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“They call her Orlaralei.” Wes said as he slid over a black envelope. He was a n older man that had been in this business for quite the time. He was also the man that had rescued her. in some sense, he had grown to be the father she had [I lost].Though, Noemi often wondered about her birth parents. Wes had simply said that she was given up and into the program or a price she hoped wherever her parents were, that the money they received had made their lives better. She figured it would be hard to eb bitter about people she had never met and more than likely would never meet. She reached for the black envelope, fingering through the images provided. Most were of course far away shots which eld Noemi to believe this was one person hard to get ahold of. But why?
“Who is she?” She asked as her eyes studied the features of the woman. She was beautiful, smooth skin and bright red lipstick that only made her lips even more kissable. Noemi quickly placed the pictures back in the envelope, looking up at Wes a she reached for the glass of water.
“She belongs to the Org. She’s one of their best.”
“Really?” Noemi responded with a raised brow. She found it hard to believe that the petite woman that she saw in the pictures was capable of anything. She seemed more like a model than an assassin. “News is she recently got a hold of Danny Trevejo.” Noemi was even more impressed. Danny was a man that was hard to get ahold of. He had a family to protect and that meant he was a secretive man that took all precautions to keep his family safe and especially so separate from his business life. He worked for Reginald Gidecci, a well-known man that practically controlled all of the dark web. Wes’ team had been trying to go after him for the last five years and now there was talk circulating that Orlaralei had his whereabouts. That would mean Noemi needed to get the information out of her.
“Do you think you’ll be able to handle this?” Wes asked, a teasing smile on his face.
“Piece of cake.” Noemi smirked in return. During the briefing they ended up having breakfast. After finishing, the two headed out of the diner.
“Be careful Noemi,” Wes said, his hands reaching for his black leather gloves. This was a sentiment that Wes always shared, but this seemed different.
“As always Old Top.” Noemi said with a wink before they both went their separate waves. And so the game began.
The screams of her victims' pain filled the grey walled room. His hands clutched at the cold metal chair so hard that his knuckles turned white, tears streaked down his agony painted face and eyes pleaded for her to stop.
Orlaralei scoffed and then laughed. "Don't look at me like that Danny. This isn't my fault. I told you fair and square that if you don't tell me where your boss is, I was going to make you. You decided that you wanted the hard way." She stated, picking up a small dagger from the table behind her. Then, she focused her attention back on the bound man. "So, I'm going to give you one last chance. Tell me where your boss is or I'm going to plunge this blade into your neck and drag it down to your heart." She threatened, yet her words sounded like they were a promise. Danny simply shook his head rather frantically, whimpering and thrashing about under the rope. She sighed gently before pressing the point of the dagger to his skin. She began to apply pressure but before she could break it, he caved. "Fine! Fine! I will tell you where my boss is… Just look after my wife and children." He sobbed this out and sighed in relief when the knife was taken away. "Of course we will look after them Danny, we're not monsters." Orlaralei chuckled and sat herself upon the table to further listen to the information Danny was giving up to save his life. She couldn't help but pity him now. The man would be set free and of course would go straight to his boss. The organisation she worked for would provide safety and security for his family, but the same could not be done for him and he would most likely meet a slow, tortuous death by the hands of her target.
She left the room as soon as the medics entered. She slipped off the bloodied, plastic gloves and binned them. Her goals clicked against the floor, straight black hair swaying slightly from side to side, a satisfied smile on her lips. That was another job well done in her eyes. She decided to take the rest of the day off, but the life of an assassin never left her an easy or dull moment. She loved the thrill of it all, hunting down targets, torturing victims and even shooting a bullet into their unsuspecting hearts. But occasionally, she would wish for a simpler, average life.
From the moment she was born, it was decided what she would be. Her parents were both assassins and they were determined to make their daughter one too. From a young age, she had learned how to fight, she was pressured to do well in her studies. This never left room for love and affection, making Orlaralei to get rather heartless. She grew up without friends yet excelled in school. She graduated with flying colours and once she was old enough, her parents offered her to their organisation's training program. She was accepted and continued to prove her excellence. Now she was one of the company's most valued assassins.
She still had no social life outside of work and she often found herself craving human attention and affection. Despite having a beautiful apartment with a gorgeous view, she would often wake up in a stranger's bed… Orlaralei had gone home that day and immediately taken a bath to soak away the stress, ease the tension and wash the dirt. Once out and dry, she dressed herself in a tight, revealing outfit with matching makeup before hitting the town. Her parents did not know this side to her, the part that was untamed and carefree. The part where she would take shot after shot of burning alcohol or how she would strut up to the dancefloor and lose herself in the rhythm and beat of the pumping music, sway her hips side to side and run her hands over her body.
That night she locked eyes with an attractive female, she sat at the bar, drinking hand and staring hungrily at her. Orlaralei smirked and placed on a show for her whilst keeping eye contact. She then beckoned the mysterious woman over with one finger. They danced the night away until she was taken to the others apartment and she was roughly pressed up against the wall, lips attacking her neck and hands ripping her clothes from her body…
She awoke that morning by a stream of sunlight streaming through the peak in the curtains and by the sound of running water. Her one night stand was taking a shower. Perfect… Orlaralei quickly slipped out of the bed and re-dressed herself, even stealing a jacket from her temporary lover so that she could face the cold morning. She left with the click of the door and she ordered a taxi. As she was sitting in the back of the car, she received a phone call.
"Hello? Orlaralei speaking."
"You have a new target." Came an automatic, robotic recorded voice. "Come to HQ immediately."
She sighed as the call ended, she wanted to have the morning to herself too, but she was excited to see who her new challenge would be.
The soft enticing trumpets of Edith Piaf’s Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien pulsed gently in Noemi’s ears, the sweet sound of the singer calming her. Slender digits, long., played with each piece of cold metal that clinked and clicked into place as she continued completing the assembly of the weapon. She eyed her work, light brown eyes glazing over the steel gun. She’d always take care of her babies, though firmly believed in hand to hand combat – sometimes a bullet just didn’t get the job done. That said, satisfied, she stood from her crouched position, no longer shielded by the shadows. Still, it was the perfect spot, and staring ahead she had the perfect shot toward her target: Dimitri Lagemann, a Russian agent that had redefined [I going rogue], currently lavishing in the presence of three barely dressed women running around the hotel room.
[font courier Noemi often liked to wonder if that’s how her life would have been had she not suffered the fate resulting of a [I not so great] childhood. Life was tough in the Congo. Nights of bone chilling screams of people being slaughtered through the night still tormented her in her sleep. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of the blood that slipped through her fingers as she cradled her mother’s chilling body against her. Her father was gone, eaten by tigers. At least that’s what the adults would say when she was around, but as she grew younger, she was no longer naïve toward the reality of her world. The twelve year old would soon discover though that she still knew very little about what was going on.
Her mother wasn’t her mother.
Her father not her father.
Instead she was the result of a program created purely to breed fighters, children that grew up knowing the language and with genes that would make them deadly weapons. That night when she lost her mother, a man in all black entered, the blade stained red. Noemi was frightened, but her eyes saw the symbol on his wrist. It was a symbol she had seen on many of the envelopes her [I mother] had received: money that had helped to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. So, she reached her hand out, and they left into the dark. ]
Noemi took a deep breath, a small gasp befalling pouty pink lips the gun fired. She watched as the bullet sliced through the air, above the heads of unsuspecting civilians walking the streets of city, enjoying themselves. Satisfied, she closed her eyes against the sound of the women screaming as Dimitri’s now lifeless body draped against the edge of the king sized bed.
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Noemi rolled over in bed, her hands crossing the empty spot beside her to reach for the phone that was violently vibrating against the end table. She groaned, noting the time that blared in her face: [I five in the morning]. It was her day off, and by that it meant she had a day to at least pretend to be a normal civilian. Instead, she was getting a call from her boss, a private number, but it was the only phone she received calls from considering her social life was close to none. Even when she did give her number, it was a track phone immediately taken apart and dumped in a river the night after promising she’d call. Dick move, but the twenty-six year old woman had come to learn already how much easier it was on the spirit to have no one to worry about considering her line of work. It made for a lonely life, but it had some perks: a nice apartment, a more than substantial bank account, and well she got to travel. That was a perk right?
“Decker,” she said as she answered.
“Pier 39.” The phone soon went dead. She raised a brow at that statement as it was unusual to meet in public. Noemi soon got out of bed, feet walking across cold hardwood floors and towards the large bathroom. Her routine had always been the same; her playlist automatically starting the minute she turned the water on in the shower. Thick coarse curls were immediately tamed by warm water and mango scented conditioner. Oddly the shower was the only place she let her guard down. In any other case, even in the safety of her own home, she would be cautious with each opening of the doors or turning of a corner.
Pulling the hair into a slick bun then, she changed into an all-black ensemble, tossing on a thick grey scarf which the early mornings of San Francisco called for and after lacing up a pair of doc martens, she grabbed her coat and stepped out. The halls were quiet of the apartment complex, not surprising considered that it was considered more of a stash house for wealthy officials to bring their mistresses and make backhand deals: the perfect cover for someone like her who didn’t need anyone knocking on her door asking for sugar.
She pressed the button for the elevator to go down, eventually walking out onto the crowded streets of downtown San Francisco, swarming all year round with tourists and the average college student or businessperson. She stuck her hands in her pockets, managing to catch a cable car before it pulled off. It was a bit of a novice at this point, but she liked it compared to the cramped buses. Through the flock of pigeons and seagulls she made her way toward Boudin, spotting the familiar grey speckled cap. She took a seat.
“We’ve got trouble,” was simply said.
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