On her way home from the graveyard Ophelia realized she was going to need cash to proceed with her plans. So as much as she hated to admit it, Ophelia needed a job. She didn't go to school, was currently unemployed and she was out of money once again (wasn't her fault she had expensive tastes). For the first time she regretted chasing off potential clients when she started gathering evidence for her "project" but she didn't dwell on this fact too long before she was looking at her options. Unfortunately she only had one option and this meant there was only one place she could go even if it meant demolishing her pride with a heavy duty bulldozer. Slipping soundlessly into her apartment she began making preparations for a long and arduous journey. She needed to be properly equipped, she wasn't about to walk up to one of England's most securest buildings and ask to pop in for a cuppa tea, oh no. Even though she was most likely to get away with it, it just wasn't her style. Besides she'd love to see the look on Mycroft's face when she turns up unannounced. Also to drop the hint that no matter how many armed guards he surrounds himself with, the only protection he will ever have is his umbrella, and even if there's a sword hidden in there it won't even buy him time.
She knew why she wasn't getting any jobs from the slick bastard, he'd been avoiding her ever since the incident, scared out of his wits no doubt, she almost felt sorry for him, almost. She briefly wondered if he was still bothering with the diet or had this new found fear of a teenager forced him back into comfort eating, his only ally was always a good slice of cake after all. She smiled deviously then snapped her attention back to her living room.
"Decisions, Decisions" she mused and she stared at her extravagant gun collection decorating the walls.
"Don't want to appear too aggressive now, do we?" as she swiped two small hand guns from the walls, expertly spun the around in her hands and placed them on the coffee table behind her. She looked back up at the collection and stroked her L85A2 rifle fitted with German-made 40mm grenade launcher, her favourite gun.
"Some other time" she whispered, she sighed and walked over to the set of cupboards to her right. She pulled open the first draw and carefully selected six cartridges, she wasn't going to repeat that time in downtown Soho being caught with the wrong bullets, and having to do the rest with shurikens, great fun but didn't bring the Chinese mafia down as cleanly as she would have hoped. Her days of inexperience were over, she had won her title and was feared among those who hired her.
She proceeded towards her wardrobe and casually flung the doors open, she rifled through all sorts of clothes and disguises she'd picked up over her short career until she found her battle suit. She pulled out a black pair of combat trousers and a black tank top, she got changed quickly and then pulled out her tight but thick black jacket that fell down just above her knees. She stood in front the full body mirror adjacent to wardrobe and examined herself. She zipped up the jacket and pulled the collar up. Unlike those crappy action films where the female heroes and spies all wear those horrendous skin tight outfits purely for the revealing sex factor, Ophelia preferred a much more practical outfit that suited her line of work. Where were you supposed to hide secret knives and poison vials in spandex for Christs sake! Speaking of poison she turned away from the mirror and headed to the kitchen, in the cupboard under her sink, where Ophelia kept a very different kind of dangerous chemical. She placed four vials of colorless liquid onto the counter and lifted up the painting of a rather typical and dull cottage that was in the flat before she moved in. She had made good use of it though but using it to hide four seven inch army blades, two of them in black sheaths that were strapped to the wall. She removed the two sheathed blades and slotted one of the vials into the handle of each knife. Grabbing her shin high boots she shoved the knives into the slots concealed on the side of each boot.
She strolled into her bedroom and pulled out a long silver briefcase from under her bed, it contained her most prized possession. Ophelia had been entranced with comic books ever since she was a little girl, that hadn't changed. She pulled out her black utility belt, yes utility belt and strapped it onto her waist. She's been mocked for it in the past but it has saved her arse more times than she could count. It was brought for her by the man she looked up to most in the world on the tenth birthday, he no doubt meant it as a joke but as soon as she was able, modified it into a full fledged death belt. She gave a quick smile and instantly felt more at ease, nothing could touch her when she was in batman mode as she like to call it. It was childish she knows, like when a young boy would feel safe when he had his trusty teddy bear, she had her belt and as soon as it was fully equipped she could destroy anything or anyone who crossed her. It had five small boxes strapped to the back and two empty scabbards attached to the hips. She walked back to the kitchen and took down the other two knifes slotted them into the scabbards. The two remaining poison vials were carefully slotted into the front of the belt in neat little holders. She wouldn't use those unless it was absolutely necessary. Pulling the jacket to cover the belt she walk back to the hall of guns picking up her lightweight rucksack in the doorway and stuffing the cartridges she'd pulled out earlier. The back was already packed with basic necessities in case she had to leave in a hurry, so now there was only one thing she had left to do, complete her disguise.
London was full of weirdos so most people didn't pay attention too someone who dressed slightly differently anyway, but a normal enough looking girl in hefty black clothing and a large rucksack might receive a few looks, and she couldn't afford that. She needed to stop looking like a runaway teenager and start looking like someone people would feel the need to avoid their gaze. She picked up the make up bag left in her bathroom and stared at her own reflection. She was a pretty girl with clear grey eyes and long black eyelashes, she had a very angular face which her long black hair fell neatly passed framing her pale features. She unzipped the bag and covered her face in white powder, within seconds the little colour on her face vanished and a blank canvas remained.
"God, I look like a fucking clown" she mumbled. Some grey eye shadow, black eye liner and even blacker lipstick later she became a very different person. The make up was itchy against her sensitive skin but it was finished, no one would dare question a girl who looked like she rather be listening to hardcore thrash metal than updating her facebook status. She felt like an idiot but soon forgot that when she thought of the task at hand.
She left the name Ophelia behind as she departed from her isolated apartment and gazed out into the London streets, the world now went by under a different light, one where human life meant nothing and survival meant everything. Ophelia was gone and Pandora made her way to see the man she hated more than anything else.