*Setting: Walking passed the rounded balcony in the middle of the building, which showed all of the floors below, the injured female gently headed towards the large, office doors to the East of the building. The floor was black and white chequered marble and the walls, a light shade of beige, were covered with paintings of Vykkers, Glukkons and even Sligs. As she moved steadily down the hallway, she winced in pain. Both of her shoulders had been cut, sliced into with a bladed weapon so sharp it had cut through her shoulder blades. She moaned slightly, pressing her purply-fur covered hands against the large wooden door as she opened it. The office behind the door was vast. The room stretched out, big enough to fit three cars in. The back of the room was a large, glass window - overlooking the Demur desert. A desk was situated infront of the window, with a large, red, swivel chair inbetween the window and desk, but the chair had been turned, so that whoever was sat in it, was hidden from view as they looked outside. The walls of the office were lined with pictures of Vykkers and Glukkons, paintings of lush scenery and also certificates for different professions. The female Katterwol closed the door and rested her back against it, panting and sweating as a pool of red blood seeped out over the black latex bodysuit she was wearing. Muffled sniggering came from the right of her, glancing over the female saw, in the shadows, a small, Albino Slig. He was wearing a black tophat and a suit jacket, twirling a black cane with a silver balled head in his right hand. His pants seemed different to other Sligs also, they had blades on the outter sides of the bottom, for what purpose, the female didn't yet know. But they seemed to have the ability to retract and/or flip out.*
Female: "Shut your f*cking face, Manson...or i'll rip it the f*ck off."
The Slig cocked his head to one side, the red glow from the lenses of his goggles suddenly turning a sea blue.
Manson: "Your shoulder blades have been sliced into. You need a Doctor, heh."
He smirked, casting a glance to the desk and chair.
Female: "Yea, thanks, but I don't need a pair of f*cking X-ray goggles to tell me that."
Slowly she pushed herself off the door and began steadily walking over to the desk, a trail of red blood dripping across the floor. As she approached, the chair swivelled around to face her, showing a Vykker resting in it, looking up at her with a somewhat hatefilled expression. His skin seemed to be scarred in places and across his forehead was a large, vertical gash. Seemingly from a knife wound. His skin was a baby-pink colour, with a vague redness around his left eye. Probably a birth mark.
Vykker: "Amoeba, what exactly have you been doing the past three hours? Hm?"
He spoke softly, his voice slightly English-esque. Slowly he drummed his spindly fingers on the wooden desk, raising his right brow. The female winced in pain as she shifted her weight from one foot to the next.
Amoeba: "Iber...Iber was there."
She spat the name with disdain, with hatred. Her razor sharp claws unsheathing as she remembered him muttering one of his insane ramblings to her.
Amoeba: "He left me for dead, leaving me for those f*cking Critiscks...I had to use one...one of my Flashbangs..."
She placed her right hand down on the desk, steadying herself as a sudden dizziness swept over her. She blinked slowly, taking deep breaths as the room started to slowly rock from side to side.
Vykker: "Did you get any of the Terrorists? Or did you simply piss about?"
Amoeba narrowed her brow at the Vykker. Digging her claws into his desk as the rocking motion of the room began to get more violent.
Amoeba: "I'd hardly f*cking call trying to get away from a pack of Critiscks alive, pissing about. I'd like to see how you would have f*cking survived."
The Vykker slowly rose to his feet, picking up a Cattleprod that seemed to be hid underneathe the desk. He carefully lifted it to the unsteady females face, allowing the rods electricity to "kiss" the soft, purple fur of her left cheek. She tried to pull away, but instead ended up staggering to the right and falling on the marble floor, red blood splashing out moreso now. Manson jumped to his feet, his metallic pants clicking gently as he walked over to the semi-conscious female, who was now beginning to sweat more and more.
Manson: "I could put the bitch out of her misery."
He nudged her head with the silver ball on the top of his cane, smirking as she moaned, her head flopping to one side.
Vykker: "No, i'll fix her up. This is the third time that two-cocked Cockroach has interferred with a job. Ugh, watch the phones, if any jobs come through, write them down. I should be finished in one hour."
Placing the Cattleprod back from where he picked it up, the Vykker then steadily walked around to the front of the desk, staring down at the once perfect assassin, a slight hint of disgust crossing his face. He had first hired Amoeba when she was one of the few assassins with a 100% success rate, watched her as she sneaked past over twenty guards and despatched a whole family. Seen her take on as many as fifteen armed guards and take them all down without being harmed once. And then Iber came onto the scene. The Vykker bent down and grabbed the females ankle, he then headed to the door, dragging her behind him and making a trail of red blood follow from behind...
Useful links;
Head Hunter...
(OOC: Blah, Amoeba wasn't even supposed to get her own story. Oh well. Any questions?)