Death Sentance { Semi-Advanced pafp }

A romance between an assassin and her potential target. Feel free to jump right in, no forms necessary.
The roleplay is set in a modern society, plotting can be discussed on this thread or via PM. The basic plot line as of now is for Hawk to complete the mission, without having to kill her target, possibly by helping them fake their death, but before that can happen, she must have a reason not to kill said target.

The roof tiles were slick with residual rain, making it difficult to keep steady footing, but Hawk had been in more perilous situations than this. The glare of the street lights helped her to avoid particularly wet patches, and her boots gripped the terracotta enough that she wasn't worried. She kept low, out of the view of the streets, and any late night walkers who might spot her shadow. She pressed her bare palms to the cool stone as she crept to the edge of the roof, avoiding the use of gloves for as long as she could. She peaked her head over the drop and scanned the ground below quickly. Deeming it safe, Hawk dropped onto the concrete in a crouching position, pausing for a full minute before she allowed herself to continue.

As the seconds passed by in her mind, she focused on her breathing and went over the mission instructions in her mind. It had been marked as a B rank kill, a level she hadn't bothered with in a long while, but she hadn't taken this assignment, it had been given to her. The details were odd, in the sense that most were non-existent. No name, no appearance, no age, hell, Hawk wasn't even told the gender. She had an address, a time, and a promise her target would be asleep and alone in their studio apartment. She was given no instructions to scout and her superior had made it very clear she wasn't to do anything other than her job. Normally, she would be given a weapon to use, or at least an idea of how the kill was to be carried out. Some clients even had the assassins repeat messages to the victims before their death, but this was also blank in the file. She was to get in, kill, and get out.

Bump

bump

Hawk was still on the balcony as the curtains were thrown shut, the only visible response being a slight dilation of her pupils. Her body was unnaturally still, so much so, she could have been mistaken for a shadow. This unfortunately had only allowed for a small glimpse of her target, just a flash of deep olive skin, bare feet and legs. She let out a small hiss of displeasure. They were supposed to be asleep.

With an even smaller sigh, she settled down on to the concrete. Protocol dictated she waited two hours. Hawk would wait fifteen minutes before finding another entrance, maybe twenty if she was feeling particularly patient tonight, but that was unlikely. She shifted backwards slowly and leaned against the railing of the balcony, doing her best to keep her silhouette hidden from the view of both the street and the person in the apartment. When she believed she was safe, she reached back and pulled the silky black cowl off of her head and face. With a less than graceful plop, her dark red curls fell from their tight position against her scalp. She ran her hand through her hair, grateful that the summer heat hadn't lasted into the night. Hawk had never done well in sweltering weather. It made her drowsy and unfocused.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist and suppressed a groan. Thirteen minutes, seventeen seconds. She still had two minutes before the minimal time she forced herself to wait was over. Screw it. It was a B Rank job and three years of knocking off political figures and drug lords had made her cocky. She pulled the cowl back down over her face and stood, her hands latching quickly to a nearby window. It was small, a bathroom probably, but unlocked and unused. It would be quiet and easy. Probably.

Hawk pried the bathroom window open, one hand clamped onto the ledge and the other wrapped around the trim of the glass, inching it upwards slowly. She watched as paint chips broke off and fluttered down towards the street, till they stuck to the rain damp brick and concrete. Using her teeth and an unnecessary amount of determination, she forced the gloves on each of her hands. Shoulda done that earlier, She chided herself, You know better.

With a huff, she pulled herself into the bathroom, bringing her legs up and landing in an almost silent crouch. She waited a moment and then stood, glancing around, having only the street light to illuminate room. She memorized the layout of the room in mere seconds, even noting the towel on the floor, before turning her attention to herself.

Hawk ran her hands over the coal colored catsuit that encased her body. She hated the thing, but it was standard and her other options of dress were slim and possibly more uncomfortable.

She ran through the list of necessary things in her head. Weapons; Two hunting knives, strapped to each leg, and a pistol with a silencer on her back. She hated guns. They were too loud and messy. She liked bows, them being the only weapon she really how to use before she had been recruited, but archery didn't do well in confined spaces. Gun and knives it was, then. The file; This was normally more helpful, but this time is gave her nothing. If there was more than one person, she would come back later and try again, but she hadn't heard any talking, so she should be ok.

Hawk reached for a small round disk at her side. She pressed it to the wall and removed her right glove for just a moment, pushing her thumb against it. The device turned on, a small hum and a low blue light coming from it. Until she shut it off, all camera's would play a five minute loop and most other electronic devices, including phones, would have no signal.

Running over the plan once more in her head, Hawk steadied her breathing and twisted the door knob slowly.

((By the way, I think your writing is lovely))

Reflexively, Hawk reached for the pistol on her back. Now was a good a time as any. The light from the bedroom illuminated Delilah and with her own eyes already adjusted to the darkness, she got a good view of her target for the first time that night. With the gun aimed, she studied the girl. A woman, probably around my age. She's crying, Hawk noted, observing the glistening tears and shuddered breaths. Her eyes moved down Delilah's body in a clinical way, looking for weaknesses and anomalies. Bruises. Hawk frowned. She stared at the dark purple and yellow blotches that marred the woman's skin.

There had been a client, a while back, one Hawk had gotten to talk with personally. A small, wiry woman, grey eyes, dark hair, bruises and cigarette burns covering her skin. The woman was taking a contract out on her husband. He kept her from leaving him with threats and more violence, so she had taken drastic measures. Assassins didn't do charity cases, and the woman had enough to pay, but Hawk had refused her share of the money, telling the woman, getting rid of the scum of the world was payment, or some other cheesy line.

Hawk bit her lip and put her gun back. She wasn't going to kill this woman. At least, not yet, not till she found out why.

((Don't worry about it~ ALL HAIL))

Hawk contemplated the situation for what was only a few seconds, but in the deathly still air, if felt like hours. She should kill this woman. That was her job, it was what she had been doing for a decent portion of her life, and yet she hesitated. That's how you get yourself killed or, god forbid, caught, She thought bitterly. In the end, her thirst to satisfy her curiosity overpowered her logic and what she had been taught

As she stood up straight, Hawk winced. So much for a cold-blooded killer. Olai would lose his shit if he saw her now, probably lock her in a box or something, force her to deal with another phobia head on. She shuddered at the thought, but reasoned that, if she did it right, no one would know she didn't complete the contract. What Olai didn't know, wouldn't make him mad.

Hawk grabbed her gun off her back once more. She needed the girl to not scream and pistols were pretty good motivators. She readjusted the cowl, making sure it covered everything but her eyes, and cocked the weapon, producing a small, almost unnoticeable *click*. With a few smooth steps, Hawk was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, her gun aimed at the huddled lump on the bed. She spoke forcefully, as clear and quick as she could through the dark fabric that covered her mouth, "Do not scream. If you scream, I will shoot you."

((It's one of my favorite podcasts too, but my current obsession is Archive81))

Hawk didn't lower the gun, worried any sort of weakness might cause Delilah to run screaming from the room. She took a careful step forward, watching the terrified woman through narrowed green eyes. She averted her gaze for a moment, pity for her seeping into her eyes. She didn't want to kill her. Most people pleaded, offered money, made threats or promises. Hawk had killed them without remorse or hesitation. This girl had just accepted it.

"Who are you?" She heard her say.

Hawk had always been tempted to say something dramatic when asked that question. Death incarnate, a nightmare, an eldritch horror beyond compare, the monster under your bed. And to some, perhaps, she was those things, but not to this woman.

She brought her eyes back to the woman, ignoring her question. Her curiosity would be satisfied and then she would make a decision on whether or not to finish the job. "Who wants you dead?" Hawk's voice was calm and collected, she was offering Delilah an option and if she was lucky, a way out.

Hawk glanced back at the array of bruises that covered Delilah's arms and slowly lowered her gun. She moved slowly and deliberately, like one would around a dog that had been kicked one too many times. She kept her voice calm and soft, leaving one hand locked around the gun and letting the other gesture to the injuries.

"And did they do that to you?"

She searched the girl's gaze, looking for the hint of a lie or a sign that she was going to make a run for it. Whether she actually killed her or not, Hawk couldn't allow her target to simply roam free. The contract had to seem like it was completed.

((Uh, kinda hard to explain. Tape recorders and monsters and other planes of reality. Also, as a warning, there's quite a bit of body horror in the second season and onward.))

Hawk bit her lip, an action that would be mostly invisible under the cowl, thankfully. She studied the woman for a moment longer before signing. With an almost annoyed shake of her head, she made a decision. A stupid one, probably, but a decision nonetheless.

"Alright, you have two options," Hawk spoke, sounding much more causal than she had before, "Option One: I shoot you. Honestly, this is the easier choice for the both of us. You die, I complete the contract, your ex realises his terrible, possibly alcohol induced, mistake and spirals into a guilt imbued depression. A pretty likely scenario, but the problem is, I don't want to kill you. You seem like a decent person and it would weigh on my conscious. Option Two: The hard one. I fake your death. You will never see your loved ones or friends again. I will take you somewhere that is not here or any other place you have connections. You will get a new name, a new background, and a new appearance. You will assume the identity of a stranger, but you will have a chance to start over, provided my superior doesn't find out and murder us both."

Hawk did her best to remain unattached to the options, keeping her voice level and unaffected by the sobs of the woman. She was not weak and she would leave this choice to her target.

Hawk let out a huff and reached down to her leg, pulling one of the hunting knives from the strap that secured it. She tossed it on the bed infront of Delilah and it landed with a soft thud on the comforter. She readjusted the cowl over her mouth, itching to get somewhere she could take it off, but at this point, the woman on the bed could still run and killing or not, the contract had to be completed.

"You need to get blood on your sheets. Don't cut your palm, use the back of your arm or your thigh or something. It's sharp, so it won't take a lot of pressure. Mess up your bed, knock over a lamp or some books, there needs to have been a struggle. When we get some place I don't have to worry about getting my blood, you're going to scratch my face. I'll get you to a safe house and then I have to make a report to my superiors."

Hawk took a few steps forward, glancing about the room.

"I will tell them that you caught me off guard before I stabbed you. You knocked the knife out of my hands and managed to claw my face, drawing blood. I strangled you and didn't feel like cleaning your fingers of DNA or cutting your hand off, so I disposed of your body. They will scold me, smack me upside the head, maybe, for being an idiot, but if this is done right, they won't suspect anything."