A/N: I'd suggest reading Light before you read this one - it's linked into this, and they're both part of a story I'm hoping to expand on someday. I'd love to get some feedback on this and Light. This is, like most of my one-shots, part of the 100 Theme Challenge. Hope you enjoy!

It had been plaguing her for days.

It was an odd feeling; her chest was tight, her lungs felt like they could not operate fully. She'd struggle to draw breath in, forcing in out in large gulps. Alcohol helped. So did smoking. Cigarettes regulated her breathing, made it easier.

Her hands trembled as she reached over and opened the glove compartment, eyes locked on the bright blue square packet as she grabbed them and forced one out, holding it carefully, hands still shaking as she lit it.

Her chest rattled as she took a deep breath, eyes snapping to gaze out of the window, locking on the building she was outside. All the lights were off, it was dark there and the lack of lights sent a daunting feeling through her.

Jenifer inhaled deeply on the cigarette, eyes locked on the building as she wondered if anyone had been in there for days. Well, she needed to go in at some point. After all, it was part of the plan.

The plan.

The plan that, well, had not gone to plan.

Jenifer took another deep, shaking breath as she scratched her shoulder, feeling the itch of the new tattoo. It was only one week old, and already in that one week she had managed to mess things up so badly.

Biting her lip, she leant over the steering wheel and wondered how the hell she was going to fix her mistake.

She still felt a bit confused on how she had ended up here.

Her fingers, the ones not holding the cigarette, trailed over the white cloth that had been placed over the healing tattoo. Red seeped out over it, blood that refused to go, for now at least. Chewing her bottom lip, she threw her head back and slammed it against the head of the car seat.

Despite the fact that the tattoo was covered up, she could picture it clearly – the Chinese Yin/Yang symbol, black on white, symbol of the ultimate unity, with grey spikes around it, deathly sharp points. Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel, thoughts leaping through her mind.

She sat up straight when she saw a car pull up outside the house.

She'd never even attempted to find out why it had to be him.

Instead, she'd just done what she had been told, following the instructions she had been given. Get the information out of him, then kill him. It doesn't matter if he sees you. The dead can't speak.

Jenifer had followed their orders, but at the last minute her conscience had kicked in and told her she couldn't kill him.

It had been easy enough to gain entry to his flat; a huge smile, bright eyes and heavy make-up had helped.

"Charlie! So glad I tracked you down..."

"Jenny? What are you doing here?" Surprise, a happy shock.

"Well, I was kind of hoping we could talk about...oh, Charlie, not out here, can I come in?"

"Sure, sure."

He had ushered her in, unknowingly inviting in his very own assassin. Charlie never thought he'd be important enough for someone to want him killed, but then again, despite his high IQ levels, he'd never been the brightest guy. She flashed him a sickly sweet smile before waltzing into the room and settling herself on his sofa, stretching her arms out as he offered her a drink.

"You remember what I drink, don't you?" she questioned, gazing at him with wide, brown eyes, the picture of innocence.

"'Course," he chuckled. "Actually, Jen, I've got some well tasty wine here, if you fancy it..."

"Colour?"

"Red, of course, I wouldn't offer you anything less."

"Great. Thanks, Charlie."

She had watched as he slid from the living room into the kitchen, whistling as he did so, clearly in high spirits as she reached down and slid her hand between her leg and boot, pulling out the small pistol she had there.

Closing her eyes, her ears listening out for any sign of him returning, she whispered "Forgive me Father, send me your love and strength and help see me through the difficulties I face..."

Her eyes had snapped open when she had heard him return, and quickly Jenny was on her feet, whirling around and pointing the gun straight at him.

"Sorry, Charlie," she had whispered, pulling the trigger and watching as the bullet flew through the air, embedding itself into his head.

Hours later and she was sitting outside the flat, waiting, just waiting, for someone to find him, to find the body and call the police. She needed to make sure he wasn't just left there, wasn't just rotting in the middle of his living room with no one to mourn over him, with no one knowing if he was dead or alive.

Someone got out of the car, a tall woman with blonde hair, long legs and dark green eyes. Jenny stiffened as the woman glanced over at her car and started to walk towards her.

Slowly, Jenny opened the car door and stumbled out, flicking the cigarette butt away and turning to face the woman.

"Twenty," she whispered, voice full of admiration as she stared at the well dressed blonde, eyeing the red dress clinging tightly to her curves. "What are you doing here?"

"Stupid girl," she whispered, taking a step towards the younger woman. "You've made a mess of things, haven't you?"

"N-n-n-no..." she stammered, shaking her head. "No. I did...I did what I was told...I...I...I killed him..."

"And we thought you were one of the best," Twenty sighed, shaking her head. "Such a shame. But it happens. Sometimes we get those who can't deal with it, who feel it crushing them like a rock on their chest...that feeling you've got, it's guilt, hun. It's guilt and we can't have those who feel guilty."

"It's not that!" she protested, shaking her head. "I just...I have a chest infection..."

"Don't lie to me!" Twenty hissed, lifting her hand and pointing a .44 Magnum at the girl's head, placing the barrel between her eyebrows. "It's guilt, I can see it in your eyes. And we need those who will not let feelings and emotions get in the way of their work. We need those who can keep a clear head, who can breathe on command. Do you understand?"

"I'll get better," she protested, shaking, shivering against the cold feeling of the metal instrument against her head. "I promise I..."

She didn't have time to finish the sentence.

The woman pulled the trigger, shaking her head as the shot rang out around the pair and the girl's body crumpled to the ground. Her own breathing was controlled, regular, not an ounce of the chest-crushing guilt that the girl had felt.