Monica De Noir moped in her prison cell. Where she had been for the past six months. She kept going over it again and again in her mind. How could she of failed? She was a De Noir! A De Noir never failed in a kill! Yet, she had. She was fourteen! She should have been able to handle of couple of easy targets like the Dirty Pair!
But they had beaten her like she was nothing. Nothing! At the end they were more annoyed with her attempts of killing them than anything! Dammit! It wasn't supposed to be this way! It was supposed to be like in the practice runs! Where she had killed them without trouble!
She hadn't heard a word from her family the entire time she had been in here. With her one phone call she tried her mother, nothing hurt worse than what her mother had done then. Before the Pink Sniper could so much as get two words out, she had hung up on her, hung up . . . she had hung up on her own daughter! It was as if she wasn't worth talking to as if . . . there was no 'as if', she wasn't worth talking to, she was a failure, the first De Noir EVER to fail in a kill. This had to be a nightmare. But the juvenile detention uniform she was wearing felt far too real to be a dream.
Monica didn't expect to have a visitor that day or any day. No one came to see her. She wasn't worth seeing. She was a failure: unworthy of anyone presence.
Monica didn't recognize the man in the business suit who sat on the out side of the glass; he merely slipped something to her under the small slit under the clear barrier, and walked away. Monica hide the piece of paper on her and went back to her cell.
When she was sure no one was looking she took it out and gazed at it.
It was a photograph, of an eighteen-month-old child from the looks of it. She recognized him from the news, the bastard child of a billionaire who should have been dead if the assassins had just done their jobs. Instead, they had let Kai of the Dirty Pair beat them, and the brat had survived. But the mark of course, was still active, but the child was in police protection at the moment. Or more precisely, for the last few months under Kai's care.
Monica saw the writing on the bottom of the photo. It was a short message, but it's meaning was clear enough.


To be continued? . . . .

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