Chapter 3

She woke up to the annoying beeps of her landline phone, her head fuzzy and she was painfully aware of the vomit residue in that she gagged and turned to the toilet bowl to rid of the uneasiness in her stomach. After she was sure that she won't throw up again, she staggered to the sink and swiftly grabbed her toothbrush and the newly bought peppermint toothpaste and scrubbed her teeth and tongue to get the vomit aftertaste away.  Five minutes and she was done and considered showering but remembered that someone had left her a voice message so she headed for the living room instead.

She clicked on the button to listen to it, throwing herself on the battered couch and closed her eyes.

Café across your apartment. Half past four. Incognito.

She groaned and looked at the wall clock high above the TV.

Quarter to three.

She returned to the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes with her - black tee and a dark navy jeans and a set of underwear - and took of her clothes and threw them to the wastebasket. She didn't have much time so she skipped the bath tub and stood under the shower of cold water for about 10 minutes, clearing her mind and getting into the mood. She washed with soap and shampoo soon after in a robotic manner.

Her eyes were blank, her brown irises for some reason seemed darker than usual and there wasn't a trace of emotion on her face. It's her game face. It's time for a hunt.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A woman wearing light blue blouse and a darker shade of blue mini skirt that stopped just above the knee was sitting at a seat facing the door of the café, a steaming mug of hot cocoa sat in front of her. Her spectacles that rested on the bridge of her nose were sliding down as she hunched over a document that she was studying. To the people watching, she looked like just any student or businesswoman and slightly of a klutz and nerdy but people had said not to judge a book by its cover; a person by their appearance.

She was waiting for a contractor to help with her… problem. She wasn't sure who or what to expect since she was told to go over to the café and wait for someone to approach her and to prepare the documents pertaining to the case that she's assigning them. Of course she was afraid of dealing with people like them. Heck, she was terrified but she could no longer endure what she has been through and she's willing to take the risk if it meant that her problem will be eliminated. She found them in the dark net but unlike what she's seen in movies, she needed to meet the person face-to-face as opposed to communication through emails. That's the very reason why she's fidgety and nervous.

The doorbell jingled and a person sporting a short hazel brown hair cut, dressed in a short sleeved V-neck t-shirt, a sports watch and a pair of dark jeans entered. The woman was momentarily dazed by the lean figure that the person have, her eyes scanning the tattoo peeking under the sleeve before realizing that she was staring and the person was headed her way! She diverted her eyes, hoping that the person didn't notice.

"You're here for an interview?"

The woman initially had a confused expression before realizing that the person was the one she's been waiting for. She had been told of the secret password to identify the contractor but she hadn't expected the person to be early.

"Ye-yes."

The person took a seat across of her, casually ordering an iced milk tea and practically ignoring her.

"The document?"

Her hands shook as she slid the file to the person. She was sure that it's a female because of the voice but the face reading the case file was that of a male. She was so close to asking the person when the person looked up and their eyes match. The eyes staring into her were dark blue and she couldn't help but continue to stare into the depth of it.

"In case you're wondering, this is not my real face. So if you regret doing this, going to the police with a description won't help. Besides, if you break the contract, don't expect to get away unscathed," she whispered.

Feeling threatened, she stood up.

"I-If th-there's not-nothing else, I'll get going now."

"It's in the agreement. Pay for my drink and I'll start on the job as soon as it is possible. Consider it, a down payment."

She agreed, leaving a 10,000 won bill on the table and tried her best not to trip over her own jittery legs. She didn't care for the change as long as she could get away from the contractor.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In her apartment, there was a corner where she had set up a table, a dart board and a mini sofa across of it. It was her 'workstation' where she assessed the details of her job, making sure to memorize every bits of information and burned the case file after. It was as if her mind was a vast vault of compartments, each locker labeled with a name - or number - and if you peek inside, there would be a full profile of the person. Ever since the horror of her first job, she tried various methods to separate herself from her emotions and one day, she decided that she'll etch everything in her mind and file them all away, secured in the vault. She could pretend that she was a clerk or someone who do archive work. It was stressful for the first few jobs but she learned to adapt and her method proved to be useful because she will not have any incriminating evidence in her loft while keeping in mind the necessary information that could help with the progression of her job.

She was currently at that corner, studying for her next assignment. There were photos of the target from the front, side and back - much like a mug shot - that were all taken secretly. It was the requirement as the target might be in an obscure place and being able to identify the target from the back or merely by seeing a special feature or tattoo would be a major plus for a swift execution of the plan. After scrutinizing the picture, her eyes went back to the name and stared at it for minutes before reading the rest of the profile. She may be a cold, ruthless assassin - though not much by choice - but she had her own principle; the prey and predator both know each other's name. So, it was of great importance that the prey dies on the spot before she escaped the scene because a dying message will be a pain in the neck. Her boss called her idiotic for bringing trouble to her door herself but let her do as she pleases. After all, she was just another piece on the chess board.

She never skipped a word because despite the many useless descriptions or stories of why they - the clients - want the targets to be eliminated, her life was saved once because of those anecdotes. Like that one time when the stubborn dying target was holding onto her so tight, she could barely release the vice-like grip when she remembered that he was allergic to pepper and coincidentally enough, she was carrying her pepper spray in her pocket. She sprayed those into his eyes for good measure and he let go of her, started to sneeze and yelled how his eyes stung. Maybe she had unconsciously kept that detail in her mind and her instinct told her to bring the spray with her. It was one of her few messiest assignments but what's important was that she kept her life and managed to stay out of jail.

She never really cared for the money reward but since the client would go to the 'agency' first to assign the job, the 'agency' would grade the assignment ranking from the most dangerous at SS to the least E and would tell the price accordingly.

W10,000,000.

It's a C. An abusive father, owns a company with annual income of W100,000,000 but has been facing crisis with the declining economy. He's a dictator, both to his daughter and the company. Today's a Tuesday so he'll be working overtime.

Perfect.

Grabbing a dart, she threw it along with the picture.

The dart pinned it onto the dartboard.

The face staring back at her was smiling.

With the dart stabbing the left eye.

For a moment, she lost her sanity.

A satisfied grin.

Game on!