Author's Note: Okay, not my usual self-pitying pieces about the guy that I'll never have but I figured, What the hell? I might as well branch out a little. So here it is, my first ever sci-fi piece that I didn't write for school. (Don't worry, there'll be a bit of romance later on). Oh, and I got the bone gun idea from the movie Existenz. And I don't own Microsoft, either. (Though sometimes I wish I did...all that money..)

A Touch of Death

The future: Year two thousand, five hundred and twenty-two.

Everything was going wrong with the world. Peace was a thing of the past, reserved for dreamers and philosophers. Even the religious mania, which swept people up in manic whorl winds, spoke of nothing but destruction. Radiation leaked from everywhere and killed almost on the spot. Children were orphaned frequently and roamed the streets in packs of filth. Pimps and their whores came out in broad daylight. Drugs had been taking to a new level, succeeding in bringing about different types of ecstasy. Few people were ever really happy. Suicide rates had gone up 51.3 percent in the past six years. People would do almost anything for money, and assassins were plentiful. The wealthy were just as bad off as the poor, maybe worse. No one was free from the clutches of technology and biological warfare.

Yes, the world was going through a bad "bad period", but not everyone seemed to hate it. People were, after all, making a profit off of all the intense corruption and newly sprung evil thoughts. Assassin seemed to be the preferred occupation; the risk of strange diseases was just the same as everyone else and the worst thing that could possibly happened to you was death, and that was no big deal. Everywhere you looked there was a shady figure carrying one of those new bone guns, which were made out of human bone and shot venom filled teeth instead of bullets (Absolutely undetectable). You could start as early as the age of fourteen and you took the job until you were caught and/or killed. The more stealth and ruthlessness you worked with, the more jobs you got. It wasn't necessarily the best job out there, but it did bring in money.

At least, this is what Saryn thought about her profession. At age twenty- one, Saryn, more commonly known as Ryn, was reputed to be the deadliest assassin in the world. She killed silently and quickly, left no evidence, and was gone long before anyone discovered the body. She hadn't any favourite style of murder, knowing that detectives and policemen looked for that sort of thing. She usually used weapons that were commonly found and easy to get, sometimes poisons, and every now and then the latest in weapons technology. She was the best, the most dangerous, and certainly the smartest of all the assassins. She never knew how one more kill for one more job would change her life forever.

It was the winter, a new year come and gone, and a light snow fell from a dreary sky. Ryn sat across from her newest employer, eyebrows raised skeptically. The man was small and nervous and convinced that he was the one in charge during the negotiations. She smiled as the man babbled on, letting her dark curls slide partially in front of her face. These idiots always thought that they had the upper hand. What they didn't realise that the girl with the dagger in her boot and the venom bone gun holstered in her bra was always the one in charge. After a few more moments of mindless chatter about money and laser guns, Ryn interrupted.

"Listen, this has gone on long enough. I'll tell you how much money I expect when you tell me who I'm going to kill."

Her employer wiped his balding head with a small kerchief. "Of course, of course. I'll you who. But I think we should discuss the..the finer points of your..your job."

Ryn took her dagger out of her boot with pretenses of polishing it and idly tossed it in the old man's direction. It landed with a whack about a centimeter or so above his head. He visibly wind and mopped up more sweat. "What? Don't you trust me?" Ryn asked innocently, thinking, This should be amusing.

"Of cour....course."

"Great. Now, why don't you fill me in?"

He produced a small device and pressed the center of it. Out popped a hologram of an old woman dressed in white. Ryn amused herself while the man continued his tedious lecture about the target by pretending that the lady in white was some sort of "higher power". Killing a CEO or Vice- president was nothing. Desecrating a god would turn you into a legend. Fun, she thought.

"So, will you do it?" The man was smiling feebly, bringing her back to reality.

"Yes, as long as you can pay."

"How much?"

"Twenty thousand. Half now and half when I've brought back a lock of her hair." It was customary to bring back proof of the target's death. The smartest and safest way to so this was to cut a piece of hair from the root, so it looked like nothing was missing. Not everyone did this, but those you didn't often got caught.

The man took out a white envelope and slid it across the table as discreetly as he could. Inwardly, Ryn rolled her eyes; the newer clients always insisted upon being overly dramatic. She took the envelope and threw it in her bag. It was precedent in the assassin-client relationship for the assassin not to count the money until the client left. It didn't matter; if you were a good assassin you could tell by the weight and feel of the envelope (and for some reason it was always in an envelope) how much money there was. And in this case, Ryn knew that it was all there.

"Pleasure meeting you. Have a nice day." Ryn said as she pulled her dagger from the wall.

"Wait. Don't you want my card?"

" I never take the name or address from my clientele. Keeps us both out of trouble."

"How will you find me? For the money, I mean."

"Believe me, I'll find you." With a last, malicious smile thrown over her shoulder, Ryn walked into the street. Looking at her walking in the crowds you wouldn't believe her to be a "cold blooded killer". She was tall and slim, black curls softly framing a young face. She had pale skin and startlingly green eyes that peered out at you from under thick lashes. She might have been Greek, but no one except her parents would know, and they had died nearly two decades ago. The oddest thing about Ryn was that she always smiled as if she knew something that no one else did. But then again, she did. Who was it that killed the president of Microsoft last week? No one knew except her, and she only knew because she was the one who had done it.

Hover cars whirred above her head as she pushed through the throngs of people. Her target wasn't too far away, only a few blocks. She was staying at the Hotel Royale. Ryn had never been inside this particular hotel so couldn't maneuver her way into the room. A different approach would have to be taken. She walked into the nearest pharmacy and purchased hair dye and colour contacts. In about twenty minutes, she would turn from black haired, green-eyed Ryn to red haired, brown-eyed Christine. She ducked into and empty bathroom at the hotel unnoticed, and began the newest identity change.

Dying your hair had become quite an interesting process over the past few years. The mess was minimal and the time it took shortened. All you had to do was squeeze the gel down the middle of your head and suddenly you had a new hair colour. Contacts were even easier; hold them out in front of your face a few centimeters and you could see or change the colour of your eyes. Great news for vein women and criminals, bad news for the CIA and police force. The only thing they had to go by for identification at a crime scene was a foolish hope for fingerprints or hair of skin cells. Technology made their job infinitely harder.

Ryn changed from her black outfit into a retro skirt and blouse that she kept in her bag, leaving her boots as they were. Ryn was now Cristine, a librarian who loved everything about the 1900s (goodness knows why; they were so primitive back then) and was Mrs. Lanta's, Ryn's target's, niece. She walked into the lobby smiling and went to the front desk. A teenage boy was there, barely sixteen. This is going to be easy, thought Ryn behind the mask of Cristine.

"Excuse me," She said sweetly.

The boy looked up and smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm looking for my aunt, Lucy Lanta."

He pressed a button on the screen in front of him and a list of names came up. "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Lanta has stepped out. I could leave her a message for you if you like."

Okay, Ryn thought inwardly, maybe not as easy as I thought. Cristine stamped her foot and pouted. "Drat! She has my dress for the theatre show tonight. I need it so the alterations can be made. Do you mind if I go up and get it?"

"I'm sorry, Miss...?"

"Micheals. Cristine Michaels. Just call me Cristine."

"Cristine. I'm sorry, but it's against hotel policy. You'll have to come back later or leave a message."

It was obvious the boy had to be persuaded. It wouldn't be too hard. If he was like all the other teenage boys then his hormones ruled over all other rationalities or emotions. She laid her elbows on the desk and leaned over, making sure to expose a bit more cleavage than was absolutely necessary. As if instructed, the boy's eyes were drawn to her. She smiled playfully and whispered, "I'll only be a moment. And you can come up if you like. I can show you my new dress," She paused for effect and let out a little breath when she continued, "Among other things." Cristine may have been an odd librarian, but she knew a thing or two about love and, more importantly, lust.

He grinned sheepishly. "I'll be up in ten minutes. Here's the key. Room 208." He gave her a small computer chip and pointed to the stairs on the left. She picked up her bag and the key and flounced up the staircase. She found the room easily and was surprised to see how plain it was. One bed, a dresser, a hologram device that produced movies, and a nightstand. Ryn memorized the room and was very careful not to touch anything. She had even put on gloves to open the door. She would wait for her target in the bathroom. But first she had to deal with juvenile idiot at the desk.

She waited a short while and soon the door opened. The boy walked in, a smug look on his face. Ryn, or rather Cristine, had decided that he wasn't all that bad looking. Tall, strong arms, charming eyes. It was a pity he had to be involved in this.

"Hey," she said. "You never did tell me your name."

"David. Now that the formalities are over, let's say we have some fun."

She giggled, something that she would only do when in character. "Okay, but not here. My aunt will go into conniptions if she finds us."

"That's fine. I've got the keys to honeymoon suite."

"Perfect." David proved to be fun, despite his young age. More fun than Ryn had had in a while, anyway. Afterwards, she slipped a poisonous powder known as Asher into his water. The stuff was completely undetectable and made it seem as though he had overdosed on drugs, which, technically speaking, he did. The cops would just assume that the ass had just stolen away into the suite to get trashed and jack off. She finished cleaning up and wiping fingerprints, remembering to leave some used pods scattered on the bed, and went back down to her "aunt's" room. There she stood and waited, careful not to touch a thing. She stayed four long hours, standing and listening.

Finally her target walked through the door, humming a tuneless melody. She was a stout woman, with her hair cropped short against her face. She was dressed in a white business suit that matched her snowy hair. Looking at her pale blue eyes, Ryn once again amused herself with the idea that she really was going to kill some holy and sacred goddess. But no, this job was too easy. This woman would no fight, would die quickly and easily. A goddess, on the other hand, would have fought for her life, would have sent curse after curse in Ryn's direction and most likely win. This was just another mortal, another stupid mortal. Nobody ever missed mortals.

Ryn stepped out from the bathroom and in a moment, the job was done. She had perfect aim, as always, and the target slid down to the floor in a whisper, the tooth bullet lodged in her heart and the poison taking immediate effect. There wasn't that much blood, either, the actually wound being so small. Ryn did what she could to clean up, even went as far as vacuuming, changed back into her black skirt and shirt and coat, grabbed her bag and left. No one noticed her as she exited the hotel and walked. People were so used to rushing along with their lives they never bothered to see that she was Cristine in different clothing. It was actually rather annoying.

Now for the rest of her cash. The fool didn't know it, but when he first called her, she traced back the number. She knew exactly where he lived, and adding to that, his credit card number, his license plate number, his wife and children's names, how much money he had in the bank, and everything else about him. It was sort of pathetic, really. Her job was losing its intrigue and excitement. It used to be so much more dangerous. Now all you had to do was press a button and all privacy was gone. People had no respect for the classics anymore.

She got to her client's house in a very short time. The place was simple, one story with a small yard. There was no one around, so Ryn skipped the false pretenses and walked to the front door. She rang the doorbell five times before giving up, and opened the door and walked in. What she saw would have surprised her had she been a rookie. As it was, the only thing that could truly shock her was genuine kindness and generosity.

Her client's body hung from a cord that was tied around his neck and swung gently from the ceiling. His face was pale with a bluish tint and his eyes rolled back into his head. An envelope was hanging out of his pocket, probably stuffed with cash. Ryn was used to this sort of thing, though. She called it "the guilt factor". After hiring her, some clients were so wrought with guilt, that they went and killed themselves. That was partly why she asked for half before the kill. If they killed themselves, at least she would have half of the money.

She grabbed the envelope from his pocket and walked out the door. As soon as she found a bus or car, when was gone from wherever the hell she was and on to newer things.