Viet leaned against the wall. Her black mob hat was tipped down over her facial features, but not so that she couldn't see. Her ponytail was behind her, between the tan painted city wall and her black jacket. The jacket met with her matching black skirt that fell just above the knee. Although it was a skirt, the clothing did not minimize the bodyguard's movement. Her dark brown eyes looked carefully through the glass window of building that held many architectural records. Viet's eyes were glued to the back of the Mei's tight black business-like bun. Her eyes swept the store every few seconds to ensure no danger would attempt to approach the spy. Perhaps this amount of focus would prove to be dangerous. Viet's arm was thrown roughly back and pinned against the wall, as with the other arm.

Viet smirked, "I haven't seen you in a while, Jones. Glad to have the pleasure of seeing the New World's assassin in my midst."

"Cut the crap, slant-eyes," Alfred said with an icy chill to his voice, "Where is the note?"

"Note? Well, Jones, I have no idea what you are referring to," Viet said getting angry but still keeping a calm tone, "How about you get your slimy hands off of me and no one gets hurt?"

"Of course," Alfred said, his blue eyes flooded with a serious tone of their own, "As soon as you give me the note."

Viet turned around quickly in a failed attempt to get free. Usually it would work. When she turned, the heel of her shoe was supposed to dig into that of Alfred's. The man had control, though. Viet had now made her position more vulnerable. Her arms were behind her back and Alfred had moved his foot before Viet could strike, causing her to loose balance. Alfred continued to hold her. He took her away from the open street and roughly pushed her against the alley wall. He adjusted his hands roughly around her wrists.

"The note," Alfred repeated sternly. There was no way that Viet was going to get out of this hold. Viet's wrists were already beginning to turn red.

"Do I look like a Messenger to you!?" Viet almost yelled trying so very hard to keep calm. She was in pain and she could feel the shame of the failed escape attempt like a branding iron on her back.

"No," Alfred said more calm now that he was positive he had the upper hand, "No you don't. But, I'm sure you know where your Messenger-"

"No," Vietnam said very bluntly, "I am not going to tell you. You'll have to kill me before I will betray my family."

"Is that so?" Alfred smirked and removed a knife from his vest pocket. He turned Viet around and playfully began running it down her cheek. "It's a shame...," he said breaking the skin. Scarlet red blood began flowing from a large wound, "You were almost pretty...almost..."

Viet closed her eyes in pain and swallowed down tears. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak. She couldn't let this American pig get the better of her. Alfred began to slide the knife over her stomach, carving the initials AFJ. Alfred F. Jones.

"Where is your messenger?" Alfred repeated. Her pain was so evident no matter how much she thought she hide it. He loved it. He drank it in as though it were some kind of rare Italian wine. Savoring it. The knife went over in the same location again and again, making the wound deeper.

Tears were beginning to escape and she hated herself for it. In an act of retaliation she spit on Alfred. It was the only thing she could think to do in her position to show her disgust for him. Spit ran down Alfred's glasses. All was quiet for a moment. Viet held her tongue in fear of what the man would do next. Alfred only smiled.

"Fine...," he let out in an angry whisper. His wry smile created a malicious mood. Without warning the knife quickly plunged into Viet's stomach. He carved through her flesh like a pumpkin, driving the knife deep inside to carve his initials. Viet couldn't hold it in any longer. The pain was too great. She let out a pained scream. Her eyes were full of tears. She knew she was not going to live. Her body slumped to the floor and Alfred went down with her placing one hand over her mouth while the other finished carving. When the job was done, Alfred stood. Someone must have heard the scream. It was in the middle of the afternoon, happy-go-lucky shoppers walked by this place all the time. He ran out the back side of the alley, leaving Viet in a pool of her own sticky blood.

She closed her eyes in pain, not bothering to scream as the man left her. What good would it do? She was going to die. No amount of medical technology would be able to help her. Tears went down her cheeks as the world seemed to spin. She had a feeling, though it was not true but a delusional fantasy that her organs were falling out. Falling into the dirt and trash of the alleyway. She could see images of black, dying organs falling into the dirt, rolling around even. She soon felt nauseous. Her breathing grew shallower by the second as she attempted to gasp for air. She felt as though she was underwater. Through her tears and dizziness she spotted a familiar figure running up to her. She hoped this familiar person was a friend...not foe...