When Assassins all over the city are being killed off one by one in order to 'Preserve the Order of the State', the city descends into paranoid chaos and it's up to the remaining assassins to return the order that the city was built on.

She gazed longingly at the clock on the wall, willing it to stop. Of course, she knew that it would never happen, but the thought lodged in her mind.
Tick. The minute hand snapped into position. Ten minutes to midnight.
Sighing, she drifted towards the mahogany desk at the far end of the room, sliding the top draw open. Inside lay her work wear; a skintight leather outfit. It had served her well these past few years, which had been the busiest in the organisation's history. A few patches of blood remained but these only added to the shock her victims felt when they saw her.
Tick, tock, tick. The clock continued ticking behind her. She tried to ignore it, but to no avail. She pulled up a chair and sat down, absent-mindedly scratching the surface of the desk. A click resounded through the empty room, and a small compartment opened up from the flat wood. Reaching in and rummaging through the clinking objects inside, her hand curled round what she was searching for, and a smirk crept along her face.
Tick, tock, tick. She'd had enough. In one swift movement she stood, kicked the chair aside and flung the knife. The light glinted off the surface as it passed the window, and if one could see it in slow motion, they would've been able to make out the exotic patterns that ran down the blade. In real time, the blade hit the clock face, burying itself hilt deep into the complicated mechanisms that turned the hands. A satisfying twang hit the ears of the woman, and she breathed a sigh of relief. However, a second later she heard a familiar noise.
Tick, tock, tick. She groaned, remembering the fact that, as a magical clock, it did not rely solely on the cogs inside to tell the time. Striding towards the clock, she attempted to look unfazed, but in fact, to an observant viewer looked as defeated as she felt. There was no way out of this. She knew it.

As she walks throught the moonbeams penetrating the window, let us take a moment to observe this character. Her long black hair falls down just beyond her shoulders, settling over the t-shirt she currently wears. Her eyes shine a brilliant, almost unnatural blue, and her face, while not perfect, is still remarkably beautiful for one of her proffession. However, she still has a short, faint scar running down her left cheek, recieved many years ago during training. She'd taught that man a lesson. Painfully.
As she takes a step forward, the fabric of her muddy jeans stretches against her legs. Whilst she knows she needs a new pair, she prefers to save her money for a later date, rather than spend it on comparative trivialities. After all, if she needs to assassinate a man, it is better to have a sharp knife than trendy jeans.

Reaching the clock, she lightly grabbed the knife and pulled it out, spinning it and depositing it in her right pocket. She was about to turn, before she decided to check, peering into the thin hole left by the knife. Unable to see anything, she sighed. Stepping back, she recorded the time: 11:53. Seven minutes to midnight. Turning, she returned to her desk, retrieving the leather outfit. She placed it on the bed, turned to the small compartment which held her knives and reached in. Fumbling along the top she felt a groove, gripped it and turned the plate. A satisfying click ran through the room, and she grabbed both ends of the desk top, pulling it straight off. Inside lay an assortment of different swords, daggers, axes, darts and arrows. Reaching into her left pocket, she retrieved a folded piece of worn paper, unfolded it and read.
Completely sure of her assignment, she peered back at the collection of weaponry, retrieving a set of 9 more knives identical to the silver one in her pocket, and a shortsword from the back of the desk. Holding the blade up into the moonlight, she ran her fingers along the runic patterns that covered the blade, and tested the edge for sharpness. It would do, she thought, moving to the bed. She checked the time again. 11:57. Three minutes.
She began to prepare.

11:59. The woman adjusted her outfit, stretching it slightly. It was a bit small but it would have to do. Reaching down for her weapons, she place the ten silver knives into fasteners that ran down her right leg, and sheathed the shortsword on her back. Striding to the window, she threw them open and felt the cold air rush over her. Crouching she look down at the 36 stories of air. It looked spectacular, the dots of light moving around below that must have been cars. She went into a pouncing stance and waited.

As the clock struck midnight she leapt into the darkness without consideration, a black shape moving through the night. Undetectable, unseen, her victim would have no idea what fear was until he saw her. She recollected her assignment brief - a rich man who had supported the project to remove the assassin presence in the city. A so called Mr. Blake, she did not recognize the name. All she knew was that he was currently staying the building opposite to hers on the 7th floor. She judged the distance and her speed, and swung her arm out accordingly. The hidden dart gun fired, impacting exactly where she'd aimed, and she gripped the attached cord tightly. She could feel herself pulled forwards by the retracting rope. She'd be there any sec-

Her eyes grew wide for a second, before settling back to normal. Her mind became hazy and she felt light-headed, looking down at her chest.
6 inches of arrow protruded from it, and blood was beginning to soak into her outfit. She stared at it for a few seconds, before emitting a slight giggle. It didn't occur to her that she was bleeding lethal amounts of blood; she was too giddy. She was about to let out another giggle before her head smashed into the brick wall of the building, snapping her neck. The cord continued retracting, raising her bloodied and broken corpse up, almost as a symbol. It wasn't until next morning before anyone reported her death, her body hanging limply from the dart embedded in the wall, a giddy smile frozen on her face, an arrow through her chest. Blood completely soaked her clothing and some of the wall.

"A symbol to all who oppose us, to all who threaten the order of the state."

The End

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