Rating Information:

This thread is rated [M] for mature purposes. Please be advised of graphic violence, weaponry, blood, wounds, language, and possible sensual situations.


The warm glow of the rising sun broke through the dark and seclusion of night. Even in a city that featured over 10 million residents, just as many lamp lights, and towering skyscrapers there was something to be feared in the darkness. That which came out of shadow was always destined to return. Moments of fleeting violence, a dark stain upon a pristine horizon. No matter how small a spot or corner, what lurked there would always find a way, there was no escape. Victims were already caught in the web, even if they could not see or feel it. Even if the victims still had the freedom to move, to continue on in their petty daily returns they would have no earthly idea that the date and time of their death was marked, and was closer than they could ever hope to imagine.

Death could be anyone or anything, it could carry on it's shoulders any sound even the most mundane, like a squeaking wheel of a room service cart that was forced to turn as it trundled down a well lit hallway. A hallway that smelled like cheap perfume, that squeaking would still ring out despite being muffled by the high pile of the carpet beneath it. The light blue a solid block interweaved with gold in ornate designs that at one time had been a signifier of wealth and power. The papered walls lined with portraits of fictional Tudor figures, or perhaps even an occasional true to life reference of Henry VII.

The cart lurches forward past one door, and the next, each one seemingly the same, an occasional door housed a central panel painted in soft pink and white. The Plaza Hotel in New York had earned its name and reputation, and each of those pink doors were designed to fill their temporary inhabitants with the world of Eloise, the little girl who lived there in the books. Children were so gullible. It was a wonder they managed to reach adulthood.

Moments later the squeaking of the wheel comes to a stop and silence returns, not even muffled voices from behind the double doors before it crept through. Behind the doors at the end of the hall sat a suite fit for a king, or in this case a Prince. A white gloved hand raised, the fingers curling inwards to form something of a fist, the knuckles moving backward through the air and then forward again to knock.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

It wouldn't be long now. The door would open, stopping short as the chain that latched it in place reached it's maximum extension. Through the opening one could see an eye casting a glance down over the stood silently beside the cart. "Room service" that same figure would call in a sweet nearly sing-songy tone of voice. A smile plastered across a delicate porcelain face revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. The figure stood at five and a half feet, perhaps a little more. Black pencil skirt, white button down shirt and red vest, along with matching red cap that sat upon raven hair tied back into a pony tail. A golden name plate shining in a bright white if the light hit it just correctly. It didn't matter what name it bore, it wasn't real. Or perhaps it was, perhaps it did belong to the employee who properly owned this uniform. It didn't matter, not to the beautiful woman who stood ever so patiently.

The door closed before her, the sound of the chain rattling was enough to keep that smile on the figure's face. So close. Not long at all. Seconds later the door would open fully, and the man on the other side would step away to allow to the figure from the hall to enter, the squeaking seemed like nothing but a minor irritation as the woman pushed the cart inside. "We need to pat you down sweetheart, hope you don't mind." The man who admitted her remarked. The sun which had risen just a bit higher in the sky was now coming through the large windows of the living room illuminating four men, all heavily armed, they were seated on the blue and gold sofas, playing cards, smoking, as though they had been doing so for hours.

The uniformed woman nodded and stepped away, raising her arms as the man stepped behind her. It was clear from the sounds he made as his hands wandered across her body, too personally, that he was enjoying his task. Another man had risen from the couch, laying down his hand of cards, he approached the cart with caution and lifted both silver cloches to inspect the food beneath. It didn't matter what it was, the recipient wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy it.

"Take it inside." The man finally replied, having his fill of the woman's figure. He motioned vaguely toward the doors to the bedroom, and she could only nod in silent affirmation doing exactly as instructed. The woman stepped into the darkness once again, only a thin stream of light pouring through the gaps in the curtains, the sound of a man rumbling in the bed. "Open the curtains will you?" He requested, and after closing the door behind her the woman agreed and deftly made her way to the source of the stream of light, gloved hands gripping at the fabric and ripping them open as far as her arms could extend, a panel clasped in each hand, sending the light flooding from corner to corner.

By the time she had turned around, the man had risen from bed and was standing pulling on a white terry cloth robe, with the letters PP monogramed on the right chest. "Coffee, now." The man, young, perhaps a bit older than her snapped his fingers. His voice was authoritative and screamed that no one had dared say no in all his years. "Good morning your Highness." The woman responded, now turning her attention to the cart, a gloved hand taking a delicate white cup, turning it right side up while the other hand grabbed the silver handle of the coffee pot, she poured it slowly and clasping the delicate cup in her hand she had extended the cup to the man. He was handsome in his youth, now he grew old in appearance, beginning to wrinkle at the corners of his dark eyes. The cup raised to his lips and how they parted to welcome the warm liquid.

It was done. There was no going back now. It was finished.

Now all the remained was for the man, the Prince the gasp, finally knowing that something was wrong before raising hands to clutch at his throat, unable to speak beyond a whisper. "What....have.....you..." he would force out, while slowly sinking downwards, clawing at his throat with a little more ferocity.

"Done?" The woman finally responded, gone was the sing-songy tone and all that remained was the cool and unfeeling voice of a woman who completed his sentence. "Tut, tut your Highness." Her attention now fully turned to him, a hand raised in the air and index finger wagging as though to express discontent. Frosty blue eyes stared at him. "His Majesty sends his regards." The man's eyes widened as he gasped for air, and slowly he attempted now to crawl forward, only for his back to met with a heeled shoe pressing into it, forcing him down. "You can feel it, can't you? The oxygen dwindling in your body." The woman's voice was low, almost hushed, there was a hint of pleasure she seemed to be taking.

"In a moment your eyes will bleed... and an overwhelming fire will flood your veins." The smile still pressed on her face, she waited. "There we go." It was just as she had said. The man rendered nearly paralyzed would suffer for the next minute before the sweet release of death would take him. "My sweet Prince, it'll all be over soon, don't fight it. You can't win." Then nothing, he no longer resisted and lay on his chest against the floor, blood beginning to pool from his eyes, ears and mouth which had swollen with burst sores.

The woman, the one and only Artemis, wanted the world over, stepped toward the cart and pulled the single red rose from the slender white vase and dropped it atop the corpse. In a moment she would step away and leave the room, closing the doors quietly behind her, and she would walk freely out of the hotel suite, disappear into a stairwell, and be gone as quickly as she came.

Later that morning, as news of the death of the Prince broke, Artemis, clad a black coat, with blonde hair neatly arranged into a perfect bun, and those same icy eyes would enter an upper west side apartment building, a coffee cup in hand, and newspaper under the opposite arm. Sunglasses sitting perfectly atop her head.

"Good morning ma'am!" The doorman called, smiling brightly, to which his was met with a smile in return. "Package for you. We sent it up."

"Thanks Johnny." Artemis responded and stepped into the elevator which of course, the doorman had called for her and took it to a higher floor. When she exited, and stepped before her apartment she opened the door, and a brown paper parcel sat just inside on the wooden credenza. A small white envelope with the name "Johanna A. Goode" emblazoned on the front in a typed font lay beside the package. Setting the coffee down with a sigh, she opened the envelope which bore one of her many aliases. Inside was a small card, blank, save for a few words once opened.

"Artemis,

A Shadow awaits."

She let the card drop to the floor and looked at her hands, for a moment they had trembled. "Shadow?" She had never met him, never seen him, never heard his voice, but she knew him and his work. He was almost as prolific as she. Could the message really have meant what she thought it had? Artemis quickly began to tear at the brown paper of the parcel her suspicions confirmed.