Shadow Of The Prey

CH1. Recon.

In the basement floor of the casino, a grand lounge spreads in front of me once the elevator doors open.
Plush dark berry tufted booths surround a stage in the centre of the lounge. The extravagant cream marble stage with a band playing jazz, music fills the room with a symphony of smooth yet lively melodies.
Tables of dealing are made of luxurious materials, the dealers dressed in all black, wearing golden face masks. Bars surround the room, accented by the wainscoted black walls with thick velvet curtains.

Throughout the calm, yet lively room I catch a glimpse of my target on the far end.

Sitting in a luxurious booth—standing out from the rest like VIP's—upon a slight lifted platform, Carlisle Lennox and three other men occupy the seats. Women dressed clad in high end gowns sitting aside them as two more ladies greet them, the target simply watches as they speak—what can only be assumed—flirtatious words, batting their lashes at the elite men.

The man who escorted me bows.
"Allow me to check if your acquaintance has been checked in." He politely speaks.
I give an ecstatic relieved smile.
"Oh that'd be wonderful, thank you." My voice is soft spoken and gentle, yet enthralling with a grateful positive tone.
"Please make yourself comfortable. If you'd like, you may take a look around to see if she's here. I'll be back in a moment."
Giving a smile and nod, I watch as he leaves to a back room beyond the decorative red curtains.

My eyes scan the floor as I slowly step out.
Those bustling around the room haven't noticed me yet, but only because I don't want them to. Taking the few seconds I have to be unseen, I analyze the lounge. The scent of alcohol lingering faintly, along with the bitter roasted scent of cigars. The gambling tables are lively, guests relaxing as they listen to the live music, the lounge definitive to be a world meant for the worthy high class.

However, they're simply props for Agent Viper.

Mr. Lennox remains stoic, being entertained by the women who flock to their booth. Two of the men he sits with chat the ladies up, the other nurses his drink and whispers to the target through a sweet gentleman-like smile. The men stand out brilliantly, even among the higher class in the room, they evidently belong in a different class above them.

Their clothes impeccable, not so much a wrinkle in sight. The men all dashingly handsome, evident from how the ladies swoon at the sight of them.
The target sits quietly, amused yet wearing the same apathetic eyes I saw in the files.
Dressed in all black, even compared to the staff who wear the same colour, he makes the colour flourish. His face is handsome—not at all bad to look at—but those eyes make my excitement grow.
The confident, untouchable power in his eyes, growing my desire to see them break into a look of despair and anger from my hand.

Without dawdling in front of the elevator too long, I take my first few steps down the small staircase. The layout and prop locations memorized, I bring out the woman who'll capture everyone's mind and finally set the plan in motion. Before I can even reach the bottom of the steps, those around have already caught a glimpse of Elise Barrington.

Looking around, avoiding eyes of those that stare, I simply 'search for my friend'.
My steps remaining light and unrushed, I walk to the side of the room where most of the booths are filled. Gazing through the sea of people, I look around. Composed yet showing enough emotions to convey that I'm searching for someone, but not distraught or nervous. The only telltale sign I'm 'nervous', is from my fingers tightly clutching the handle of the mask.
The sounds in the room heighten as I make my way closer to the target's booth. The chattering of those I slowly approach, and the whispering among those I've passed heightened as I easily pinpoint which direction the silence and whispers come from.

As luck would have it, the ladies who stand by the world class men pause their conversation. The pauses never last for long—only a second or two—but that's enough to draw attention of the men they were catering to.
Far from their booth, I roam close enough for them to see the details of my face.
The whispers begin among the ladies.