She's The Blade

Before I start, I wanna say one thing to pankeekii: These goggles, they do nothing!

Chapter One: A Murder Most Foul

It was a cold autumn night in Paris, France, one where there was quiet everywhere one would go. The streets were empty, devoid of any cat, dog, or mouse, let alone a person. Save for one drunken soul, zigzagging through a desolate cobblestone street. One hand was clutching a holster at his hip; the other was swinging at his side holding a bottle of rum, every so often slopping some on himself.

The man, Louis Chardón, was seemingly content with how his night had gone. Two traitors dead, twenty thousand francs, and not a piece of damning evidence to condemn him in sight. He sighed loudly, singing a jubilant French tune, slicing through the dark silence like a very blunt, off-key knife.

Chardón was an infamous mob leader, better known as "The Shadow". His infamosity came from his ability to evade capture continuously and without fail. The evidence the police found, if any, always seemed to point to someone else. That someone was usually found dead in the sanctity of his or her home upon being called in for questioning.

Little did the drunk mobster know, he was no longer the only one out that night. Watching his every move from atop a three-story house stood a tall menacing figure, clad in black, with a silver breastplate reflecting the dim moonlight. A mask not entirely unlike a gas mask hid the figure's face from view, but if the face were uncovered its eyes would be narrowed as they watched their next victim.

The shadowy figure leaped off the building soundlessly and began to stalk its prey. Louis, too intoxicated to suspect anything, carried on with a rendition of "Frere Jaque".

Twin switchblades glinted maliciously at the figure's arms now. The figure caóme closer to Chardón, sleek and stealthy, like a cat.

(AN: yes, I know I am modeling this character after Kroenen from Hellboy, and that those thing's he uses are called tonfas, but he's really cool and I could never use "blade versions of tonfa's" whenever I mention them. And "switchblade" sounds better. So yeah.)

So close now, so close-

Swish-went the blades in a dizzying display of glinting and spinning metal.

Louis turned around to find the source of the noise and-

Slash-a cracked scream emerged from Chardón's throat as a lone blade severed his jugular. As he crumpled to the ground, his eyes went blank, his mouth went slack, and his face was empty.

Echoes of "ding, dang, dong" rang out as the dark assassin fled from the scene.

Across town the morning after…

"Remy!" a muffled voice called. A rough, graffitied oak door was yanked open to reveal a tall, redheaded woman. She stalked in holding a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream.

"Wake up or I'll kill your baby." She said, in a tone which clearly stated that she could not believe she was threatening to kill a bottle of alcohol.

Suddenly the partially covered lump's eyes shot open. The green orbs filled with shock and betrayal, causing their black specks to stand out.

"No! Please, no! I'm up, a swe-" the woman called Remy was unable to finish her sentence as she tumbled from her makeshift bed of a dirty mattress and milk crates. Her face shot up to her smirking friend, eyes narrowed in a glare. Sarabella's hazel eyes flashed with amusement.


"Here," Sarabella sighed, handing Remy the bottle. A look of relief passed over Remy's visage as she popped out the cork and took a small sip.

"I got the paper," Sarabella said, handing her now content friend the Paris Tribune. Remy scanned over the paper with little interest until…

"Did you see this, 'Bella?" she asked, waving the paper around. The headline over the seventh and eighth page read:


The subtitle read 'Louis Chardón, a beloved contributor to our justice system, killed yesterday on the outskirts of Paris".

Sarabella snorted. "Beloved to those who didn't know him."

"He was the one who killed your parents…" Remy said, as more of a statement than an inquiry.

"Yes." Sarabella said, looking around the small room in the back of her bar that they called "home". She had a kind of hardness in her voice, and her eyes were suddenly very shiny.

"I have to go," said Sarabella, "I'm already late for work, thanks to you." She winked, Remy laughed softly, and the door swung shut behind her roommate.

With her pale, bare foot, she tucked a shining silver blade under her bed, out of sight.