A/N- This is the first chapter to a movie my friends and I want to do. I'm writing the whle thing, and would really appreciate any feedback you can give me. This is a spy/action adventure movie, with possibly a touch of romance later on, and lots of humor.

Wolfgang

My name is Diane. I can't tell you my last name, because I don't have one. At least, not that I know of. But even if I had one, I wouldn't tell you it. I may have told you too much just by saying my name is Diane. I know, it sounds crazy, even paranoid. But if you knew me, then you'd understand. Crazy and paranoid come naturally to my life.

I can't tell you much about me. Not if I want to continue living that is. The less you know about me, the safer we'll both be. But what I can tell you is this. There's more to this world than you realize. Battles are fought without you ever knowing. War rages on, and you never hear about it. The classic war between good and evil is very much alive. And I am very much a part of it. We'll get to that later though. You won't understand the end result without knowing the beginning. And the beginning starts when I was much younger. Back to the day that changed my life forever, though I certainly didn't realize it at the time.

***********

I stood staring at the dresses in the window. The mannequins stood in various poses, showing off the latest designs of the fashion world. I'd never understood how some girls could stand wearing things like that. The little flowery dresses, with all the lace and sequins and things like that. Give me a pair of jeans and a tank top any day.

I guess you can tell by now I'm not exactly one of those giggly cheerleader types. Quite the opposite in fact. I'm a tough as nails, bad attitude, mess with me and die kind of person. I grew up in a foster home after my parents abandoned me at age three. No one knew my name or anything, so I'm not even sure Diane is my real name. For most of my life, I was shipped from foster home to foster home. I was basically impossible. I got into fights a lot at my various schools, didn't listen to a word anyone said, and pretty much did what I pleased. Each foster home would finally get so frustrated with me that they dumped me on someone else, and the whole cycle would start over again. I learned to fend for myself; a true street kid. Until I graduated high school that is, when I'd finally had enough. I decided that none of the so called "responsible adults" would ever be of any help to me, so I took to the streets. I'd figured out long ago that the only person I could depend on was myself, and to Hell with the rest of mankind.

Anyway, I was staring at the dresses, wondering why anyone would ever wear something like that. I'd just gotten done at work. I worked in a knife store in a small, outdoor mall. It's one of those stores that sells every kind of knife, dagger, and sword you can imagine. One of the few places that would hire me with just a high school diploma. Working in a mall had its advantages. Half price on any clothes I needed. Free meals in the food court. Good pay. That was the only way I'd been able to afford my own apartment. Hey, I had to live somewhere. Plus, my boss was an expert at throwing knives, and he'd taught me a thing or two. What can I say? My neighborhood isn't exactly the best in the world, and I had to defend myself somehow.

I was just about to turn away from the display, to head home, when something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. A boy about my age ran around the corner of the building and past me. A few seconds later, a man about thirty or thirty five rounded the corner and chased after the boy. Now, I had no idea why the guy was chasing this kid. I honestly didn't care either. I probably would have dismissed it without a second thought if I hadn't seen the gun in the man's hand. I still had no idea what was going on with them, but something told me to help this kid. Call it intuition or whatever you like. A few stores down, I saw the boy duck inside one of the alleyways.

It didn't take me long to catch up to them. When I did, I saw the man looking around. I saw what he didn't. The boy was hiding behind one of the planters, trying to sneak away. But if he took another step, the man would see him for sure. Sure enough, he did. The man shouted at the boy, but he was running again. Running towards me again. Without a second thought, I grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. The man, not expecting this, ran on a few steps until he turned around. I began running the opposite direction, pulling the boy with me. Surprisingly, he didn't argue. Maybe he knew I was trying to help him, or maybe he was just thankful for any help at all. I really don't know.

Our quick turn around bought us some much needed time. We reached the center courtyard of the mall before the man did. Quickly, I pulled the boy aside once again, in between two of the buildings. He looked like he was about to speak, probably to thank me or something, but I put a finger to my lips, motioning for him to be quiet. A few seconds later, than man ran by. From where I stood, I could see him stop for a few seconds and look around. He turned towards us, and for a single terrifying second, I thought he had seen us. But then, he kicked a piece of garbage on the ground in frustration, turned, and moved on. The two of us breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks." he said, still trying to catch his breath.

"No problem." I shrugged.

"No, really. You just saved my life." he said, with such seriousness that I didn't doubt him for a second.

"Well, you're welcome. So...why was Agent Sunshine chasing you?" I asked, jabbing my thumb towards where he had been.

"He was trying to kill me."

"Oh, really?" I asked, not completely believing him. "Well, we should get out of here nonetheless. He might decide to come back. I doubt he'd let you go so easily if he's trying to kill you."

"Look, I don't want to get you in trouble." he began.

"Forget about it. Trouble is my middle name." I replied. "I know a place we can get something to eat. You can tell me your story there."

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Diane." I told him, looking out to see if the coast was clear. "How about you?"

"Paul. Paul Metry." he answered.

"Well, Paul Metry, it looks like he's gone. Let's get going."

*********

"So, Paul." I began as we ate. "Why was he trying to kill you?"

"I'm not completely sure. But I think it had something to do with my dad." he answered.

"What about him?"

"He was murdered a few years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. My mom died soon after I was born, so my dad raised me. He was a spy. A real life spy. He was always working on some secret project; projects he couldn't even tell me about. Anyway, I came home one day and found that he'd been shot. He must have been there for a while, because he was really weak. Just before he died, he told me to remember something."

"Paul. The man gasped in pain.

he cried, shocked to see the state his father was in. Dad, what happened?

They want to prevent me. He mumbled incoherently. Stop mestop them

Who? Prevent you from what? Why?

Find Dufrene he mumbled.

"I think that man wanted to kill me to prevent me from delivering that message. I think he works for the people who killed my dad."

"Really? Well, excuse me if I think this is just a bit too James Bondish." I said derisively.

"That's what I thought actually." he laughed. "So how about you? What's your story?"

"Not much of a story, really." I replied. "I was abandoned when I was three. I was shipped to various foster homes because I was a pain. I ran away a year ago when I finally realized the only person I can depend on is myself."

"You live on your own?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"Yeah. You?"

"I have a guardian. Not a very good one, but I still have one."

"How old are you, kid?"

"Probably older than you are." he smirked.

"Try me."

"Nineteen."

"Me too. My birthday's in July, when's yours?"

"January." he replied. I couldn't help laughing.

"Okay. You got me beat."

"So, how about you? Where do you live?"

"I got my own place. I work at a knife shop in the mall. I survive." I shrugged.