Born to Avenge (Artemis Fowl fanfic)

Chapter One

Looking in the mirror, I see a sweet 16-year-old girl with dark black hair and icy blue eyes. Admittedly I look like one of the Fowls. It's on purpose and to be expected, me being what I am. Anyone who doesn't know me would not anticipate who I am and what I can do. Looking at the dark-haired girl, you couldn't possibly imagine she was a ruthless killer.

"Nicolette," Carla calls from downstairs. I scurry down the stairs; I learnt early on that keeping Carla waiting is not a good idea. Carla, as always, is wearing all black. I stare resentfully at the watch on her hand. No matter what you think, that is not an ordinary watch. That watch actively ruins my life.

"Where are we going?" I ask, surprised. It's a Tuesday morning, which generally meant training with Carla in the back garden.

"Well, remember Jon Spiro?" asks Carla slyly. I nod. Gosh, I hate that guy. He always thinks he's better than anyone else.

"He's finally joined our cause," says Carla, smugly. Wait, what! Carla must have seen the surprised look on my face.

"Oh, for god's sake, Nicolette, get a grip," she snaps. I immediately switch my facial expression, the way I have many times beforehand. Carla softens a bit.

"Come on, let's go," Carla pulls me out of the house. I'm still not sure where we're going, but don't dare ask. An angry Carla is not good for anyone.

We walk through the pouring rain; it's cold but nothing like the coldness I hold inside. I like the sound of it pattering down. We carry on walking but turn down an alley in which I had never been before. Carla comes to a halt, and I copy her. Standing in front of us are two men. They're in their mid-twenties and look rather muscular.

"Let us through," Carla commands sharply.

"Let you through what?" asks the man on the right. He sounds confused, but after years of training, I can tell his confusion is fake.

"Oh, come on! We're meant to be here."

"I don't know what you're talking about, women."

"Ugh, I don't have time for this," mutters Carla impatiently. I know what's going to happen next.

 I put my hand in my jacket pocket just as Carla does with hers. We both produce matching guns. I look at Carla, she nods, and we pull the trigger at precisely the same time. Well, nearly, it's impossible for it to be exactly the same time. 

They didn't sand a chance, I think pitilessly as I look down at the bodies. The time frame between reaching for the gun and pulling the trigger was five seconds flat, not nearly enough time to react. Well, almost, it can't be exactly five seconds, especially since we didn't count. I frown. I really need to stop saying things are precise.

 I step over the bodies and join Carla next to the wall. I feel no remorse, and in fact, you could even say I feel glee. Don't look surprised; I told you I'm cold-hearted. Carla presses her hand against a black rectangle. From afar, it looks like part of the graffiti, when in truth, it was a hand scanner. I have to admit it's clever, though I think I could do better.