Prologue
‘Three, Two, One.’
The thud his lifeless body caused as it hit the floor would be entirely unnoticeable to anyone else in the hotel; it would only be tomorrow when the maid comes, that someone would discover his corpse.
She let out the breath she had been holding in, as the bullet had left her gun and lodged itself into his brain, not out of guilt but of relief. Relief for those he couldn't hurt anymore. There was one more bastard corrupting the earth, gone, so there was no reason for her to feel guilty, ridding the world of evil was her purpose after all.
The familiar clicks as she closed up her rifle, began the subconscious routine that ended with the zip of the duffle bag that she slung over her shoulder before heading to the window. They would find no evidence, they never did. They would look, and look hard, for the person who killed their beloved philanthropist, but would find nothing on her, only information about his extra curricular activities that will destroy his legacy, bit by bit.
‘Humanitarian Clive Cohort found shot dead in hotel room in Chicago, the investigation is ongoing.’ is how they'll start, publishing article after article of all the good deeds he committed before an evil soul took him from this world.
‘Chicago Police Department continues to fail at identifying a suspect following the mysterious death of Millionaire Clive Cohort.’ Is how they'll continue for weeks, all while the FBI slowly begins accessing his private laptop with all the evidence laid out on a platter for them.
‘Deceased Chicago philanthropist Clive Cohort is exposed as the leader of a child trafficking ring, as the investigation into his criminal activities continues.’ Is what they’ll start to write, and she will read it with a smile. The scum bastard will rot with Hades, as she dismantles his reputation and endowment, until retribution, for all of his victims, is paid.
She shot one last glance at the body, a small smirk emerging at the sight of blood pooling around his bald head. The job finished, her body enclosed on itself, shrinking to the size of a raven.
She whistled softly, as she flew above the City of Chicago, smells of smoke and city life, encircling her, as she lowered closer to the population, before rising back up. Against her better judgement she circled Willis Tower which was, as always, full of bloodsucking suits, who killed to get ahead in the world.
They were still working, even in the early hours of the morning; office monkey’s may work hard, but she worked harder. She landed on the outside window sill of an office full of them, gaze switching one receding hairline to the next, before she flew away once more. They were the enablers of the world, who glorified the rich and exploited the poor, but for now they were just trivial pursuits and irritants.
Flying into Lake View, she approached the Brewster Building where she was temporarily taking residence; immediately flying through the window she had left open for this purpose, she really did hate taking the stairs.
Rising out of her bird form, she immediately began undoing the two French braids she had created that morning, before erupting her wings from her back, letting out a soft moan at the relief. Feathers could fall. feathers could leave evidence, so they had to be hidden, despite how painful that may be.
Humming ‘smooth criminal,’ by Michael Jackson, she started stripping off the practical suit she wore on missions, in her hallway. Dropping knives, undoing zips, and slowly emerging her top half from the breathable but tight material, she walked into her dark bedroom, where the hair on her neck immediately stood on end.
Someone was in here, someone uninvited, someone who would soon regret a lot of their choices.
There was one last knife on her person; she continued to act normal, feigning ignorance, as she reached for it. But as soon as her grip tightened around it, intending to unveil it, she heard his voice.
‘Nemesis.’