She runs down the dusty street holding her blade in hand, she needs to disappear. Although, surviving is second nature, she found it difficult now that the cops were after her. She already knew how she would elude them; she was and has always been a clever girl. She had pre-wrapped her fingertips in tape and was heading for the house of one grumpy old man. He constantly smelt of smoke and yelled at passing children. He was hated. He was horrible. He was perfect.
The unkempt rugged house came into her view, because of his 'keep to himself' attitude she knew that she could do what she needed and be long gone before anyone realises what has happened.
She slides to a stop steps away from the old wooden door, from inside the house she could hear the old man moving around his house, she hears the sound of a shotgun being loaded and the man's heavy footsteps drag along the floor. 'I am going to kill those little runts,' said his voice husky, as he drew closer to the door.
The girl, wearing big black boots and a steel plated top was armed to the teeth with weapons, readies a silver dagger. Her hair was so oily it clumped together in long tangles, her eyes a guarded blue, they let nothing in or out but said a million words. She is broken. Her life not lived but spent surviving.
The door swung open but before the old man could aim his prize possession, the finely scrubbed shotgun, the little girls' readied blade had made rest between his eyes. She had flawlessly sprung from her resting place to throw her dagger into his head with an easy flick of her wrist. In another life, she could have been a dancer with her small innocent build and her flawless and agile movements. She could have been beautiful.
She steps into the dark room locking the door behind her, and steps past the old man who now lay flat on the ground before proceeding to do what she had come to do, what she had easily murdered this horrible but innocent man for. Freedom. Her freedom, her survival because to her life was not something you live; it is something one has to survive.
She grabs an old saucepan and places it on the half-heated stove, she turns it up to the highest temperature it could go, before running around the room looking for the things she needs. The little girl turns the tap on full ball and covers her fingertips in oil. She took no notice of the living conditions of the house or the dead man that lay on the floor. The room had no heating or cooling systems; smoke hung thick in the air, dirty dishes scattered the room. From inside you could only just see out the dusty cobwebbed window. The room was disgusting but she took no notice of any of this.
Instead, she continued as if this was her daily routine and she was perfectly at home with the madness.
Once the pan was a shining orange, the little girl dressed in black cringes and weeps as she presses her fingers down. The oil burned the tape into her fingers deforming her fingertips to a mix of blood, flesh and tape.
After this our little villainous or heroine ran to the tap to drown her fingers. The pain was almost unbearable but this was something she could associate with, something she could respect. She respects pain it is true, pain never lies, unlike people. More specifically the people she had once trusted.
She had just started to rip the tape off her fingers with her teeth when siren sounds shook the room with their persistent nagging calls.
She had run out of time. How was that possible? This should have been the safest place she could go. Somehow, she had underestimated the people she has been running from, they were actually one-step closer to catching her than she had thought.
Luckily, escapes where one of her specialties and she quickly whips up a plan. It wasn't that hard this man had loads of guns and with guns there comes gunpowder, she lit a match lighting the end of a piece of string before lying that beside the pile of gunpowder. She did all this under the table so the police wouldn't see the flames before it was too late.
She retrieves her knife with a quick pluck, before escaping out the back door.
She had also chosen this house because the old man who made residence in the small dusty house also lived almost in the middle of nowhere. Behind his house was kilometres of unkempt bushland, far off to the east side was a long winding road and past that, the town.
"Surround the house!" The Commanding Officer yells.
"No one gets in or out! Squat Team One, bring her out!" He bellows angrily throwing a bloated finger in the direction of the house. This man was Officer McFadden he was your stereotypical know-it-all slightly plump man who liked to constantly be in control, so it wasn't a surprise what his reaction was when another commanding officer an investigator no less challenged his decision. Was it because this officer was from the Australian Crimes Commission and he was merely a State Police controlling the crime in this one remote area. He had struggled to get where he is now for fourteen long years, he had endured so much bullshit. Now, he was being replaced? He was being challenged? Even though, he knew this area! He alone knew the people, how they acted, what they thought. Now an outsider was challenging him.
"I don't think that's wise." The younger officer frowns hiding a smile as the heavy moustached man flusters.
"What are you"—He was unable to finish his sentence as a loud bang erupts from the cottage house and fire licks the surrounding air. Glass shatters, flames rip through the grass and nearby trees.
"Shit!" Officer McFadden swears as glass flies towards them.
Simply sidestepping some shrapnel Jonathan Lour—the young man with a slightly bearding face and dark copper eyes—smiles at officer McFadden.
"Someone contact Jarrod and Jay, tell them to expect a visitor," Jonathan orders the men around them, because of McFadden's overconfident ego he had only left two men to survey the open land behind the house. This wasn't the brightest idea officer McFadden has ever had. He needs someone to pull his head in and Investigator Lour was that man.
"They're dead! And we've got four injured!" One officer calls to the two men standing beside the house, as he holds an injured comrade in hand.
Squat Team one, had fallen victim to the girls trap, those three men will never go home. They will never see the smiling faces of their loved ones ever again.
This news did not come lightly to officer McFadden, he immediately growls at the officers to search the house and surrounding bushland; he was not going to let this girl elude him again. It was becoming embarrassing!
Jonathan moves past the red faced man flashing an easy smile as the four dead bodies were removed from the wreckage, he did what he does best he looked for clues, he examines the old man's body and draws the conclusions he could with the evidence available. The girl only known commonly as 'That Renegade' or 'the little girly', truth be told no one really knew who she was or how she came to be, they only knew that she was now a threat. She must be stopped.
The grass made excellent cover it was long and straw like. The girl with greasy hair easily slips through like a lion hunting its' pray, like the lion, she watches the two police officers survey the area.
In a single pounce, she throws her dagger at the man closest to her and hides behind him as the other aimed his gun. The man was dead before his friends' bullets pierce his chest. The girl let him fall with a thud as she gracefully throws another dagger at the shooting man; he died the instant the blade shot through his neck.
She strips the second man of his shirt and hat making sure to take her weapons with her, and took off in their car. Luckily, for her, she had once been a very curious girl and had often made her caretaker explain things that were out of her league of knowing. Some of those being the basic instructions on how to drive a car, what telephone wires were and why people were mean to each other. This little girl was smarter then it seems the passing cars saw the uniform and thought nothing of her driving the car. She had done it again it seemed, she had escaped. She dumps the car just outside the town and takes off on foot. Only a kilometre down the road.
"Jarrod! Jarrod, report! Jarrod what is your status?" The plump man growls into a walky-talky.
"They're dead, I told you to send more back up." Investigator Lour frowns.
"She's just a silly girl! We should not have need more back up! So don't tell me how to do my job!" The head officer growls back, still enraged about being replaced.
"Please McFadden, let's not make an argument about this, she's gone, it's too late." Hiding a smile Jonathan got back into his car.
"And where do you think you are going?" Officer McFadden growls.
"Back to the office, she's gone, close the scene and call it an isolated incident."
"I will not! Follow your orders! I am the superior officer! You must find out what happened here!" The bloated arrogant man points to the house where fire fighters had just arrived.
"Please, the public does not need to know she was here and she got away, again. They will be happier and safer not knowing and thinking we have this all under control. Now please don't do anything stupid." The message was clear to McFadden, 'Shut your mouth and be smart for once.'
It was not hard to tell that these two men did not like each other.
Jonathan leaves McFadden to deal with the press who had just made their arrival almost on queue. On his drive back, he stops where Jarrod and Jay had been murdered.
"I want to see the bodies." Jonathan announces making his way over to Officer Lee, a tall lean man whom has little patience for lawbreakers; he made an excellent second in command.
"Go ahead; we've already determined that it is the work of the little chick. Deep punchers to the head and neck, they both died instantly. Just like her other victims."
"Thank you." Jonathan said after he had collected blood samples and photographs of both deceased.
The case closes as an 'isolated incident' and the papers only read 'Gas leak caused fire, Kevin Marc Killed.'
It was not considered headline material and was not read until page fifteen. For the most, this was not so much a mystery as it was a Godsend. Civilians were happy to read that the old man died in an explosive fire, it gave them comfort to know that there was one less person endangering their children and homes. To them the death of an elderly man gave them hope that maybe the wrongs of another dangerous girl (and such people alike) would sort itself out much the same way as death had caught up with the elderly Kevin Marc, the hated man.
As unjust as it may seem for the people of this little town to wish death upon an elderly man or a small thirteen-year-old girl, it had become natural, hope someone else dies so you do not. The town of Wingale and its neighbours had one of the highest crime rates and homed over fifty gangs. The most powerful being the one that has recently but quickly bagan 'The White Phoenix' they grew in numbers every day, and were controlled by Lynden Phoenix.
Lynden, he was described as being untouchable. That is why Jonathan is here, he knew things about the White Phoenix that no one could ever guess, and he knew some of Lynden's secrets that will lead to his final down fall. However, this was not some simple task—no—he needed people. People who did not ask questions, that did not need incident reports and warrants to justify an attack. Most of all he needs the 'key' before he can make his final moves, his check and mate, he might not know all this now however.
Nevertheless, one thing is sure, the key had just escaped, from now on will be a race between Jonathan and the law, who shall get to her first? And save the world, or end it all.