"How are you feeling, Ms. Hilden?"

The girl, that did not look like a girl, reclined on the sofa, though the length of her legs meant that her feet hung off the armrest. She didn't look like a girl, though the intention of her attire was what was comfortable, not to deceive others about her gender or persuasion. Though it did mean that she wore a T-shirt and pants that made her look like a boy.

Her name was Spencer, lying down in her own house, listening to a lady psychologist's smooth tones who sat behind her sofa.

Spencer let out a little sigh, and rolled onto her stomach. A girl would have rolled on her chest, but Spencer was flatter than the ironing board she had in the kitchen.

"I still think a lot of weird things. Things that normal high school girls don't think of."

"Like regarding your former job?" The psychologist's words and facial expression remained kind, considering what Spencer's former job involved.

Spencer paused for a moment, to think her words through. There were things she still refused to say, even in the strictest of confidence. She never told her government contact that she sometimes thought about ways of killing annoying teachers. There were idle thoughts of students that disappeared in a heartbeat, and then there were the near-perfect plans and the untraceable execution of a former child assassin.

She knew they were unhealthy thoughts. But raising them up here directly was something that made her nervous.

"Yeah. It's boring."

---

"But I like my mask," Spencer mumbled with glazed over eyes. Her fingers held the handle of her cup of tea, though she never bothered to lift up the lukewarm cup in the last 10 minutes. The daydreams of the past were neither comforting nor revisionist, but she found them engrossing, anyhow.

She was just one of the few people in a cosy, clean and out-of-the-way English cafe, which had decorations that seemed like a boring view of the 1950s. A simple glance around the patrons solidified the view, to any passers-by, that this was a place for the English in America or Americans looking for a little English at home. Considering that the witness protection paid her a decent stipend and a guaranteed scholarship into a university of her choice, she could have picked somewhere else.

But no place could beat the feeling of an old cafe, just like the ones back home. Where deals were made, people were surreptitiously poisoned and bodies were dumped in the skips out back. Of course, none of these things happened in California.

The skips were called rubbish dumps over here. Other than that little mental joke Spencer made to herself, she didn't actually think anyone was being killed here.

She took a sip of the cup of tea, and her face twisted. It wasn't poisoned, but it might as well have been to her tongue. Whoever brewed this cup of English tea didn't care for how they added sugar and milk into it. If there was one thing dying here, it was probably her respect for the cafe. She continued drinking anyway, holding her expressions stiff and her eyes cold and emotionless. Like how she was trained to do. If emotions never showed up on her face, it was harder for them to sink into her heart. The training wasn't meant for withstanding bad cups of tea, but such skills made do in this times.

Spencer glanced out of the window, like a hawk watching for prey. It wasn't the look the girl was aiming for or wanted, but it was what she gave to the outside world. Her eyes darted inwards occasionally, though the only focus of her gaze for more than a few seconds was the head cheerleader girl. The girl that was built like a Olympic fetishist's dream, or to those that used names, Elena Moriarty, was the type of girl that drew Spencer's gaze. By reputation, Elena was both a prodigy and a potential professional athlete. Perhaps someone that could almost match her own skills, thought Spencer.

Though her face showed nothing, she chuckled within her heart. Assassins were one-of-a-kind, especially child assassins. What were the chances of another one, masquerading as a normal human being?

Sitting in the cafè she'd recently found, sipping her coffee, Elena read over her cheerleading schedule for the next game. It wasn't anything special, and it wasn't anything she couldn't pick up in ten seconds and execute perfectly. That was why she was head cheerleader, after all. Yet, despite how busy it all kept her, she was still incredibly bored.

She hadn't had the chance to kill someone or hack into anything for almost 3 years now, and she was bored to tears. Was it too much to ask for someone to try to mug or rape her, just so she could beat the crap out of them, or even ki-

She shook the thoughts away, angry at herself for even thinking of that. She was living a new life now, and those old jobs didn't matter anymore. She could try new things, and become a whole new person. That was why she stopped in the new English cafè in town, after all. To try something new.

She eyed the patrons inside, without even letting on as to her watching. There were a few other teenagers, though most of the people were older adults. There was an old man at the counter, ordering. There was a woman with her two kids enjoying an afternoon tea. There was a girl in the corner, who was clearly a girl to Elena's eyes, a rather handsome girl at that, but who would pass easily as a male to any on-looker. There was something off about her, something in the way she sat, and looked around. But, it wasn't of any real importance as to attract much of her attention. Her name was Spencer, and she was pretty much a nobody at school, although to Elena.....

She returned her gaze to the novel she was reading. It was a new mystery by her favorite author, and she had solved it in the first chapter. Still, it made for an interesting read, to see the people stumbling about like lost children looking for a light switch, the light being the killer and it's glow being the chopped up bits of his latest victim.

Her teacup emptied, Spencer pushed it to the side of the table. A waitress, dressed in a tuxedo and bowtie that looked out of place in a poxy faux-English cafe, scooped up the teacup and saucer and smiled at Spencer.

"Thank you, sir."

It was so much easier accepting that than to explain how appearances deceived, and that was what Spencer did. With a nod and a smile, she relaxed her posture. During her first days of wearing the metaphorical mask, even casual times led her to watch her surroundings like a hawk. 3 years of a normal life didn't kill that habit. Her eyes darted everywhere.

The waitress that served her a moment ago had a horizontal scar on her wrist. The old man at the counter hadn't had his shirts ironed in a few days. The woman with her two children was most likely divorced and recently retrenched, but she would lie to keep her kids happy. The white lie was such a strange concept. Perhaps if she had done the same regarding the Undying Man—

A small speck of green gas popped out of the air vents of the cafe, going unnoticed even by the young man sitting next to it. Spencer had little personal expertise in chemistry, but whatever it was couldn't be healthy.

Wordlessly, she stood up and walked out of the cafe, striking the little wind-chimes with the top of her head as she left. Spencer's eyes scanned the rooftops of all the nearby buildings. If someone had wanted her dead, the glint of a sniper rifle scope would be obvious. The streets of this place was not conducive for long-ranged sniping, and she would know. The first few hours of her free-time were spent on rooftops, figuring out the best places for snipers to be. To prevent her death, she had to think like a killer.

The boyish red-headed girl glanced back into the cafe for a moment with a forced, disinterested gaze, and then back out onto the streets. She hoped she was just seeing things.

Elena had noticed much of the same things as Spencer, and quickly left the cafe, making it seem as casual as possible. As she exited, everyone in the cafè fell down. They weren't dead, she could see that much. They were sleeping. The green gas had obviously been a sleeping gas, yet it wasn't meant for her. Or, in another light. It wasn't meant to put her to sleep, she was meant to notice it.

Outside was the guyish-girl, and she could tell she had noticed the same thing as her. Just who was she to have noticed that as well? As she turned to ask her a question, poised to flee at the slightest sign of trouble, a woman approached them. Tall, mid aged, with graying hair, yet a pretty personage over all. She was clearly in disguise. ( Sorry for the brevity, I'm a bit rushed at this current time.)

Spencer held her stoic face when she saw Elena exit the cafe, though she did wonder why the cheerleader left the cafe. The cup of coffee upon her table was still steaming the air with warmth, and there was a washroom inside the cafe as well. Not the cleanest of female washrooms, but it was still usable. If the girl was outside the cafe when the gas took effect, Spencer had a plan in mind.

Act confused. Deny knowledge.

The gas took effect, just as predicted. There were a few crashes of ceramic cups as the people that held onto them lost their consciousness. "What... is going on?" Spencer asked. She sounded confused, but her expression failed to match her tone. If Elena had not noticed that gas, Spencer would have a hard time explaining why she left the cafe when things like these were going to happen.

Then again, what were the chances of some schoolgirl expecting her to be a former trained assassin? (Emphasis on the 'former'.)

But when that strange woman appeared from behind them, the answer was probably 'very fucking likely'.

"Who are you?" Spencer directed her emotionless voice at the newcomer. The muscles in her hand tensed up, and she imagined the motions. In less than a second, she could reach in, grab her silenced pistol and shoot. The woman herself did not look to be carrying any weapons, meaning that Spencer had some sort of physical advantage.

"Good afternoon, Spencer Hilden. Elena Moriarty. Strange to be adopting such names." The woman spoke in a strong Spanish accent that implied connections with Western Europe. She took a few steps forward. Spencer maintained her emotionless look, but took a step back. Just because she didn't show her emotions did not mean that she lacked them.

Spencer shot a sidewards glance to Elena, and her gaze darted through the rooftops again. Still no potential snipers.

The woman extended a hand towards Spencer and Elena, with a smile. Whether the smile was genuine or not, it still sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. Who was she? And why did she confront her and the cheerleader?

"You came through all this trouble, to deal with two high school girls?"

Spencer waited for her answer. There was a little trick she knew about procuring information from others. Pretend to know more than they do, and wait for them to drop their guard and say it. Perhaps this woman knew enough, but not enough, about her. Perhaps Elena was just an innocent party.

Just believing it felt fake. Just like her personality in school. Just like her name and her new life.

But I like my mask.

Elena could tell exactly who the woman was as soon as she walked up to them. The fact that they had both been approached meant that the girl next to her was either extremely special, or just extremely unlucky.

Either way, something was about to happen. Something big. And by the looks of the woman, it had something to do with national security, or something like that. Either way, she was kind of excited. This was her big break, maybe she could re-enter the spy world.

No! What was she thinking? If she went back.. She could never leave again... but still. This woman could change her life.. The question was, for better or worse?

The woman pulled her hand back to her side.

"My name is Paris." Her smile was frozen, but Spencer's eyes, it seemed like the corner of her mouth spread out into the abyss. Whether it was the panic in her heart or something else, she could not tell.

Paris's heels clicked as she spun to look at the cafe. A few fingers of the unconscious patrons twitched. Perhaps there were only seconds before they awoke. Spencer noticed that, but she was pretty damn sure that Elena and Paris both did.

Paris's hands, with red painted nails that were expertly manicured, reached into the cleavage of her business jacket, removing an envelope.

"For the both of you. Our organisation needs a job done. Trying is just as good as doing, as long as you do not refuse."

Spencer plucked out the envelope from Paris's hands. It was a silk envelope, and a quick change of angle to reflect the sunlight off the envelope showed no obvious fingerprints. A glance at the woman's hand showed no obvious sign of gloves. There were multiple possibilities in her head on how this worked, but perhaps Spencer just had to analyse it later.

Paris stepped onto the road and reached the centre of the two-lane road. She turned around to face the two girls and smiled. The smile was the last thing they saw of this woman as a truck drove past her, disappearing her with it.

Spencer stared at the envelope, then back at Elena. The question was obvious enough in both their minds, she could see. But she still had to say it.

"I take it we had the same job in the past," muttered Spencer. Innocuous words with darker meanings.