You can all thank the influence of Call of Duty: Black Ops for speedy writing. Does that game not kick serious a$$?

Back in the car–a modified silver Bugatti Veyron, equipped with supercharger (Sam installed it), attachments up the ass (her models) and an exterior transforming system that would make Optimus Prime jealous (one-of-a-kind)–she let Kyle back at the motel type in the coordinates for the church into her G.P.S. Again, hers. She really liked cars.

She was also extremely possessive of her wheels. I have never gotten to drive the damn thing, let alone turn the music. All I've been allowed to do is use the machine gun loaded in the trunk. And even then she freaked.

Anyway.

She started up the W16 engine and switched on the transformers; I watched lazily as the hood vibrated, opened up on an axle and flipped over while the bumper rounded out and the fenders angled themselves. The grilles popped out; Sam got out of the car and popped the trunk after the tailgates were done and went to work finding different grilles to install, then throwing the others back in the trunk.

While she tended to her baby, I changed shirts and put in green contacts from the kit hidden in the floorboards. Then I chose a flame red wig to pull over my head and secure in place. When Sam came back in she looked over at me and smirked.

"Is someone trying out a new look, Carrot Top?"

I gave a meek smile. "Do I really look like him?"

"Not really."

She backed up the now dark blue-and-silver pseudo Porsche and drove down the back alley behind the Indian restaurant we chose to hide the car. Come on. If that stuff smells rank while its good...ugh. I'll smell like rotten eggs and cat piss for days.

Sam wove through the traffic like a fish around rocks (okay, weird metaphor) and ran about five red lights. In minutes we had three cop cars on our trail.

I eyed her wearily. "Really Sam? I'm too tired for this."

"Shut up. I feel like a little chase action. All you have to do is sit there and turn on my music, please."

Wow, really? She was bored. I shrugged and turned on the stereo, hitting the three button. Instantly Cobrastyle pulsed through every molecule in the car.

"Sam! What the hell?" Kyle nearly shrieked. "You're leading the cops right to our target? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Chill. I have a plan."

"Your plans suck. This is just useless fun for you, isn't it? I'm taking them off your tail."

"Let me lose them."

"If you don't do it in two minutes..."

"Right."

I held back a shriek as she did a U-turn that left my stomach somewhere in California and blasted off at close to seventy miles, leaving smoke on the street. She dodged cars like, like...okay, enough with the metaphors. She was a fucking lunatic, okay? Insane. She got a rush from all the adrenaline pumping through her blood.

I wasn't really in this for the rush. I wasn't an adrenaline junkie like Sam. And Kyle...to be honest I don't know how Broflovski got into the business. He just seemed to enjoy hacking governmental firewalls and running searches on his systems. It was like a puzzle for him. He was especially brilliant when we were assigned a convict on the most wanted list.

Me...I was kind of drafted. Recruited. It happened when I was thirteen. Me and my parents were on vacation in Denver, visiting my grandmother. We went to the supermarket, where she let me sit on a bench near the front of the store. I was playing my Gameboy and was oblivious to everything until an arm wrapped around me and a man held me up in front of him.

He smelled like alcohol and smoke, and his arm around my throat was scratchy from the tattered jacket he wore. All rational thoughts flew out of my head when I felt a cool, metallic touch on my temple.

"TWEEK!" I heard my grandma scream. I couldn't see her, and didn't dare turn my head. I can't remember what the man was screaming about; the blood roaring through my ears blocked out any sound. Then he threw me down and pressed the bottom of his dirty boot against my face.

He cocked the gun and aimed it at me. The inside of the barrel was dark oblivion, an ominous black hole. I stared at it; that was the first time in my life I had stopped shaking without meditation.

I looked up at his face; it's a blur now when I try to remember, but I think he looked scared, and maybe a little crazy. Just a little.

He looked away as someone else screamed and I moved.

I hadn't even thought about moving; it never crossed my mind, to roll away from him and kick the gun from his hand with my spider-y long legs. I blinked and registered that I was now on one knee five feet away from him. The gun had reached its peak in the air and was pulled back down; I caught it naturally and pointed it at the man, who stopped in his tracks and glared at me.

Everything seemed deathly quiet and in slow-motion as a shot rang out and a bullet drove into his forehead.

The shot was from behind me; I looked up and saw a girl my age with long red hair and freckles in a miniskirt. She smiled at me and winked, then ran out the doors and into the night.

The rest was a blur of my parents holding me and crying, of police officers sitting me at a table and asking me what exactly had happened. Those bastards made me relive it five times over until the lawyer my dad got excused me from the interview.

After that I returned to South Park. My parents drove us home and I walked hazily up the stairs. When I opened the door I found a girl with light gold-brown hair and hazel eyes sitting on my bed, playing my Xbox. She had a paper plate with apple slices on it.

Still numb from my ordeal, I just dropped my bag and sat next to her on the bed. I watched her kill zombies for a while until she spoke.

"Do you recognize me?"

"GAH!" I squeaked out. She didn't even flinch. "Um, are you that girl..."

"Yes."

"Oh GOD! Why did you-ngh-shoot that guy?"

"Because I was paid to," she said nonchalantly, pausing the game to chew thoughtfully on a crisp apple slice. She suddenly looked at me and I let out another shriek accidentally. "I was about to blow his brains out when he grabbed you for a human shield. Have you ever had training?"

I blushed and looked away. "W-well, I do go to the gym to box sometimes, and my dad-ngh-got me signed up for karate when I was nine. But..." I bit my lip hard as I tried to sum up the words to described what had happened.

"But your body moved without you telling it to."

I whipped my gaze back around to her. She paused the game again and gave me a side smirk. "Right?"

I nodded, frowning. Suddenly my paranoia hit me full-on and I screamed. "You're here to kill me too, aren't you? OH SWEET JESUS I don't want to die!"

She slapped a hand over my mouth and smiled. "Twitchy little thing, aren't ya?" She pulled a card out of her jean pocket and pressed it into my palm. "Listen Tweek Tweak, I've read up on you. My associate, who shall remained unnamed, does background research on everyone I target. I asked him about you. You're thirteen years old, born March 5, in South Park, Colorado. You have A.D.D. and an addiction to coffee, been to see three therapists about possible dementia praecox, receive average grades and have a low level of insomnia. You speak fluent English and Mongolian, but get straight A's in Spanish, Japanese and French." Um, I'm good with languages. Not so much math.

"And from what I have seen," she pulled away, smiling, "you've got real promise."

I blinked. "Promise? I-in what?"

She sighed. "Listen, Blondie. I kill people." I flinched. "It's what I do. Right now I attend highschool in North Park, playing the part of a normal girl in advanced classes, you know? Doing my homework, going on pointless little dates, shopping with my friends. But at night, I meet with people that have contacted my associate and we discuss business. They give me money to K.O. someone. Sometimes it's a president of a company, sometimes a famous person, and usually it's just a random guy to me. An ex that cheated. A despised colleague. A professor that felt a student up. Sometimes they tell me why I should kill them; other times it's just a pointed finger at a photo and a, 'here's the guy, now put a bullet in his head.'"

She held up her hands and gave a tired smile. "Truth is, we've been getting a lot of business, and they pay damn well. And we need more, ah, employees. And you are kinda cute," she added, finishing off the last slice. I eeped and looked down at the card in my hands, staring at the printed numbers.

She stood up and walked to the window. "Think about it, Tweek. If you want to know more, dial that number, then press zero after three rings. Ask for Nadia."

I ran my fingers over the numbers and looked up. "But who–"

She was gone.

I stared at the card for a long time. I laid back on my bed and then stared at the ceiling. Then the table. Then the wall.

Was this a joke? A prank? It couldn't be real, and yet I felt the corner give me a paper cut as I squeezed the card tightly. A strange girl that had been a red-head with a gun yesterday had just appeared in my bedroom like Batman and offered me a job in killing people for pay. To be a mercenary. An assassin.

I scoffed and flicked it away, watching it drift sluggishly down under my bed. Yeah right. No way was I going to kill people. Not for any amount of money.

That's what I thought, until Craig went bankrupt.

It was Monday morning at school when he sat next to me at our usual table before classes started. He looked like death; pale face, shadowed eyes, even a bruise on his cheek.

"C-Craig!" I asked(?).

He grunted.

"What happened? Gah!"

He shook his head and seemed like he was on the verge of crying. "I got some bad news from my parents on Saturday..."

"W-what?"

He took a long time in answering. "Apparently...my dad got into some bad business. And...we've got no money left. We'll have to move to my aunt's house in about a week."

My heart seemed to stop. Thoughts flashed through my brain at a million miles per second, clouding my senses. Move? MOVE? Craig couldn't move from me! He can't! Craig was the only one–minus Kyle–who could put up with my random outbursts and paranoia. He was my only real friend, who I could count on for anything. I'd do anything for him.

Even...

That night, when I got home, I locked myself in my room and dug out the card from under my bed. When I dialed the number, my heart felt like it was going to explode from my chest.

Riiing.

I could still hang up.

Riiing.

Just close your palm.

Riiing.

I saw Craig's broken, defeat face. My thumb hit zero before I made the choice.

Silence.

"Hello?" Answered a busy, familiar voice.

"Uh...um..." I nervously grabbed and yanked on my hair with my free hand. "Is...urk...Nadia there."

I heard a quiet beep and then faint static.

Then...

"Hello again, Blondie."

I could go on, but...I feel like that's a good place to stop. I guess I wanted to show kinda how Tweek started...you know...killing people. Anyway...

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