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The floorboards creak as the young blonde enters the house.
The door remains open behind her, faint light streams in. She breathes heavily, not sure what to expect.
Then it hits her...
...like a ton of bricks. A blow to her head.
She slams forward and connects with the floor instantaneously. Before the blonde has a chance to recover, a hand grips the hair she's tied back into a bun.
The element of surprise has caught her by...well, surprise.
Her assailant lifts her head into the air and slams it onto the floor. Her nose breaks. Blood spills out onto the floorboards.
She goes limp, unmoving.
Is she dead?
Is she...
No.
She has a surprise of her own. She kicks her leg up and connects with the man who stands above her. He stumbles back, nearly out the door. She twists and turns onto her backside, using her legs to propel herself to standing.
Nice try, sonofabitch.
She kicks him in the face. Drops to the floor. Sweeps her leg out and sends him flying.
He lands on his back and cries out in pain.
He's done for. She has it in the bag.
She's not going to die...
He is.
FIVE MONTHS EARLIER
Marie Falls tilts her head back and finishes a champagne before rejoining her party. She drops the glass off on a server's tray and brushes back her hair. It's been in her face the entire night. She'll end up tying it in a bun if it continues to persist.
She hates parties.
All the mingling and fake smiles are incredibly difficult to pull off when there's an open bar. Not that she should be drinking on the job, but she sees no other alternative.
It numbs her. Makes her forget.
Task at hand.
She speaks to the man at her left, only not in her native tongue. She speaks in Mandarin.
"Mr. Hsiao, thank you so much for inviting me."
The Mandarin sounds as effortless as her English. Perhaps more...she tends to stutter and make up words when she speaks normally.
"Rebecca, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Mr. Hsiao responds, also in Mandarin.
Mandarin. Everything's in Mandarin.
"Where is my wife?"
"She is visiting with Tina right now," Marie answers, her grammar and form of speech immaculate. "But I will return to baby-sitting her in the upstairs conference room once she's done."
"Thank you, Rebecca."
Marie doesn't flinch at the use of the name Rebecca. She used to. When people first began to address her by a name not her own. But now, it seems perfectly natural. As natural as speaking Mandarin to a mafia boss at his birthday party.
Marie turns to her right. Mrs. Hiao enters the ballroom.
"Excuse me," Marie says.
HSIAO COSMETICS
Tina Hsiao's head hits the table. She's unconscious.
Marie picks up the remainder of Tina's hot chocolate and tosses it out the window. No trace of drugs. Everyone will assume that Tina merely fell asleep. That she wasn't drugged by her baby-sitter.
"Sorry Tina," Marie whispers. Not in Mandarin.
She slides out the door and closes it quietly. Runs down the hall and goes to the nearest office door. It's unlocked. She performed that task earlier.
Marie slips into the office and sits behind the desk. Turns on the computer. She checks her watch.
Four minutes. Four minutes to save the world.
Well, not really. But she will have only four minutes before the firewall kicks in and busts her ass.
Stealing secrets from the mafia. Perfect. Just how Marie envisioned spending a Friday evening.
After one minute, she's in. Three minutes left.
"I'm in," Marie says. She speaks into the transmitter in her ear.
"How much time?" A raspy voice echoes in her eardrums.
"Two minutes, fifty three seconds."
"Okay, you're going to hop into the mainframe and download all the files. Don't worry, the flash drive will transfer everything wirelessly to our computer."
"Can it transport me wirelessly?" Marie mutters.
"Sorry, kid. You're gonna have to fight your way out."
"Thanks for letting me know," Marie says. "I love a good fight."
"Well, that's good then. Because you're about to get your ass kicked."
That was in Mandarin. And not from her transmitter. Marie glances up.
Mrs. Hsiao stands in the doorway.
Marie always imagined her a pampered socialite. Fragile as porcelain.
The look on Mrs. Hsiao's face tells Marie she's wrong.
She's a fierce bitch. And deadly.
"Do you remember that movie you watched with Tina, Don't Tell Mom the Baby-Sitter's Dead?" Mrs. Hsiao asks.
Marie gulps. Nods.
Mrs. Hsiao frowns. "I don't think we'll have that problem."
*****
Marie lifts her foot and brings it down on her assailant's stomach. Her heel digs in, tears flesh. He screams in pain.
That's it, fucker. You lose.
Marie slides the heel out of his chest and kicks him in the side. He rolls over flat, seemingly unmoving. She doesn't trust it.
He's faking.
Marie reaches back behind her blouse and removes a gun. She's no idiot. You want to win? You bring a gun to a hand-to-hand fight.
She aims at his back. Pulls the trigger. The force of the bullet shakes his body. But he doesn't make a sound.
"Guess he was dead," Marie says, nearly out of breath.
She tosses the gun on the floor.
"It's over! He's dead!"
Silence.
"Do you hear me? He's dead?"
Marie goes to the door, tries to open it. Locked. It wasn't locked before.
"Let me out!"
She bangs on the door, hands balled into fists. Dammit. What the fuck is going on here?
Does she have to cut off his head or something?
She turns back around.
Shit.
He's gone.
"He's dead! What the hell is going on?"
She hears the gun cock. It echoes in her ear like an explosion.
No.
No.
No!
"Nice try, sis." He pulls the trigger.
HSIAO COSMETICS
Marie ducks just in time. The bullet misses her by a split second.
"Marie, what's going on?" Her transmitter blares.
"I'm in a situation right now," Marie snaps. "I'll handle it!"
Marie leaps to her feet and runs at Mrs. Hsiao, full speed. She pounces. Connects with the woman and sends her flying.
"Maybe you should go back downstairs," Marie offers.
Mrs. Hsiao punches Marie in the face. "You silly girl!"
Marie rolls onto her back. Nurses the wound quickly, but not long enough to lower her guard. She quickly stands and kicks Mrs. Hsiao in the side. The woman rolls to her right, avoiding most of the impact.
She's on her feet in seconds.
"You speak Mandarin very well for a stupid white girl," Mrs. Hsiao says. "That was the first hint."
She pivots. Roundhouse kick. Minolo Blahnik connects with Marie's jaw and draws blood.
"What was the second?" Marie asks. "I'm always eager to improve upon on my performance. It's why I did so well in theatre at Northwestern."
She grabs Mrs. Hsiao, headbutts her. A dazed Mrs. Hsiao stumbles back, nearly crashes.
Marie grabs the fallen gun and aims it at her. "I'm sorry."
She pulls the trigger. Nothing.
Shit.
"Didn't need a second." Mrs. Hsiao kicks the gun out of Marie's hands. Catches it as it flies. She spins around, pistol whips the girl. She follows it up with several more blows to the face.
"Marie, what's going on?" The transmitter is barely audible. "We still need those files!"
"Working...on..." Marie gasps for air, on her knees.
Mrs. Hsiao grabs Marie by her hair and drags across the carpeted floor. Throws her against a glass door. Marie coughs, choking on her own blood.
"I'm sure this already apparent by now, but..." She kicks Marie square in the chest, sends her flying through the glass door. "...you're fired."
*****
Miller stands over his sister's dead body.
For a brief moment, he feels a deep sadness. But it passes.
She knew what she'd signed up for. As did he. The Falls siblings, fighting hand-in-hand for the greater good.
Hah. The greater good. The good of one, perhaps.
"I'm sorry, Marie," Miller whispers.
He kneels down, kisses his sister's forehead.
"That's kinda gross."
Miller glances to the door. A man looms in the doorway. Gangly figure, straggly hair. Graham.
"Which is worse? Necrophilia or incest?"
"Not funny," Miller says.
"What's that?"
Miller stands. "Your joke. It's not funny. So, what's next? Incinerate her?"
"I'll take care of it," Graham answers.
He can't be more than twenty-five. And yet, he's right in the thick of it. More so than Miller will ever be.
"You're wanted back at the Suite…Operative."
Miller nods and goes out the door.
He doesn't look back as Graham removes a lighter from his pocket and lowers it to Marie's clothing.
UNION SQUARE
New York City
Drums beat as Miller races through the crowd. Goddamn street performers. The onlookers are in his way. He has a mugger to catch.
He hates being stupid.
But he was.
Getting mugged after stealing a computer chip is the last thing Miller needed. He can't fail his mission. Not when he's so close.
"Come on kid, where are you?"
Miller spots the mugger near the subway entrance.
If he gets on the train...it's over.
"Shit!"
Miller jumps over a drummer and races to the entrance. The kid disappears inside.
Miller barrels down the stairs. Shoves a businessman out of his way.
The kid swipes a metro card and slips through a turnstyle.
Ironic. He'll mug someone, yet still pay for a train ride.
After all of this is over, Miller's going to have some explaining to do with his date. Taking off after being mugged outside the movie theatre probably is probably a chapter in He's Just Not That Into You or some shit.
Miller grabs the turnstyle bar and slides underneath.
He hears a train approaching.
Miller keeps running. Catch the train, idiot.
Catch the train...
Dammit!
The six train doors close just as the mugger steps aboard. Miller bangs on the glass, yells at the conductor. But the train starts moving.
It's over.
THE SUITE
A sleek, sexy office is illuminated by a glowing, green-tinted, white light. Miller He leans across Graham's desk.
"I hate this," Miller grouses.
"It'll be fine," Graham insists. "I'm pulling up the police database, maybe you'll be able to identify the mugger."
"And then I can get that chip back."
"Right."
"I can't fail," Miller says. "Failure is not an option."
Graham frowns. "Yeah, I know."
Miller closes his eyes and kicks Graham's desk. The desk shakes. Paperwork flies to the floor, an empty cup of coffee knocks over.
Graham clears his throat loudly.
"I'm sorry."
"Maybe you should go home. I'll send you whatever I find."
"No."
"At least take a smoke break. You're driving me crazy."
Miller gets the point. "I'll be outside."
He snatches a Marlboro pack from Graham's desk. Graham narrows his eyes.
"I'm out!"
He removes a cigarette and tosses the pack back. He wanders through the office and heads to the elevator. Places the cigarette in his lips. Presses up. The roof should be relaxing.
The elevator doors open. He smiles at a cute blonde in the corner. That's as far as his flirting goes. She reminds him of his sister.
As the doors close, Miller feels a sharp pain in his neck.
Electricity.
A taser.
He slumps to the ground.
He hears two words as he slips out of consciousness ... "You failed."
THE SUITE
Present
Miller emotionlessly walks through the empty corridor. He stops in front of an office he's only been in once.
Before he knocks, Miller wipes the single tear away from his face.
Emotion is a weakness.
The job matters.
He knocks.
The door opens slowly and Miller enters. A tall, muscular man sits behind a desk. Cigar smoke billows out of the room.
"Shut the door."
Miller obliges.
"Monsieur."
"It is done," the man known only as Monsieur answers. "I know this."
"Then I'm back?"
"That is the standard, yes. But there's...something about you that I can't quite pinpoint. Something intriguing to me."
"Intriguing?"
"I have another job for you."
"Another...another job?"
"The Game."
"I don't understand, sir."
"You will."
Miller turns to the door.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
No he's not.
"Thank you," Miller says.
He goes out of the room. Before he can close the door, he feels a sharp pain in his neck.
Electricity.
A taser.
Again.
"What the fuck is with you...people..."
Miller collapses into darkness.
*****
He can only hear whispers. Parts of sentences.
"This is..."
"...are you sure..."
"He's special."
His head is still spinning. But he hears the word.
Special. What does it mean?
"...ready?"
"Not..."
"...will take time."
Miller opens his eyes. Two men stand above him. Not in direct sunlight, so he can't see their faces.
"Where...where am I..."
"He's awake."
"He's not ready. Leave him."
The two men exit. Miller hears the slam of metal. Turn of a lock.
"You okay?"
There's a third. He crouches near Miller.
"What's going on?" Miller croaks.
"The Games."
"The what?"
"You'll see," the man says. A grave, fearful tone. "You'll see."
STORY BY
IRA MADISON
NEXT ISSUE:
What has Miller gotten himself into now?
What exactly is the Suite?
And what the hell is up with that ending?
Find out this and more in...Paper #2: "When In Rome..."!
