A Game Called Mafia (ONC)

TWO

Stiff from the cruel exercises Jean forced us to do, I stepped off the elevator with half numb legs. I could sleep it off, I thought to myself as I pressed the code to the front door. At least I had an entire day off tomorrow. I was looking forward to lying about my apartment all day, catching up on my knitting. I needed to buy more yarn for my dad's birthday scarf...

I didn't bother turning on the lights and instead, dropped my duffel bag by the door as I kicked off my shoes and then promptly collapsed on the couch. I considered sleeping there until my stomach groaned.

I nearly groaned too. Instead I forced myself to my feet and trudged the four extra steps to the fridge. Mom had dropped off some juicy carne en su jugo this weekend and my mouth watered at the thought of the spicy stew.

As my hand encircled the handle, my face was promptly smashed into the cute plastic whiteboard hanging on the front of the fridge. My cheek wiped away half of my grocery list as I was then tossed to one side, crashing against the bathroom door.

I clambered to my feet as something struck the place on the door where my head had been that second before. I pushed my sleeves up, exposing my tattoos but before I could touch them, I ducked as something was thrown at my head. Glancing back at the door, I saw a dagger sticking out of the wood.

"What the hell," I muttered before clasping my hands over my wrists. The tattoos glowed and I let go, holding in my hands a gun.

"Stop," I called out as the figure before me prepared to launch another knife. "Drop your weapon unless you want me to blow your brains out."

A sultry laugh broke the silence. "Charming."

A woman. "Who are you and why are you attacking me?"

The figure, currently hiding in the shadows of my dark apartment, gave another laugh. "I wanted to meet you, Catiam."

"Why?" My hand reached around the wall to flip on the switch. Nothing happened. "Did you cut off my lights?"

"Don't take the mission," she said, ignoring my questions. "If you value your life, you won't go."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, playing dumb.

The woman gave a short snort. "I owe it to a friend to protect you. Don't go."

"Drop your weapon, turn around, and let me take you into Mission."

A knife sailed through the air and I craned my neck to the side, the knife striking the space next to my ear. "Do you really think I'll go to Mission?"

"I don't want to shoot you," I said, swapping the gun for handcuffs. "We can talk like people."

"You're not like me," she said, bitterness entering her tone. "Though, I thought your gifts were supposed to be a lot more impressive. It just looks like a skilled sleight of hand."

I made an offended noise. "I'll have you know I'm one of the best agents in my field. Now, I must insist that you turn around and let me handcuff you."

"What a tempting offer," she murmured through the still darkness. "But I'm seeing someone."

I pulled a face. Now what? I usually dealt with artifacts not people, so what was I supposed to do with someone that wanted to kill me? Was this a test? I cleared my throat to ask. "Who are you?"

"You'll live," she said. Then I stumbled back, a knife stuck to my abdomen. I gasped, more surprised than in pain. My hand reached for it, acting out of instinct, and despite all the warning bells in my head, I grasped the hilt and yanked it out.