Hey guys, it's been a while. And no, I am not dead (yet, jk jk). Just dealing with some irl problems such as securing a work term for my university program, which is why I've been quite busy and I took a little break from the story so I don't burn out. Rest assured, I am well. And I thank you guys for still waiting (if you are all still invested into the story at this point). As I said, I'm a man of my word, the story will be seen to the end with the promise of a sequel with the incoming Bad Guys 2 set to be released in 2025. I do have a assignment to do this week and I've been rethinking on certain scenes of the story, hence why there's been much of a delay. Apologies for the inconvinience but the show is still alive! :)
Here is a little teaser in the meantime while I handle my personal matters:
As the late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a warm glow that seemed tailor-made for the occasion, Diane Foxington stood in front of her full-length mirror. She slipped into the strapless, magenta-pink sweetheart-styled dress she had chosen from Katie's boutique, the fabric embracing her curves perfectly. Adorning herself with a golden necklace and matching bracelet, she added the final touch—a ring that held the famous Zumpango Diamond, its sparkle catching the light with every delicate movement. After ensuring every strand of her fur was in place, Diane stepped into the matching strapped high-heels, completing her stunning look.
Meanwhile, in Marcus' apartment, preparations took a more pragmatic turn. He adjusted his suit over an improvised tactical vest designed to carry submachine gun magazines alongside his MP5K PDW, secured in a shoulder holster. Despite his formal appearance, his attire was a silent sentinel, ready to defend Diane at any notice. Satisfied with his setup, Marcus drove to Diane's residence, anticipation building with each mile. As he waited outside, the door opened, and Diane stepped out, breathtaking in her ensemble.
Marcus, momentarily stunned by her appearance, recovered with a broad smile. "I might, if you keep dazzling me like this. How's a guy supposed to keep his cool?" he bantered back, his tone light yet laden with admiration.
They shared a quick, tender kiss, a moment of connection amidst the anticipation of the night. With a courteous flourish, Marcus opened the car door for Diane, who settled into the passenger seat gracefully. As they drove towards the state building, the couple arrived at the underground parking lot, where the atmosphere was charged with the silent vigilance of the HRT (Hostage Rescue Team) contingent and DPS (Dignitary Protection Section) agents.
Inside the Escalade, Diane and Marcus sat in professional silence, but the air between them still sizzled with unspoken desire. As the city lights flashed by, they focused on the tasks ahead, each acutely aware of the other's presence and the promise of what the night might bring once the event was over.
Arriving at the Good Samaritan Awards, the event shimmered with excitement beneath the starlit sky at the Museum of Fine Arts, celebrating the city's philanthropic leaders. Cameras flashed, and reporters eagerly captured the glamour of the evening. Marcus, ever vigilant, kept a discreet distance, his protective instincts heightened by the proximity of both admirers and potential threats.
Unbeknownst to them, Mr. Wolf, under the alias "Mr. Poodleton," was weaving through the elegantly dressed guests with a mission in mind. His eyes flicked towards Diane, then locked onto Marcus. "Guys, we might have a problem here," he muttered into his earpiece, sensing the formidable presence of Diane's bodyguard.
The night was young, the stakes were high, and as the awards ceremony unfolded, every glance, every touch, and every whisper hinted at the deeper currents swirling beneath the surface. Diane and Marcus juggled their secret love with their public roles, their brief touches, shared looks, and whispered exchanges weaving a subtle thread of intimacy throughout the formalities of the night.
As they moved down the red carpet, Diane was the epitome of grace with Marcus vigilant at her side. A reporter approached, her compliment smoothly transitioning into a query. "Governor Foxington, you look absolutely radiant tonight. Can you share who you're wearing?"
Diane smiled, radiating confidence and charm. "This beautiful creation is by Katie Hopwell, a dear friend and a remarkably talented designer at 'Hopwell Elegance' downtown. She crafts her designs with a commitment to sustainability, reflecting both style and responsibility, which I deeply respect."
Inside the venue, Diane navigated the crowd of dignitaries and philanthropists, her discussions marked by insightful exchanges and warm appreciations. Marcus noticed a few attendees whose gazes lingered overly long on Diane. With a subtle, deliberate movement, he positioned himself to subtly screen Diane from their view, his demeanor calm but assertive. The onlookers quickly turned away, recognizing the cue.
As the evening continued, Diane and Marcus's interactions were a delicate dance of proximity and distance. Their hands brushed under the guise of casual movement—a fleeting contact that resonated with silent promises. The night promised elegance, glamour, and a sense of danger lurking just beneath the surface.
The Good Samaritan Awards buzzed with an electric mix of philanthropy and high society, creating an ideal scene for nefarious activities hidden in plain sight. Mr. Wolf's mission was clear: an audacious attempt to steal the Golden Dolphin. But more urgently, he needed to get close to Governor Diane Foxington and snap a selfie with her. The image was crucial—not for vanity but for a chance to use her virtual eye signature to bypass a sophisticated security system later that night.
As Mr. Wolf weaved through the crowd, his gaze locked onto Diane. "Guys, we might have a problem here," he muttered into his hidden earpiece, his voice a mix of caution and annoyance. "There's some guy glued to the Governor. Looks tough... and sharp. Not your typical suit."
Ms. Tarantula's voice crackled through the earpiece, her tone brisk and analytical. "Why don't I hack an alarm on the other side of the room? Might draw him away long enough for you to sneak in."
Mr. Piranha piped up next, his voice energetic and a bit reckless. "Or, hear me out—lure him over here and I can take him down. A quick sucker punch, lights out!"
"Maybe we don't need to get our fins dirty," Mr. Shark suggested smoothly, his voice oozing cool. "A clever diversion, something classy but big enough to shift his focus. We keep it clean, no tracks."
Then Mr. Snake, ever the realist, chimed in with his gravelly voice, "Wolf, it's your call. But remember, we're only here for the Dolphin. Don't get sidetracked by some pretty-boy guard."
Wolf took a moment, absorbing their suggestions. He glanced at Diane and the mysterious man again, weighing his options. ""No, stick to your roles. I'll handle this." he instructed, dismissing the team's proposals.
With the night unfolding in a mix of elegance, hidden danger, and unspoken desires, Diane and Marcus would soon find themselves at the heart of a thrilling, high-stakes game. And as the evening progressed, the true test of loyalty, courage, and cunning was only just beginning.