There are only a select few on the entire universe to have ever seen Queen up close and personal. She has body guards, many of them. She carries around a mask half the time. The teachers never question it, they believe her to be sick in the brain. What they don't get is that Queen is the intelligent mastermind behind every school rebellion. Don't judge her by her cover – she seems like a normal enough teenage girl with a facial problem – but she's lethal.
The death of one teenage boy in the entire history of the 14 year war between Cloverfield and Wieldings was caused by Queen. She was said to have killed him herself. Said to have put the bullet between his eyes, pulled the trigger with her very own thumb. Well. What a great introduction to the arch rival of Wieldings.
A rap on the door startled the 18 year old. Narrowing her eyes she glared as the door opened and Curren slipped into the room. She relaxed slightly, but made no move to stop her glower. He smiled widely before holding up his hands in an "I-come-in-peace" kind of way, then slipping into the comfy seat across her desk.
Queen's holding ground was in the underground storage warehouse of Cloverfield High. She had her own office set up in an abandoned janitor's closet and only she was ever in there. She rarely had guests, and even rarer were those from Wieldings. But this boy, with the impish grin on his face and the used board tucked under his armpit, she knew very well.
"What's shaking, Georgie?" He asked.
"Do not use that name when addressing me, Skater," Queen said, her voice dropping to a cool, frosty tone.
"Awe, big sis, don't be like that," the so called skater whined, slinging his feet atop her desk.
Queen sighed, "I thought you didn't like me being bigger than you, huh?"
"Okay. Sorry, twin," Curren laughed.
She looked away, her black hair that hung nearly to her knees tied up in a giant messy bun. Curren could only guess how much money it took to supply the hair dye that kept her appearance. They were twins, but looked nothing alike. Curren was lean and muscular with wavy blonde hair that was attractive to all, whereas Queen had black hair down to her ass and looked like she had just murdered someone half the time.
"Look, what do you want?" She leaned forward, clasping her hands.
"Details," he answered, in that vague way Queen hated.
"On what?" She growled.
"Skaters tell me shit is about to go down. Heard something about Cloverfield and a mass takeover. You ain't planning anything like that, are you? Because let me tell you, South is riled up over North. She doesn't even care about you right now, and your final battle of the school year is about to approach. You know this is unlike her," Curren whispered.
"South is usually pretty annoying around this time," Queen admitted, wondering if her brother was on to something.
"I think we need to talk to Dad," the boy leaned forward, his features almost crazed with fear.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Curren? He's bad news. If you're found out we could all die," Queen stared at him.
"Look, I don't care if you don't want in. I'll do it myself. You can still be Georgie Mannings, and I'll still be Curren Gems."
With that the boy slipped a cool expressionless façade onto his face and stood up. Ignoring Queen's protests he wrenched the door open and walked out of the room. It was time to pay an old visit to Daddykins.
"Wait!" Queen had slipped on her mask and was busy bolting her office shut. "I'm coming."
A wry smile appeared and disappeared. He whipped back around and began to walk, his twin sister falling into step beside him. They were quite odd, the beach boy skater with the half masked black haired girl beside him. One would think she would be busy in her basement doing who knows what, whereas he would be riding some waves in California. Weirdly enough, Curren did want to ride some waves. But that'd have to wait. He had some catching up with his father to do.
Mr. Mannings whistled to himself as he watered his garden. His carrots and peas were doing fabulously this year and he was expecting a great crop. He absentmindedly rubbed the skin on the back of his hand where the laser treatment had left it sore. Laser removal of tattoos was painful! But at least he had rid himself of the disgusting gang sign that had once been there. Underneath his fluffy robe he was still getting treatment for the tattoo on his chest. He could not wait 'til it disappeared.
As he finished up the watering and slung the hose back in its resting position he entered his house, surprised to hear the teapot whistling. An odd, familiar fear entered his heart as he nearly stumbled over his own feet, his hand still rubbing that area. He looked to his left and right before entering the kitchen.
And ah, sweet relief. Perhaps he had just forgotten he had put the teapot on, yes, that must have been it. What a silly man, expecting something… He turned around.
Two identical voices that sounded quite recognizable greeted his ears: "Hello, Daddy dearest."
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" He said aloud in a dazed voice, for standing right in front of him was his children. His children he had not seen in over ten years.
There was Curren, standing tall and proud, a fire ablaze in his eyes. And his daughter! Beautiful Georgie with her eyes made of pure ice. He stumbled forward to almost grasp his daughter's sleeve in his hand, he stuttered over her name. Mr. Mannings had not realized how much he had missed the twins until now. He let out an almost wail of anguish as she side stepped him with revulsion barely concealed in her eyes.
"Father," Curren nodded, looking over the sorry excuse of a man.
He opened his mouth to beg, to say something, but his daughter, Georgie, had come over to him. She pressed a knife to his throat and raised her eyebrows. His heart clenched almost painfully. He knew this was bound to happen one day.
"We want everything you know on Wieldings High and Cloverfield High," she whispered.
"Are you ridiculous, I have a tracking device on my ankle," Mr. Mannings protested.
"You'll find a way to do it, if you want us to leave you in one piece," Curren added.
Twenty minutes later and the man sat over a laptop, his brain clicking into gear. Although their father was a total douchebag if there was one thing the twins both agreed on, it was that he was an excellent hacker. And he was going to choose going back to prison over his death; that was a pretty ingenious choice as well.
"There's nothing," he finally said after ten minutes of silence.
"Don't lie to me!" Queen yelped and glanced at the screen.
There really was nothing. It was as if Wieldings High or Cloverfield High did not exist. There were no student records, no Wikipedia pages. It was as if 1400 students were not accounted for or even existed. The only thing that showed up across the screen was a timer. It read 4 months, eight days and three hours. Curren burned the time into his head, as did Queen.
"Please, kids, they'll be here any minute. The government, if I so much as log onto a computer they'll be noticed. I'm sure they know I'm hacking. You have to leave," their father pleaded.
A rap on the door startled all three out of the news they'd just found out. Queen slid her cool gaze to her father. They locked eyes. All Queen could think about was the day he'd almost killed her. He was on a hacking call, hanging with his online buds. The food was on fire. Orange and red and orange and red and orange and red and repeated until they were the only things dancing in front of her eyes. And she'd burned herself, her entire right side of her face badly scorched.
"You're not bad, Daddy," she said.
"Sing like a bird and you'll be choking on the worm," Curren sneered. The twins exited out the back door, careful to wipe any handprints or fingerprints off the surfaces they'd touched. No sooner had they left when the front door flew open with a bang.
Mr. Mannings was shock still, only one thought replaying in his head like the bible: Was that a sexual innuendo?
"So, we part here, huh?" Curren asked his sister.
The two were walking along the main road. One path to the right led to Cloverfield. The other led to Wieldings. Queen was lost in her own little world, thinking about their father who was going straight back to prison after being on house arrest for nearly a month now. Her father, being a hacker and a horrible parent had gone to jail and been released with an ankle monitor. Despite not paying attention to anything her reflexes weren't half bad and she nodded to his question.
Curren slid his board to the ground and hopped upon it. He smiled, one last smile before they parted their ways, and took off to Wieldings. Who would he share this tiny tidbit of information with? Probably the leaders first. Then they could decide what they wanted to do. But, they needed to provide the proper amount of payment first, he couldn't just go and give out all his sources could he? No, he'd have to be sneaky about this. He'd offer the information to North first; Boston would give out a higher reward for new information unknowing to the others.
Meanwhile Queen worried as she walked. Cloverfield didn't have gangs. They had one leader – herself. What was she supposed to do about this? Walking, she envisioned the jealous imbeciles who would do anything to take her down. No, she thought wisely, I'll keep it to myself for now.
She turned off the lights for some much needed rest. The old office was stuffy and the air inside was stale and disgusting. Queen shook off her black boots and rubbed at a forming blister on her heel. She couldn't think straight after her father…her past…everything was just catching up to her. Sighing she shook a wisp of black hair out of her face and sat quiet. Still.
Queen sat there for a long time. Outside the office she could hear her bodyguards chatter, gossip about her. Let them gossip for now, she would deal with them later. Right now she had to think and come up with a plan. Her father was a hacker. He had shown them a world of infinite knowledge. She needed a hacker. She settled back into her desk and thought of a girl.
A (fake) ginger, this girl was always on her laptop. Queen struggled to come up with a name to match the image of a red headed, unfriendly girl who she had seen around the library. She thought of her eyes – they held deep mistrust, Queen had recognized that in her own eyes. Ah, yes…she tapped the side of her head. A name popped up in her brain. That was the girl.
Queen cleared her throat. Within a second a brawny boy opened the door and stared at her, waiting for her commands.
"Bring me Naomi Clinton."
If there is one thing a girl hates, it's being waken up at 3 AM in the morning by big creeps storming into your dorm room. Scratch that, it is a mutual hate of all things with a soul. Or that is what Naomi Clinton, fake ginger of Cloverfield High thought as she was hoisted over the shoulder of a burly senior boy. She was bewildered, was this a form of hazing? What was going on?
Being a freshman who held a deep distrust of her school she attempted to fight. She wiggled like a fish out of water, wishing to be set down. The boys had just stormed into her bedroom; didn't they care if she was half dressed and sleepy? Naomi cared a lot. She was scared, it was late, she had no idea if she was going head first into her death.
They were taking her to the basement. The basement was home to Queen. Oh yes, Naomi had heard of Queen before. She was ruthless; she was the one murderer of the war. Rumours said she had paid off a lackey to take the blame for her.
A door slid open to reveal a dark office. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut behind her was a pair of glittering white teeth, parted in a devastating smile.
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