Red-Hot FuryMature

Name: Charlotte Cole (alias: Rouge Remington) 
Year of Death: 1945
Total Reaps: -19
Place of Residence: A shack at the end of Stepford Way
Day Job: Assassin


I shuffled through the crowd, my eyes glued to the floor. The subway station I was standing in was practically always busy, and I had to say it worked to my advantage.

My target came into my vision, and as he slipped by I cleaned out his pockets.

Wallet, cigarettes, a folded-up picture of him smiling with a little girl in his arms.

I turned, boarded the subway he was walking onto, and, bumping into him, let Amor's barrel peek through the side of my coat.

Two shots. The background noise and silencer muffled them quite a bit, and it was only after I'd wrestled back out of the subway and the doors shut that people started screaming.

I had just emerged into the night, hailing myself a cab, when I felt my phone buzzing. Another meeting the next day. Just another barrel of monkeys, huh.

When I got back to my place I didn't find Beatrice, and I didn't blame her either. It was a pretty rundown place. That was the point. 

 I stepped over some loose tile in the bathroom and twisted the taps, the right one counterclockwise three times and the left clockwise once, and the right one a quarter of the way back again.

The floor let out a groan and I lifted the hidden trapdoor open, pulling it shut behind me and walking along the tunnels, weaving through the many forks in the path. 

Old Jim had been a senile nutjob on his deathbed, but I'd been to his place enough times when I was alive to know my way around. Eventually I got to the cold metal door and pushed it open. 

I flicked the switch and the lights sparkled on, gleaming off the shining wooden floors. The place was exactly the way it used to be; the bar stretching along the wall lined with taps and tall stools, the gorgeous piano in the corner, billiards table in the middle. 

All that was missing were the patrons, the smoke, and the musicians.

The place had been roaring in its time until, of course, I put it out of business. Now it was mine, pretty funny if you think about it. The great thing about it was that it was built like a fortress to keep the fuzz out, with the maze of tunnels leading in and another maze leading out. Believe you me, there were a lot of dead ends and collapsed sections. 

I'd made a room for myself in the walk-in supply pantry, and as I walked in I put Amor and Bellum down on the dresser beside the bottle of Chateau Margaux. 

They were my oldest guns. But they were also my most reliable, with their names engraved on their sides in flowing script.

I wasn't one to be sentimental, but I liked to pay my respects. I walked to the wall, pushed in one of the bricks and waited as a section of the wall slid aside.

I had to duck to get through, but the room always put a smile on my face. 

The armory. 

After spending the rest of the night cleaning blades and barrels, and spending some quality time with Clyde, I realized with a sigh that it was nearing the time of the meeting.

I decided on redeeming myself appearance-wise and put on a short red dress, slipping on a leather jacket to store my pistols (and a few other goodies) in. 

If there was one thing I'd learned with time, it was how to look good while armed to the teeth. 

A short while later I was entering the Heartland Cafe, finding where the team was gathered and sitting down.

So I was fashionably late. It was called making an entrance.

Hekate, however, didn't look pleased to see me. At all.

I pulled out the little book from my pocket, flipping through the hundreds of filled pages to the day's date. 

"What the hell is this?" I asked instantly, flipping back and forwards again to make sure I was on the right page.

"That," Hekate said pointedly, "Is what you get for shirking your responsibilities."

Oh brother. She was even worse than Hermes.

"I don't remember you telling me to babysit." I hissed, knowing full well that Beatrice was chewing her lip nervously.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Hekate shot back, "You're being punished. Arguing is only going to make it worse."

I stood, banging the table with my fist. The newbies winced but Hekate didn't bat an eye.

"I don't give a damn about your punishments." I said coolly, "You can take them and shove them up your ass, for all I care. But don't pretend you have any control over me, or what I choose to do."

She looked somewhat surprised, but more amused.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah, some tramp with control issues."

With that I turned, storming out of the place. She could rack up the punishments as much as she wanted. I wasn't going to do anything. 

The End

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