Running out of ideas but oh well.

One more to go after this.

R/R Please.

Assassin x3

One:

She wakes up, tangled in sheets and with a male body. She gets up groggily and slips on her clothes. He doesn’t even turn; most likely too hung over from the night before to notice what was going on around him.

She stealthily creeps to the bathroom and shuts the door softly behind her.

Climbing onto the bench, she takes the cover of the vent off the wall.

There in her pocket is a heat activated canister filled with Saran Gas. In the middle of nowhere, with no civilians for miles, it would be safe to use. And no-one would find her target at least until she was safely out of the country.

She places the canister in the vent and puts the cover back on before jumping off the bench. She wipes her hands on her jeans and takes a look out the window before departing.

Outside, there is a dark sedan with tinted windows waiting for her, waiting to get her out of there.

Grabbing her bag, she takes one last look at her target – still fast asleep in bed – and leaves but not before turning on the central heating.

Two:

She sits in an outdoor cafe in Italy gazing adoringly into eyes of the man sitting across the table from her.

It had taken her months to track him down and even longer to gain his trust.

This isn’t a mission; he isn’t a target, just a murderer who took away my family.

He’s eating a plate of pasta, not touching his glass of water.

She sighs inaudibly and takes a sip of her water.

Why didn’t I just poison his food?

He offers her a bite and she refuses, she hasn’t really had much of an appetite lately.

She flirts with him subtly and runs her foot up and down the length of his leg under the table.

The man freezes and his throat instantly becomes drier.

And that’s when he drinks his water, in large gulps until it’s nearly empty.

A funny look crosses his face and he falls off his chair while convulsing.

She plays the part of a worried wife and leans down to whisper to him.

“She was only three.”

He looks at her shocked before replying, “Go to hell bitch.”

There is hatred in her eyes, “Save me a seat.”

And he shudders once more.

Realising that it is too late, she calls for help.

A throng of people crowd round him and someone starts CPR.

She pushes her way through everyone and disappears.

This wasn’t a mission, it was revenge.

Three:

She is wearing a backless gown, it is a deep wine red and clings to the curves of her upper body, hugging her hips and flows loose around her legs. There’s a slit in the skirt that reaches mid-thigh and a silver sash at the waist.

Her job isn’t to kill, her job is to lure and lure she will do.

She is a honey trap.

She’s sitting in a car that’s driving through the busy streets of Morocco, taking her to the jazz club where their target will be.

They will be waiting outside, waiting to bundle their target into the back of a van for interrogation in a far off country and to congratulate her afterwards.

The car stops and her driver wishes her luck before she steps out.

She sees her target immediately upon entering the club, she saunters up to the bar and slides into the seat next to him and orders a drink.

He takes a quick look at her and is immediately drawn.

When her drink comes, he holds up his hand and takes out a wallet and pays for it.

Smiling, she thanks him and takes a sip.

It’s not long before she has him eating out of the palm of her hand, knowing that time was running out, she finished her drink and gave him a mysterious smile before leaving.

Getting the hint, he instantaneously follows her out and in a few seconds, he’s been bundled into the back of a van, unconscious and with a bag over his head.

They congratulate her and she slides into the back seat of her car.