suspicion in the action as they entered the lift and went to their room. Nine and Ten noticed that the people in the lobby were watching the news that was covering the protesting incident, all clearly shaken and feeling horror. Eight had been standing obliviously to it, just following them into the lift. Still, Ten and Nine felt no emotion whatsoever. No horror. No concern. No thrill. No anger. Nothing.

WOW. Lots of dead people…. It will all make sense soon though. Needless to say, I think I topped my last chapter. Maybe a bit tooooo much. Hehe.

The title was a bit of an understatement I suppose, gave me a small laugh though. No, I'm not a morbid soul who takes pleasure in killing people, that's just the way this story goes, yeah?

I introduced/referenced to quite a few characters in this chapter: Anwar, Maxxie, Chris, and Gina! Hope you liked it… (Wasn't fun killing Gina btw. Had to happen though. Maxxie too.)

HMMM… what else is there to tell you… OH, did you figure anything out about the whole stripes? It's kind of important... at least it's a big clue to something. I mean, why would that have to wear red-tinted glasses or not pay attention to the signs? ;)

No idea what's going to happen next… so tune in next time if I haven't pissed you off enough yet. :)

Jeez, I'm making it really hard for myself to top the previous chapters… although, I'm almost positive there won't be as much death as there was in this one, if there is any… (not to make you nervous or anything, now that they have Naomi… ;) ) Evil. That's really evil of me to say that to you, make you all scared... LOL. Too bad.

-Shira

SHOUT OUTS:

Hyperfitched- AAAAAGH THANKS FOR PUTTING ME ON YOUR ALERT! :)

Shewritesforher- Aww, if you think you're morbid, guess how the writer feels? NAW. It's all for a good action story, and I'm glad you like it. THANKS.

Blacksheep24-glad you appreciate my false british-ness, anddddd HELL YEAH IT'S INTENSE.