[Jacob]

*Setting: Smoke unfurled from her mouth, the harsh, un-filtered stench hitting the large window and spreading out over it, like a mass of grey water. Eventually dissapating in the air. She stood behind the Vykkers chair, looking out at the large desert which had so very nearly claimed her life. Turning she then wandered over to the desk, looking down at the mass of papers that had been spread out, with red-penned, hand written notes highlighting or commenting on certain bits of the paper. The Vykker was sat in his chair, slowly he turned his head towards her, his brow narrowing as he waved a third hand at her, gesturing for her to move away.*

Vykker: "Not all of these pages are for your eyes, Amoeba."

She stayed silent, taking another drag of her cigarette as she paced steadily to the nearest painting. It was of two large Glukkons, Generals by the looks of their uniform. Amoeba was wearing a tight black t-shirt, showing her light-pink mid-drift. She also wore a pair of shredded jeans, torn and ripped at the thighs.

Vykker: "How are your shoulders? Has the stiffness worn off?"

Amoeba turned to the Vykker, rubbing her left shoulder with her right hand. The Vykker had sealed the sliced bones with molten metal, he had then welded on two small metal plates that fit over the wounds of each shoulder blade. At first, the new implements were troublesome and stiff. Now, after a few days, they were barely noticable.

Amoeba: "They're fine. Abit of a f*cking pain though if i need to go through some f*cking metal detectors."

Voice: "Heh, i'm sure you'd blow the security guards behind them apart before hand anyway."

She turned, Manson had entered, his pants clicking merrily as he made his way to the Vykkers desk. In his hands he grasped a mass bulk of white letters, all addressed to their office, but with only a 'V' stating to whom they were for. Throwing them down upon Vykkers desk, the Slig then stepped back, awaiting for the contents to be revealed. Slowly the Vykkers head rose, a bemused look upon his face.

Vykker: "Idiot."

He spoke this softly, but with pure malice dripping from his tone of voice. He then gently swiped at the pile of letters, knocking them from his desk and on to the floor. He then carried on with the work he was doing before he was interrupted. Minutes later he had finished. Quickly he gathered up a small amount of the papers, stacked them and then held them out for Amoeba, who took them slowly. Wondering what they were.

Vykker: "A new job. The bits highlighted in red are important, i've remarked on some easy access points and guises for the situation. Should be easy enough, even by your failing standards."

Amoeba began slowly reading through the first page, taking drags of her cigarette every couple of lines or so.

Vykker: "The client is a reputable businessman, a Mudokon. He's recently found out his wifes having an affair. He's also found out she's pregnant. He wants us to do a pregnancy test on her, i have his DNA results. If they're negative, he wants us to kill his wife and her lover. If they're positive. Just kill the lover."

Amoeba's big, yellow eyes slowly looked up at the Vykker, her left brow raising.

Amoeba: "We're not a f*cking Hospital. If he wants his wife testing, he can do it his f*cking self."

She flicked through the rest of the pages, skimming their content.

Vykker: "Amoeba, i'm sure i don't have to stress just how important this job is, but, just incase, if you do not do this job in a satisfactory manner, it will be your life on the line. And your head on the platter."

His eyes seemed to gleam slightly as he said this, as if wanting her to fail. A stiffled chuckle also came from Manson, who had picked up the letters and was now waiting for his superior to accept them. With a gentle hiss, the female Katterwol turned to the door, casting the butt of her smoked out cigarette to the floor, and stamping hard on it as she left.