The Angel of Death

    Awake. I guess you could call it that, but I'm not asleep either. In my line of work, you can't sleep, you must always be half awake. I've never had a dream before, and I probably never will.      I roll over on my twin size air mattress to my cheap alarm clock sitting next to me on the floor. 6 a.m. it reads, barely six hours of "sleep".     I groan and roll over facing the other side and reach for my Glock to make sure it's still there. Too often have I woken up to the sounds of someone trying to kick in my door or a drive by shooting in my direction. The gun is an extension of myself, it has been for a long time.     Looking around me I can see my empty studio apartment is as it should be. I never furnish where I live because I know I won't be there for long. All I bring with me are items required for my job, some personal hygiene products, and some clothes. I do have one picture of my graduating class from The Academy, but I keep that tucked away in my duffle bag so I don't lose it.     Sitting up I rub my face, trying to get the sleepiness out of my eyes. Today I meet my new boss, John Armani. He and his wife Agatha run this area of San Francisco with an iron fist, coming into power in their mid-twenties, you do not want to cross the Armani’s unless you want to die a slow and painful death. Although they rose up years ago, rumors say they are as ruthless as ever. Being twenty-one myself, saying I'm impressed would be an understatement.        I stand up and get ready to shower, walking into the bathroom and stepping in I wash away the smell of sweat and cigarettes with rose scented soaps.  Wrapping myself in a black towel I look in the mirror as I dry my long, dark brown, wavy hair, with a silver streak at the front on my head due to a birthmark. My headmistress at The Academy always joked with me that it was a demon who failed to steal my soul when I was a baby and left that mark to find me again.     Moving on to dry my body I look down at myself, I'm covered from neck to toe in tattoos. Every time I commit a successful hit I get another one as a gift to myself, but there isn't much space anymore so that will soon come to an end.     Finally, I take my face wash and scrub at my skin, being careful around my three nose piercings. I move my fingers gently over the dagger tattoo next to my left eye as my silver hair begins to fall in front of it. The mark of The Academy, that way everyone who hires you knows who really owns you.     After washing off my face I want to look presentable for my new employers. I take a makeup brush and fill in my eyebrows dark brown, draw on some thick black eyeliner, put on some mascara, and add lip gloss.     Looking at myself in the mirror I tug at my black ear plugs and sigh, heading to the closet. I pull out an oversized black t-shirt and tuck it into some black cargo pants that I had some silver chains attached to. Now for shoes. I have three pairs, some black and white adidas running shoes, black combat boots, or black platform heels. The boots will do for today.     I walk back to look at my alarm clock, already 7:30 a.m. I got done just in time. I grab my Glock and tuck it into my pocket, the good thing about these pants is that it's easy to conceal. Snatching my keys and wallet off of the floor I walk out the door, locking it behind me.     Living on the top floor of a building is a hassle but it is a must for me, that way if anyone tries to sneak up on me, I already know they're coming. I take the elevator down to the bottom floor and run across the street to the guarded parking garage. There's no way in hell I'd park my 2019 Corvette in my parking lot unless I wanted it smashed into or stolen. I mean, I could absolutely take care of it if that were to happen, but that's just a hassle I don't need right now.     As I approach the parking garage the security officer gives me a nod.     "Good morning, Miss. Alstad." He says kindly, but his face stays neutral.     I smile back at him, "Good morning George. Please, call me Aura." I wave at him as I walk by.     "I'll try, Miss. Alstad." He tells me. I chuckle and unlock my car. I hop in and immediately put the convertible top down, wanting to feel the warm California air.     I wave at George as I drive out, starting my journey to the Armani’s household. I honestly have a feeling that George is on Mr. Armani's payroll, he only seems to be there when I am. Like I need extra protection, give me a break.     The Armani household resides in a secluded, wooded area of San Fran. I pull into the driveway and park in front of a large gate with a call box next to me. Pushing the button, I hear a static, brute, male voice on the other side.     "How can I help you?" The call box asks.     I clear my throat. "Aura to see Mr. Armani."     "Just on time Miss. Alstad," the voice tells me as the gate opens, "Mr. Armani has been expecting you." The box clicks off.     "Just Aura would be fine." I sigh and roll my eyes as I drive through the gate, leading up to an enormous mansion. Most of the walls have been replaced with windows on the first floor, and the driveway was more like a parking lot filled with cars, some worth five times as much as mine. If I were a gambling woman, I'd say that house had at least thirty rooms big enough to accommodate entire families.     I park out of the way of the other cars in the shade when I see a man come out the large, dark oak, double doors.     I step out of the car to greet him. He seems to be my age with tanned skin, curly brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a killer white smile. Towering over me at about 6'8" while I myself am 5'4" he extends his hand.     "You must be Miss. Alstad," his voice is as soft as butter, I almost want to melt, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Andrew."     I release his hand to see a small black X tattooed at the corner of his right eye. Stepping back, I can see he is mostly fully tattooed under his white, almost sheer button up. He seems overdressed next to me in his black dress pants and black shoes.     I smile at him, "It's a pleasure to meet you Andrew. Please, call me Aura." I tell him sweetly. That seems to make him smile even bigger.     "Very well, Aura," he says stepping back and looking me up and down, " I must say though, I've heard stories about you, but you don't look very intimidating to me." I laugh. Most people say this when they first hear about me, I don't blame them though, I definitely don't look as scary as the stories make me out to be.      "Well, I guess we'll have to spar sometime and see how you feel after that." I tell him with a challenging smile. He chuckles at me.     "I'll definitely take you up on that, however right now I have to confiscate your weapons before you enter the house. Boss' orders." He still has a smile on his face, but his eyes are nervous. I can tell this probably hasn't gone well before.     I shrug. "No problem." I tell him as I take my Glock out of my pocket and hand it to him.     "That's it?" He asks as he takes the gun and puts it in his waistband. I nod.     "Huh," he says, "I would've thought the Angel of Death would carry more on her."     The Angel of Death. That is what I'm most known by around the world. I gained that nickname after taking out an entire rising gang on my own when I was sixteen, the name has just stuck since.     "I figured I wouldn't be needing much today." I tell him with a smile.     He nods. "Alright then, Mr. A is waiting, let's go inside shall we?" He motions to the house and leads the way.     Mr. A, he said? This gang must be more relaxed than I thought. I've seen members of other groups get killed for even looking at the boss the wrong way.     We walk through the large oak doors and into a foyer the size of two or three of my studio apartment. A grand staircase sits in front of us with two doors on either side. To the right is a lounge area filled with couches, chairs, various houseplants, and a gorgeous grand piano. To the left is an archway that looks like the entrance to a large, marble ballroom.     "This way, he's on the second floor." Andrew motions for us to go up the stairs. As we climb, I can see that there are at least four stories in the house, and the stairs are filled with people. Men walk up and down with furrowed brows and pieces of paper, women stand and talk amongst themselves, and children chase each other, their laughter filling the whole house.     Andrew and I make a right on the second floor down a long hall. Each door is numbered, they almost look like apartments, which means my previous guess is most likely correct, the boss probably has every member and their family live here in the house. We reach the end of the hall and Andrew knocks on the large door.     "Who is it?" A loud, burley voice asks from the other side.      "Andrew, sir. Miss. Alstad is here to see you." He tells the voice. I roll my eyes, there's really no use in getting these people to call me by my first name.             "Ah," the voice answers, "let her in." Andrew opens the door to a large office. Couches sit on either side of the door. Ahead of me is a large wooden desk with two chairs in front of it. There behind the desk hangs a large painted portrait of the two rulers with a young boy, and in front of the painting sits the two in the flesh, John and Agatha Armani.     John is a tall man, firm with muscle in an all black suit. His eyes violent blue with hair and full beard dark brown in contrast with his slightly tanned skin.     Agatha sits to his right, a small, fair, and fragile looking woman wearing a black dress with green eyes that could cut your throat, and long, straight dark brown hair.     John stands as I walk forward and extends his hand.     "Miss. Alstad, it's a pleasure to meet you." He says with a smile. I shake hands with both him and Agatha who smiles kindly at me.     "It's very nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Armani. Thank you very much for inviting me into your gorgeous home." I tell them. They seemed a bit taken aback to hear me speak that way, but only for a moment and they regain composure. I can't blame them, those who come from The Academy aren't usually known to be civilized.     "Well," John exclaims while taking a seat, "please sit Miss. Alstad, let's cut right to the chase."     "Please, call me Aura." I tell them both as I take a seat across from John.     "Alright, Aura. You know why I've hired you. We're preparing for war against a very powerful rival gang, the Anonymous Brotherhood."     I nod. The Anonymous Brotherhood aren't as famous as the Armani’s, but they are just as feared.     "We've had a string of attacks against us, we believe it's time to retaliate." A hint of sadness enters John's eyes as he tells me this.     "How many attacks have there been?" I ask. John hesitates and looks at Agatha who reaches over and holds his hand for support.     "Twelve," he sighs, "twelve of my men and some of their families have been killed."     My eyes widen. Twelve? How could that be? I've been hired by groups that burn rival cities to the ground at the death of one member, and here we are with twelve and they've done nothing?     "Twelve?" I whisper, "How has this happened?" I ask, careful with my tone to not step over the line.     John doesn't seem to mind. "At first we believed in was some smaller groups banding together," he tells me, "after taking them out the attacks still continued. We recently got intel that it is in fact the Anonymous Brotherhood." He seems ashamed as he seems angry.     "I see. So, sir, what made you pick me for this task?" I ask him, tilting my head slightly.     John looks me dead in the eyes. His smile curls menacingly and his eyes become chaotic.     "My dear, you know who you are. With the Angel of Death on my side they don't stand a chance." He hisses. John is right, he knows I will do everything he asks, get done whatever needs to get done, and take out anyone in my way. He knows how to use me to his advantage.     His eyes clear and his smile drops as he clears his throat. This man seems darker than I first thought.     "We will start your training right away, and I have the perfect trainer for you." As he finishes his sentence there is a knock at the door.     A boy enters, he seems to be my age, standing tall at about 6'5" with wavy dark brown hair that comes just past his ears, piercing aqua and green eyes with specks of gold and a small black X next to his right eye corner. Freckles scattered across his slightly tanned skin, and his full lips break into a gleaming white smile that could stop time if it wanted.  He lifts his hand with every finger adorned with a silver ring and nails painted black to run his fingers through his hair.     "Hello," he muses, voice smoother than Andrew's, "sorry I'm late."     John stands and walks across the room to hug the boy.     "Here he is," he says proudly, "Aura, this will be your trainer. This is my son, Blue."