Project Atlas

23:00

As they emerged from the shadows of my living room, the Davis sisters were a vision of coordinated, lethal, and unsettling beauty. Both were clad in black, form-fitting bodysuits that hugged every curve and muscle. The suits were complemented by knee-high black boots, the leather gleaming slightly in the light, and their long hair was pulled back into high, harsh ponytails, giving them a severe and focused look, as if every strand was pulled back to streamline their deadly intent.

But it was their makeup that truly set them apart, applied so heavily and meticulously that it gave them an almost mannequin-like appearance. Their faces, identical in structure, were accentuated with sharp contours, exaggerated eye shadows, and bright, nearly unnaturally coloured lips. The effect was disconcerting, their expressions painted on, yet behind the makeup, their eyes were sharp and alive, calculating every move with cold precision.

The twins' names came back to me: Davina and Darina. Both eerily beautiful and undeniably dangerous. They were known for their skills but also their theatricality and appearance, a psychological tactic to unnerve and distract. But as they faced me, I knew that under the layers of makeup and within those form-fitting costumes were two of the most formidable assassins I would ever encounter.

As the Davis sisters stepped into the light, their identical, unnerving expressions fixed on me, Darina spoke first, her voice as smooth and cold as the steel of a blade. "You've been asking too many questions, Alison. Not very wise for a simple employee of Pathway."

Davina's smirk, as chilling as her sister's tone, added, "Curiosity can be... fatal. We're here to ensure it doesn't become a habit."

I kept my posture relaxed, my face a mask of feigned ignorance, even as my heart raced. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

"Why are you asking questions, Alison? Who are you working for?" asked Darina.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just doing my job. There's no need for this," I replied, trying to maintain the persona of Alison, the social media strategist.

But they weren't buying it. They advanced, a synchronised move of trained professionals. I knew I had to end this quickly and quietly. I waited until they were close enough, then sprung into action.

Opting for stealth over firepower, I made a split-second decision to keep my gun holstered. If the assassins had truly known who they were dealing with, they might have come at me with guns blazing, but it seemed their orders were to interrogate, not eliminate. Their fatal mistake was underestimating me, assuming I was just another corporate pawn in their game of shadows. They didn't realise that even without a weapon, I was far from defenseless.

Darina was the first to reach me, her fist aiming for my face. I ducked, feeling the air whoosh above me, and grabbed her extended arm, using her momentum to throw her over my shoulder. She crashed into the coffee table with a thud, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Undeterred by her sister's fall, Davina launched herself at me with a high kick. I stepped aside at the last moment, grabbing her foot and twisting sharply. She yelped, losing her balance, and I pushed her away. She stumbled back, knocking into a shelf, which sent various trinkets crashing to the ground.

They recovered quickly, attacking in unison this time. I blocked a punch, dodged a kick, and then went on the offensive. A quick jab here, a kick there, I was a whirlwind of controlled aggression. They were skilled, but I was better.

The twins exchanged a look, a silent conversation in the brief respite of our combat. Darina, still recovering from my last hit, smirked, "Well, you've certainly got some moves. Did they teach you that at your marketing seminars?" Her tone was mocking, yet I sensed a grudging respect.

"Let's just say I'm full of surprises," I replied, slightly out of breath but smiling.

The fight resumed with renewed vigor, the living room transformed into a battleground, our movements a blur of kicks and parries, the stakes painfully clear.

Finally, with a well-executed roundhouse kick, the momentum of my body and years of training behind it, I sent Darina crashing back to the floor. The impact resonated through the room, her breath escaping in a hushed gasp of surprise and pain.

Davina grunted, "You're no social media specialist." Her voice full of grudging respect and venom.

I couldn't resist the urge to engage in a bit more verbal sparring, even as I prepared for her next move. "And you," I shot back, narrowly avoiding a sweeping kick, "wear way too much makeup!"

"It's called intimidation, darling. You should try it sometime," Davina retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I dodged away from another of her aggressive advances, her movements becoming more predictable with her growing frustration, "Hey, if you want to spend a couple of hours in front of the mirror before a job, who am I to judge?"

That last barb seemed to hit a nerve. Davina's next attack was reckless, a wild lunge driven by anger rather than precision. It was exactly the mistake I was waiting for. With a fluid motion, I sidestepped and caught her in a tight chokehold, my arm locking around her neck. I could feel her pulse racing against my forearm, her body struggling against the inevitable.

I could have ended it there, made it permanent, but that wasn't my style. Instead, I applied just enough pressure, a delicate balance between restraint and force, until her body went limp in my arms. With care that belied the violence of our encounter, I lowered her unconscious form next to her sister, who was still trying to shake off the effects of my earlier assault.

Darina, barely conscious and realising the fight was over, tried to muster one last defiant look, but it faltered, her eyes closing as I delivered a swift, merciful strike to ensure she joined her sister in unconsciousness. They lay there, a tangle of limbs and dark leather, their shallow breathing the only sound in the suddenly still room.

I stood back, taking a moment to catch my breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from my veins.

That's when I heard it: a knock at the door. My heart raced, not out of fear but embarrassment. It was Alex!

"Alison, is everything okay? I heard some... noises," his voice came through the door, laced with concern and curiosity. The word 'noises' felt like an understatement. I could only imagine what he thought was happening in here. A fight? A break-in? Worse?

My heart, which had only just begun to slow, raced again - this time not with fear or adrenaline, but with embarrassment and a sudden, overwhelming anxiety. What would he think? The meticulously maintained image of Alison, the friendly but unremarkable neighbour, was at risk of shattering completely.

I glanced at myself in the hallway mirror, taking in my disheveled appearance. My hair was a mess, my clothes askew, and was that a bruise forming on my cheek? "Just a moment!" I called out, attempting to sound casual. I couldn't let him see the apartment like this, couldn't let him see me like this.

I glanced around the room — the overturned furniture, scattered trinkets from the shelf Davina had crashed into, and the two unconscious assassins lying in the middle of it all.