Name: Charlotte Cole (alias: Rouge Remington)
Year of Death: 1945
Total Reaps: -5
Place of Residence: A shack at the end of Stepford Way
Day Job: Assassin
A day off. A day off. Hallelujah amen.
I looked at the other reapers, all still sitting in shock.
Beatrice was nursing what looked like a claw mark. Fred looked like he was itching to smoke a cigarette.
I didn’t want to think about how the exhaustion I felt translated to my face.
After thinking for a second I hopped to my feet, trying to ignore how much my feet hurt.
"I'm outta this joint."
I strolled down the street with a spring in my step, impaired only marginally by the 5-inch heels. I hated to say it, but Hekate wasn't half bad. It was almost a pity, really...
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket, walking quickly.
"Rouge." a voice said, obviously masked with a machine.
"Remington." I replied, letting my feet guide me towards Stepford Way.
"21 00 hours. La Roux."
The line clicked shut and I stepped into the telephone booth nearby, reaching behind the payphone and pulling out the manila envelope.
Looked like I had plans.
Might as well take Clyde out for the night.
Being a reaper could be a pain. Scratch that, it was a pain.
I looked at myself in the mirror, my plain brown hair and honey-coloured eyes. My convenient, built in disguise.
It was kind of dumb, really. Anyone I'd known while I was alive was dead, anyways. I just got stuck being shorter and...boring-er.
My vocabulary had really been starting to suffer too.
I sighed, checking my makeup one last time, and headed out of the house.
I pulled open the garage, flicking on the rather weak lightbulb.
"Clyde, let's hit the town, shall we?"
The street whizzed by, wind whipping through my hair. Or, at least, the part of my hair that wasn't in my visored helmet.
Clyde's engine rumbled happily as we sped along, the new finish gleaming in the streetlights.
Worth every penny.
I quickly pulled over to a rather upscale club, parking Clyde right by the front and headed inside. I wasn't going to be long, anyways.
I was met with an impressive array of strobe lights and smoke machines. Not as classy as Eon, but bearable.
As soon as I got inside I dumped my jacket by the door, fixing my hair and adjusting the ridiculously high skirt (if you could call it that) of my dress and the thin belt at my waist.
It took all my years of weaving through speakeasies and pubs to find my way through the crowd, scanning my surroundings for the face in the envelope.
I spotted a booth and my hit. Bingo.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked over, mustering up the best Russian accent I could.
"Agency send me."
The target looked at me, surprised, but his friend grinned and gave him a reassuring nod.
I wasn't lying. An agency did send me.
I almost felt bad as I led him by the hand to the bathroom. The hit was young, running for senator, and kind of shy about the whole situation. Wasn't a bad dancer either.
In another life I might have let him go. But with phase two rapidly approaching...I needed all the money I could get my hands on. And that meant no mercy.
As soon as we were past the bathroom door I began to reach into my purse. I didn’t feel like drawing things out. The club was suffocating. My patience was running thin.
I cursed in my head when I heard the door opening again, and quickly pulled the target into a corner.
If there was one thing I didn't need, it was a witness.
Luckily, the intruder either had very little to drink or was uncomfortable with Mr. Politician and I necking in the same room and left in a few minutes.
I freed one of my hands, reached into my purse, and pulled out a handgun.
He backed up a few steps, terrified. I raised Bellum to his forehead.
"I'm sorry, baby, but it's time to say goodnight."
I was about to pull the trigger when I noticed the leaking sink. The drops of water were falling in slow motion. It had started too early.
Shit. A reaper was coming.
I was usually in a position for a quick getaway with other hits; a crowd to blend into, a cab to jump into or something or the other that would hide me from anyone taking a reap that might want to snitch on me. Then again, usually there was no reaper coming for my targets.
I used two bullets. The first freed their soul, and the second killed them. Time only started to slow after the first bullet when their death was imminent.
I didn't know what the gods thought of a reaper being a torpedo on the side. I didn't want to find out, either.
I hid in the nearest stall, trying to stifle my anger.
I couldn't lose the hit. But I couldn't give myself away either.
I heard the door open, and I heard the steps of who must have been the reaper.
There was only one thing I could do. Shoot the reaper, take the hit, and beat it the hell out of there. The reaper might go through a world of pain, but they would only be incapacitated for the time it would take to regenerate. Immortality and all. If I played my cards right they wouldn't even have the chance to see my face.
I eased the door open a crack, and took my shot. I heard a body crumpling to the floor.
I ran to finish off the mark, but froze for a second, seeing who exactly I'd shot.