Fic: Talents That Can't Be Put On a Resume (Quinn/Rachel) - Chapter 2
Title: Talents That Can't Be Put On a Resume
Chapter 2: The Life of a Villianess
Fandom: Glee
Warning: Girl on girl romance, violence and character death (but the character death happens before the story), and this fic might never be updates.
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word: 3646 for this chapter, 8876 overall
Summary: AU after Sectionals. At age 27, Quinn Fabray Hudson is a mother and a widow. She's also Dianna Agronskia, one of the most lucrative hitman in Chicago. But, leading a double life isn't that hard...well, unless you run into Rachel Berry.
UNBETA-ED!!! You have been warned. If you want to volunteer for beta duty, please do so. But thanks to novak_fan who helped me with characterization :)
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Glee.
Previous Chapter: Prologue , Chapter 1
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Chapter 2: The Life of a Villianess
There were three men that night Finn was killed. Even in the darkness of the room Quinn remembered their faces. They haunt her every night. Their hideous smiles, their laugh; but she didn’t turn away from them, didn’t try to forget. Instead she embraced the memories, always trying to dig deeper, trying to remember every detail she could.
It was because of them that Quinn became what she was: a hunter.
Back then it was all about the revenge; all about the anger, the pain and the loss. That part faded with time, like all wounds they heal but that feeling she got every time she killed someone... that never went away. The men who killed Finn might have been monsters, but they’d woken up a monster inside her too.
Some might say that in hunting those men down and killing them, Quinn had become just like them. Quinn herself would probably agree with the statement...Only she’d followed it up with “and if I was a comic book superhero, I might actually give a damn,” and go right back to killing.
Unexpectedly though, even if Finn’s killers were the ones who had woken up this need in her, they weren’t her first kill.
It happened a few of weeks after she started her ‘hunting trip’. She was in one of those dark alleys with dead ends one often found in movies; the ones that seemed to have been made with the sole purpose of shady deals and convenient spots for assault. It was the former that brought her to the place. She needed unregistered weapons and apparently, this was the place to get it.
The new gun had felt cold in her hands; familiar. It had been a long time since she had gone to the shooting range with her father. It was one of the few things they used to do together, one of the few memories left untainted by the betrayal she felt. Her mother had always been against it but father had never been that good of a listener. He took her shooting anyway.
She was grateful for that. It saved her a lot of time in the end.
She hadn’t plan on using her new weapon so quickly after purchasing them. In fact, she’d plan on using her weapon on three people and three people only. She never thought she’d ever kill more than that but her first kill had been a spontaneous one. The only person she’d ever killed, not because she had to or because she was paid to, but simply because she wanted to.
The man had been with her that night, deeper down those dark streets. She didn’t know his name, didn’t even see what he looked like. All she knew was that he was a predator. Just like her.
He had a girl with him, some drunken co-ed in a short skirt, pinned against a wall, hair mussed, clothes torn and kicking with everything she’s got. Her screams were barely muffled by the hand over her mouth.
Quinn wasn’t trying to be a hero when she aimed her Glock at him. She wasn’t trying to save the poor damsel in distress. She didn’t even care too much if she accidentally hit her. The only thought going through her mind was that the guy can’t see her in the dark, and that she had a clear shot.
Without a second’s pause, her finger pressed against the trigger. And it was as simple and easy as that.
***
22nd September 2021, morning
Recognizance was the most important basic skill a professional killer should have. That was the first thing that Groza had taught Quinn when she started training with him. There are many killers out there who are extremely proficient with their weapon of choice, many who might be fast or stealthy, but without the ability to swiftly gather vital information and assess them, they would all be dead within a week.
It was a skill that had become second nature to her now. Every morning Quinn would wake up and keep her eyes closed; she would keep her body still and her breathing steady as she used every other sense available to her to assess the situation and locate possible threats. She would listen for the smallest fluttering of curtains and feel for every thread of the fabric beneath her. She would taste the staleness of her own mouth to be sure there was nothing else there that wasn’t supposed to be, and take in the scent that surround her.
It was a morning ritual of sorts.
Today’s recognizance gave her a slightly different set of data though. From the soft texture that radiated warmth against her body, and the rhythmic sound of breathing that wasn’t her own, the feel of legs tangled against hers; the only conclusion Quinn could come up with was that she was snuggling someone.
Quinn was snuggling someone.
She kept her eyes closed and double checked just to be sure. The results were still the same. She was definitely snuggling someone.
Someone female judging by the curves she felt against her, approximately her weight, but shorter by roughly 4 to 5 inches; long straight hair.
Rachel Berry, Quinn’s mind supplied. And she was still asleep judging by her breathing pattern.
Threat level: 0 Quinn concluded before opening her eyes. Well, when the brunette was still asleep anyway. (Quinn’s not sure how much she’d rank if she were awake but she’s certain the actress would get at least a few of extra points just for her inability to keep her mouth shut.)
Quinn gave a small smile no one could see. Seeing Rachel again brought back memories and feelings she would otherwise leave well buried but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant.
It had been so long since high school; so long since she’d been that innocent...that happy. She never thought that the time she got knocked up and became the school pariah would end up being the high point in her life, but in the end it did. It was quite pathetic really. Still, she had so many friends then; real friends who stood by her and didn’t judge her no matter how awful she’d been.
She looked down at the hand she had placed on the other girl’s waste; fingers brushing against the slippery material of her night gown and sighed against Rachel’s neck. The scene she was in was so painfully cliché. The brooding, stoic hero and the beautiful, naive heroine, forced to share a bed for the night for reasons beyond their control; the hero too noble and the heroine too innocent for either one of them to make a move, but in the morning they wake up snuggled against each other in a loving embrace.
Quinn gave a snort at the ridiculousness of the idea. She was no hero after all. She realised a long time ago that she was a villainess through and through.
Still, it wasn’t as off putting as she thought it’d be, having Rachel so close to her. She was warm, and soft and still smelt faintly of the shampoo she used last night. She looked very peaceful when she slept. So different from the unstoppable fireball of energy she was when she was awake. Quinn had never been that close to Rachel before now. Sure they were friends but, they had never been that close, so this intimacy between them; it was... unexpected.
But then, it had been a very long time since Quinn had woken up next to someone. Not even her daughter sleeps with her anymore since she’s often away for the night. Maybe she just missed being close to someone.
Quinn let go of Rachel. There was a reason she doesn’t get close to anyone anymore. She had too many attachments in her life already; she didn’t need any more. Attachments were dangerous. They were weaknesses that could be easily exploited.
Intimacy is impractical in her profession. And Quinn was nothing if not practical.
She grabbed her sparkly outfit from last night before going into the bathroom for a shower. She really didn’t want her family to see her in it (not just because of what they would think but because it would bring up questions since she said she’d been on a business trip, which she basically was, just not a business she wants any of them to know anything about) but she currently didn’t have anything else to wear.
Maybe if she was lucky she could shower and sneak out before Rachel woke up and have time to go back to her apartment and change. She’d be pretty late getting home but at least she wouldn’t have to wear her ‘work clothes’.
In the shower she let the water pour over her. She tried not to let her mind wander and instead focus on the present. She focused on the heat and the sound of droplets hitting the marble floor, focused on her own skin, on all the scars that marred its former creamy perfection, and tried to remember where she got them from. She remembered a lot of the main ones; the bullet wound on her left shoulder she got in a shoot out in a club called Atlantis, the knife wound on her back that she got on her trip to Miami, the long white line on her right leg where that shrapnel got her. There were ones she couldn’t seem to remember though, the small scratch on the back of her hand, the bumpiness she felt on her thigh, the little line on her knee.
She never thought she’d forget so easily. It’s only been four years since she started this job.
Of course there were other marks on her skin, ones that were deliberately put there. Quinn had never been the type of girls who would want to get tattoos before but these were different. They weren’t something a kid gets just to seem tougher. The Russian mafia’s system of tattooing is extremely comprehensive. A code system on its own, a language only the ones within it truly understood. Though Quinn wasn’t officially completely considered a member of the bratva, she was still enough a part of it to wear the marks without punishment.
The patterns unfurled across her back, black ink that faded and blurred around the edges, turning dark green and blue. Each picture was distorted with every scar she received; the candles bending slightly with each protruding mark, the daggers chipped but no less sharp, and amongst them all, the tiger, battered but still as proud as the day she first got it. That was her favourite one; a mark of her loyalty.
In her world, scars and tattoos were badges and medals; gained through hardship and worn with pride. It was really too bad that she often had to cover it up. It can be easily used to identify her after all, and with the lives she led, that was really the last she wanted.
The make-up she used to cover them up last night had faded and washed off by now though. She never intended to stay away from her apartment for this long, but it was never easy saying no to Rachel. Another reason to leave before she woke up, Quinn thought before stepping out of the steamy shower.
There was a definite flaw in the design of Rachel’s bathroom. The towel rack was way too far from the shower itself, or at least it felt that way when Quinn heard the click of the door opening.
Instinctively, Quinn ignored the towel and grabbed for the nearest weapon; the wooden handled loofah; and brandished it in an attack pose-
Only to come face to face with a mused haired, wide eyed and confused Rachel.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Quinn!” the girl exclaimed, wearily eyeing the loofah in Quinn’s hand.
Quinn sighed. Of course it was Rachel, she thought before lowering her weapon, who else could it have been? She really needs to get control over her paranoia at some point. Grabbing a weapon first as an automatic response to surprises may have saved her life on many occasions, but it could easily end up exposing her in the end. Not that many ‘sales women’ grab a weapon every time someone comes up behind them after all.
It took Quinn longer than she should to realize that she was still naked. And that Rachel was still looking at her.
Damn that girl! Quinn cursed inwardly as she grabbed the towel. Rachel had finally turned around by then. Ears turning red with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry” she squeaked again before quickly exiting the room, leaving Quinn slumped against the cold marble wall and wondering about the other girl’s unique (superhuman?) ability to catch a trained professional killer completely off guard.
***
18th January 2018
They were all together again, those three scumbags; Finn’s killers; her target; all in one place, flocking together. They were ripe for the picking.
She had caught their scent, followed their trail from Soras Tech where Finn had worked. It turned out that the security company was rotten to the core, knees buried deep in the organized crime business. In a way Quinn was glad Finn never found out about the company’s involvement with the mafia before he died. He never would have worked there if he did, even if he was never directly involved with them himself.
One of the things the company did for the mob was laundry money. Lots of money. Money that mysteriously went missing.
And that was what Finn got framed for in the end. Somehow the money had been ciphened off through Finn’s computer. The company didn’t bother to investigate further than that. They claimed that the money hadn’t been stolen, that they’d stopped it in time but they didn’t want it to get out that one of its own employees got through the system so Finn was simply fired and not arrested. Quinn though it sounded suspicious at the time but was too glad that Finn wouldn’t be going to jail to think too deeply on it.
The truth was the company knew that the mob would handle the issue for them. They knew Finn would die and was glad for it. They thought they didn’t need to tie up their own loose ends.
They didn’t think the mob would have so much trouble tying this one.
Pathetic, Quinn thought as she loaded the gun and hoping she’ll get the chance to get revenge on them too. She wanted to get rid of all of them, the mob boss who coldly ordered Finn’s death, the company’s CEOs who’d been involved with them and stood happily by when Finn was killed, the bastard who framed Finn for his crimes. She wanted to see them with blood on their face, wanted to see the light disappear from their eyes. She wanted to see them beg for mercy, and watch the despair crawling over their face when they realised there wouldn’t be any. The way it happened with Finn...
She was currently running low on resources right now to get to all of them though, but she’d get them eventually somehow. Assuming she doesn’t get arrested first. But, she had more pressing concerns than that at the moment. Right now, her targets were those three, the ones directly involved with Finn’s murder.
She knew that these thugs were just following orders when they came to their home that night, but she was sure that hadn’t been just following orders with all the things they did there. The cheer joy on their faces when they broke Finn told her that much. They were monsters and they enjoyed what they did.
Well, she was going to enjoy what she was about to do too.
In the end it was quite easy to get to the thugs. After all, they knew they’d left a witness behind when they killed Finn. Quinn knew from the start that they would come after her for what she saw, which was why she d laid low for the past few months, keeping herself away from what’s left of her family, all the while honing her skills.
And when she deemed herself armed and ready, she leaked her location to them and waited. And they came, just like she knew they would.
Idiots were so predictable. Then again, she supposed no one ever really suspected the little housewife to be a monster too.
With the guns loaded and hidden under the laundry basket, Quinn took the house keeper’s cart and made her way over to motel room no. 16. She paused just behind the corridor when she saw that the scumbags had visitors. Three men; two of them obvious thugs. The other one was unconscious and covered in bruises; body slung carelessly over the big one’s shoulder. He looked oddly familiar.
It didn’t matter to her right now though. More people simply meant more corpses. She’d already intended to kill anyone that got in her way.
“Housekeeping” she said sweetly after knocking on the door. She didn’t actually expect for them to open it, even if one of them only peaked out through chained doors.
Idiots indeed, she thought as she blew a hole into idiot no. 1’s head. She felt blood splatter on her face but didn’t stop to wipe it, opting instead to shoot at the chain in the door and kick it open.
One by one the idiots dropped to the floor, shock written all over their faces as they met their swift end. Some of them managed to get their guns out and shot at her, but Quinn was quicker. Speed had always been her forte when it came to shooting, even if she still missed occasionally.
It felt so good to have guns in her hands again; the chill of metal, the curve of the trigger, so much power in the palm of her well manicured hands. So similar to when she held it before, so many years ago; and yet so completely different. Watching those men fall to the ground, eyes lifeless, blood pooling around them, sticky and thick against the ugly carpet; she felt...good. Satisfied.
Accomplished.
It wasn’t anything like what she’d imagine that egotistical, god complex ‘I have power over life and death’ thing to be. She didn’t think of herself that differently, or rather that highly, and while she did feel the rush of the kill it didn’t touch her ego. Though the blood on the walls may say otherwise, Quinn didn't feel like she was on a rampage.
Instead she felt calm, for the first time since Finn’s death. Maybe even before that.
Despite her intelligence and her propensity for scheming, Quinn had felt like her life had been spinning out of control since she was 16; a constant victim of circumstances. Sure, it hadn’t been all bad, in fact there were times when she was much happier than she had been when her life was ‘on track’ as head cheerleader and perfect daughter, but still...
Here and now, with blood on her face and semi-automatics in her hands, she never felt so in control. All the mess of her life melted away. All that was left was her, her weapons, and her victims. Everything was so wonderfully simple.
Maybe she was a sociopath, she thought idly to herself as she lowered her weapons. Everyone else in the room was now dead.
All but one.
The man the thugs had brought in was still bound and gagged. He had laid himself down on the floor in fear; body curled up and shaking.
Quinn moved over to release him. She knew it was stupid leaving witnesses around but despite everything she didn’t have the heart to just kill him. After all, he could be like Finn; at the wrong place, at the wrong time, with a wife and a kid waiting for him to come home. Besides, with the way he was shaking she could probably threaten him into silence; maybe use his family if she had to.
It wasn’t until she got closer that she finally recognised him through the bruised and battered face.
James Whitby from Soras Tech. He sat three desks away from Finn and was there for every football game and bar-b-q. They were on the same bowling league and sang together on Karaoke nights.
The calm was gone in a single second; replaced instead by blood boiling anger that burned right through her soul.
So this was the traitor. The man who gave up the life of a friend, and ruined the lives of his family.
“Please please don’t hurt me,” he begged tearfully as Quinn ripped out the gag. It was exactly what she wanted to hear from him.
“Hello Whitby” she said with a cruel smile. The man’s eyes widened at her voice; finally recognising her.
“Quinn?” Disbelief was written all over his face as he scanned the room, taking in the splashes of dark red and the stillness of the bodies slumped over on the ground.
“So it was you who framed husband,” her voice like ice; and the man curled up even tighter against himself; voice quaking in his denial.
“I-, I have no idea what you’re talking about. They kidnapped me Quinn; I have no idea who they are. Please! You have to help me!”
Whitby wasn’t a very good liar. The guilt was written all over his face, eyes like a cornered animal as he cowered in fear.
Quinn reached for the knife she’d hidden in her shoes.
“You picked the wrong family to screw over,” she said, hovering over him; her small body casting a large shadow over the quivering mess before her.
James Whitby took a very long time to die.
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Sorry that's all I got
And since not everyone reads author's notes at the begging of the story
IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM AUTHOR (REPEATED): This fic may never be finished... ever. Keep this in mind and decide before you read. Right now my city (Bangkok) is about to hit a major flood. So anything that can be posted, will be posted as soon as possible in case I lose all of my data then I can at least save some things online, so I'm posting this even if I haven't written more of it in like a year.
Chapter 2: The Life of a Villianess
Fandom: Glee
Warning: Girl on girl romance, violence and character death (but the character death happens before the story), and this fic might never be updates.
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word: 3646 for this chapter, 8876 overall
Summary: AU after Sectionals. At age 27, Quinn Fabray Hudson is a mother and a widow. She's also Dianna Agronskia, one of the most lucrative hitman in Chicago. But, leading a double life isn't that hard...well, unless you run into Rachel Berry.
UNBETA-ED!!! You have been warned. If you want to volunteer for beta duty, please do so. But thanks to novak_fan who helped me with characterization :)
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Glee.
Previous Chapter: Prologue , Chapter 1
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Chapter 2: The Life of a Villianess
There were three men that night Finn was killed. Even in the darkness of the room Quinn remembered their faces. They haunt her every night. Their hideous smiles, their laugh; but she didn’t turn away from them, didn’t try to forget. Instead she embraced the memories, always trying to dig deeper, trying to remember every detail she could.
It was because of them that Quinn became what she was: a hunter.
Back then it was all about the revenge; all about the anger, the pain and the loss. That part faded with time, like all wounds they heal but that feeling she got every time she killed someone... that never went away. The men who killed Finn might have been monsters, but they’d woken up a monster inside her too.
Some might say that in hunting those men down and killing them, Quinn had become just like them. Quinn herself would probably agree with the statement...Only she’d followed it up with “and if I was a comic book superhero, I might actually give a damn,” and go right back to killing.
Unexpectedly though, even if Finn’s killers were the ones who had woken up this need in her, they weren’t her first kill.
It happened a few of weeks after she started her ‘hunting trip’. She was in one of those dark alleys with dead ends one often found in movies; the ones that seemed to have been made with the sole purpose of shady deals and convenient spots for assault. It was the former that brought her to the place. She needed unregistered weapons and apparently, this was the place to get it.
The new gun had felt cold in her hands; familiar. It had been a long time since she had gone to the shooting range with her father. It was one of the few things they used to do together, one of the few memories left untainted by the betrayal she felt. Her mother had always been against it but father had never been that good of a listener. He took her shooting anyway.
She was grateful for that. It saved her a lot of time in the end.
She hadn’t plan on using her new weapon so quickly after purchasing them. In fact, she’d plan on using her weapon on three people and three people only. She never thought she’d ever kill more than that but her first kill had been a spontaneous one. The only person she’d ever killed, not because she had to or because she was paid to, but simply because she wanted to.
The man had been with her that night, deeper down those dark streets. She didn’t know his name, didn’t even see what he looked like. All she knew was that he was a predator. Just like her.
He had a girl with him, some drunken co-ed in a short skirt, pinned against a wall, hair mussed, clothes torn and kicking with everything she’s got. Her screams were barely muffled by the hand over her mouth.
Quinn wasn’t trying to be a hero when she aimed her Glock at him. She wasn’t trying to save the poor damsel in distress. She didn’t even care too much if she accidentally hit her. The only thought going through her mind was that the guy can’t see her in the dark, and that she had a clear shot.
Without a second’s pause, her finger pressed against the trigger. And it was as simple and easy as that.
***
22nd September 2021, morning
Recognizance was the most important basic skill a professional killer should have. That was the first thing that Groza had taught Quinn when she started training with him. There are many killers out there who are extremely proficient with their weapon of choice, many who might be fast or stealthy, but without the ability to swiftly gather vital information and assess them, they would all be dead within a week.
It was a skill that had become second nature to her now. Every morning Quinn would wake up and keep her eyes closed; she would keep her body still and her breathing steady as she used every other sense available to her to assess the situation and locate possible threats. She would listen for the smallest fluttering of curtains and feel for every thread of the fabric beneath her. She would taste the staleness of her own mouth to be sure there was nothing else there that wasn’t supposed to be, and take in the scent that surround her.
It was a morning ritual of sorts.
Today’s recognizance gave her a slightly different set of data though. From the soft texture that radiated warmth against her body, and the rhythmic sound of breathing that wasn’t her own, the feel of legs tangled against hers; the only conclusion Quinn could come up with was that she was snuggling someone.
Quinn was snuggling someone.
She kept her eyes closed and double checked just to be sure. The results were still the same. She was definitely snuggling someone.
Someone female judging by the curves she felt against her, approximately her weight, but shorter by roughly 4 to 5 inches; long straight hair.
Rachel Berry, Quinn’s mind supplied. And she was still asleep judging by her breathing pattern.
Threat level: 0 Quinn concluded before opening her eyes. Well, when the brunette was still asleep anyway. (Quinn’s not sure how much she’d rank if she were awake but she’s certain the actress would get at least a few of extra points just for her inability to keep her mouth shut.)
Quinn gave a small smile no one could see. Seeing Rachel again brought back memories and feelings she would otherwise leave well buried but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant.
It had been so long since high school; so long since she’d been that innocent...that happy. She never thought that the time she got knocked up and became the school pariah would end up being the high point in her life, but in the end it did. It was quite pathetic really. Still, she had so many friends then; real friends who stood by her and didn’t judge her no matter how awful she’d been.
She looked down at the hand she had placed on the other girl’s waste; fingers brushing against the slippery material of her night gown and sighed against Rachel’s neck. The scene she was in was so painfully cliché. The brooding, stoic hero and the beautiful, naive heroine, forced to share a bed for the night for reasons beyond their control; the hero too noble and the heroine too innocent for either one of them to make a move, but in the morning they wake up snuggled against each other in a loving embrace.
Quinn gave a snort at the ridiculousness of the idea. She was no hero after all. She realised a long time ago that she was a villainess through and through.
Still, it wasn’t as off putting as she thought it’d be, having Rachel so close to her. She was warm, and soft and still smelt faintly of the shampoo she used last night. She looked very peaceful when she slept. So different from the unstoppable fireball of energy she was when she was awake. Quinn had never been that close to Rachel before now. Sure they were friends but, they had never been that close, so this intimacy between them; it was... unexpected.
But then, it had been a very long time since Quinn had woken up next to someone. Not even her daughter sleeps with her anymore since she’s often away for the night. Maybe she just missed being close to someone.
Quinn let go of Rachel. There was a reason she doesn’t get close to anyone anymore. She had too many attachments in her life already; she didn’t need any more. Attachments were dangerous. They were weaknesses that could be easily exploited.
Intimacy is impractical in her profession. And Quinn was nothing if not practical.
She grabbed her sparkly outfit from last night before going into the bathroom for a shower. She really didn’t want her family to see her in it (not just because of what they would think but because it would bring up questions since she said she’d been on a business trip, which she basically was, just not a business she wants any of them to know anything about) but she currently didn’t have anything else to wear.
Maybe if she was lucky she could shower and sneak out before Rachel woke up and have time to go back to her apartment and change. She’d be pretty late getting home but at least she wouldn’t have to wear her ‘work clothes’.
In the shower she let the water pour over her. She tried not to let her mind wander and instead focus on the present. She focused on the heat and the sound of droplets hitting the marble floor, focused on her own skin, on all the scars that marred its former creamy perfection, and tried to remember where she got them from. She remembered a lot of the main ones; the bullet wound on her left shoulder she got in a shoot out in a club called Atlantis, the knife wound on her back that she got on her trip to Miami, the long white line on her right leg where that shrapnel got her. There were ones she couldn’t seem to remember though, the small scratch on the back of her hand, the bumpiness she felt on her thigh, the little line on her knee.
She never thought she’d forget so easily. It’s only been four years since she started this job.
Of course there were other marks on her skin, ones that were deliberately put there. Quinn had never been the type of girls who would want to get tattoos before but these were different. They weren’t something a kid gets just to seem tougher. The Russian mafia’s system of tattooing is extremely comprehensive. A code system on its own, a language only the ones within it truly understood. Though Quinn wasn’t officially completely considered a member of the bratva, she was still enough a part of it to wear the marks without punishment.
The patterns unfurled across her back, black ink that faded and blurred around the edges, turning dark green and blue. Each picture was distorted with every scar she received; the candles bending slightly with each protruding mark, the daggers chipped but no less sharp, and amongst them all, the tiger, battered but still as proud as the day she first got it. That was her favourite one; a mark of her loyalty.
In her world, scars and tattoos were badges and medals; gained through hardship and worn with pride. It was really too bad that she often had to cover it up. It can be easily used to identify her after all, and with the lives she led, that was really the last she wanted.
The make-up she used to cover them up last night had faded and washed off by now though. She never intended to stay away from her apartment for this long, but it was never easy saying no to Rachel. Another reason to leave before she woke up, Quinn thought before stepping out of the steamy shower.
There was a definite flaw in the design of Rachel’s bathroom. The towel rack was way too far from the shower itself, or at least it felt that way when Quinn heard the click of the door opening.
Instinctively, Quinn ignored the towel and grabbed for the nearest weapon; the wooden handled loofah; and brandished it in an attack pose-
Only to come face to face with a mused haired, wide eyed and confused Rachel.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Quinn!” the girl exclaimed, wearily eyeing the loofah in Quinn’s hand.
Quinn sighed. Of course it was Rachel, she thought before lowering her weapon, who else could it have been? She really needs to get control over her paranoia at some point. Grabbing a weapon first as an automatic response to surprises may have saved her life on many occasions, but it could easily end up exposing her in the end. Not that many ‘sales women’ grab a weapon every time someone comes up behind them after all.
It took Quinn longer than she should to realize that she was still naked. And that Rachel was still looking at her.
Damn that girl! Quinn cursed inwardly as she grabbed the towel. Rachel had finally turned around by then. Ears turning red with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry” she squeaked again before quickly exiting the room, leaving Quinn slumped against the cold marble wall and wondering about the other girl’s unique (superhuman?) ability to catch a trained professional killer completely off guard.
***
18th January 2018
They were all together again, those three scumbags; Finn’s killers; her target; all in one place, flocking together. They were ripe for the picking.
She had caught their scent, followed their trail from Soras Tech where Finn had worked. It turned out that the security company was rotten to the core, knees buried deep in the organized crime business. In a way Quinn was glad Finn never found out about the company’s involvement with the mafia before he died. He never would have worked there if he did, even if he was never directly involved with them himself.
One of the things the company did for the mob was laundry money. Lots of money. Money that mysteriously went missing.
And that was what Finn got framed for in the end. Somehow the money had been ciphened off through Finn’s computer. The company didn’t bother to investigate further than that. They claimed that the money hadn’t been stolen, that they’d stopped it in time but they didn’t want it to get out that one of its own employees got through the system so Finn was simply fired and not arrested. Quinn though it sounded suspicious at the time but was too glad that Finn wouldn’t be going to jail to think too deeply on it.
The truth was the company knew that the mob would handle the issue for them. They knew Finn would die and was glad for it. They thought they didn’t need to tie up their own loose ends.
They didn’t think the mob would have so much trouble tying this one.
Pathetic, Quinn thought as she loaded the gun and hoping she’ll get the chance to get revenge on them too. She wanted to get rid of all of them, the mob boss who coldly ordered Finn’s death, the company’s CEOs who’d been involved with them and stood happily by when Finn was killed, the bastard who framed Finn for his crimes. She wanted to see them with blood on their face, wanted to see the light disappear from their eyes. She wanted to see them beg for mercy, and watch the despair crawling over their face when they realised there wouldn’t be any. The way it happened with Finn...
She was currently running low on resources right now to get to all of them though, but she’d get them eventually somehow. Assuming she doesn’t get arrested first. But, she had more pressing concerns than that at the moment. Right now, her targets were those three, the ones directly involved with Finn’s murder.
She knew that these thugs were just following orders when they came to their home that night, but she was sure that hadn’t been just following orders with all the things they did there. The cheer joy on their faces when they broke Finn told her that much. They were monsters and they enjoyed what they did.
Well, she was going to enjoy what she was about to do too.
In the end it was quite easy to get to the thugs. After all, they knew they’d left a witness behind when they killed Finn. Quinn knew from the start that they would come after her for what she saw, which was why she d laid low for the past few months, keeping herself away from what’s left of her family, all the while honing her skills.
And when she deemed herself armed and ready, she leaked her location to them and waited. And they came, just like she knew they would.
Idiots were so predictable. Then again, she supposed no one ever really suspected the little housewife to be a monster too.
With the guns loaded and hidden under the laundry basket, Quinn took the house keeper’s cart and made her way over to motel room no. 16. She paused just behind the corridor when she saw that the scumbags had visitors. Three men; two of them obvious thugs. The other one was unconscious and covered in bruises; body slung carelessly over the big one’s shoulder. He looked oddly familiar.
It didn’t matter to her right now though. More people simply meant more corpses. She’d already intended to kill anyone that got in her way.
“Housekeeping” she said sweetly after knocking on the door. She didn’t actually expect for them to open it, even if one of them only peaked out through chained doors.
Idiots indeed, she thought as she blew a hole into idiot no. 1’s head. She felt blood splatter on her face but didn’t stop to wipe it, opting instead to shoot at the chain in the door and kick it open.
One by one the idiots dropped to the floor, shock written all over their faces as they met their swift end. Some of them managed to get their guns out and shot at her, but Quinn was quicker. Speed had always been her forte when it came to shooting, even if she still missed occasionally.
It felt so good to have guns in her hands again; the chill of metal, the curve of the trigger, so much power in the palm of her well manicured hands. So similar to when she held it before, so many years ago; and yet so completely different. Watching those men fall to the ground, eyes lifeless, blood pooling around them, sticky and thick against the ugly carpet; she felt...good. Satisfied.
Accomplished.
It wasn’t anything like what she’d imagine that egotistical, god complex ‘I have power over life and death’ thing to be. She didn’t think of herself that differently, or rather that highly, and while she did feel the rush of the kill it didn’t touch her ego. Though the blood on the walls may say otherwise, Quinn didn't feel like she was on a rampage.
Instead she felt calm, for the first time since Finn’s death. Maybe even before that.
Despite her intelligence and her propensity for scheming, Quinn had felt like her life had been spinning out of control since she was 16; a constant victim of circumstances. Sure, it hadn’t been all bad, in fact there were times when she was much happier than she had been when her life was ‘on track’ as head cheerleader and perfect daughter, but still...
Here and now, with blood on her face and semi-automatics in her hands, she never felt so in control. All the mess of her life melted away. All that was left was her, her weapons, and her victims. Everything was so wonderfully simple.
Maybe she was a sociopath, she thought idly to herself as she lowered her weapons. Everyone else in the room was now dead.
All but one.
The man the thugs had brought in was still bound and gagged. He had laid himself down on the floor in fear; body curled up and shaking.
Quinn moved over to release him. She knew it was stupid leaving witnesses around but despite everything she didn’t have the heart to just kill him. After all, he could be like Finn; at the wrong place, at the wrong time, with a wife and a kid waiting for him to come home. Besides, with the way he was shaking she could probably threaten him into silence; maybe use his family if she had to.
It wasn’t until she got closer that she finally recognised him through the bruised and battered face.
James Whitby from Soras Tech. He sat three desks away from Finn and was there for every football game and bar-b-q. They were on the same bowling league and sang together on Karaoke nights.
The calm was gone in a single second; replaced instead by blood boiling anger that burned right through her soul.
So this was the traitor. The man who gave up the life of a friend, and ruined the lives of his family.
“Please please don’t hurt me,” he begged tearfully as Quinn ripped out the gag. It was exactly what she wanted to hear from him.
“Hello Whitby” she said with a cruel smile. The man’s eyes widened at her voice; finally recognising her.
“Quinn?” Disbelief was written all over his face as he scanned the room, taking in the splashes of dark red and the stillness of the bodies slumped over on the ground.
“So it was you who framed husband,” her voice like ice; and the man curled up even tighter against himself; voice quaking in his denial.
“I-, I have no idea what you’re talking about. They kidnapped me Quinn; I have no idea who they are. Please! You have to help me!”
Whitby wasn’t a very good liar. The guilt was written all over his face, eyes like a cornered animal as he cowered in fear.
Quinn reached for the knife she’d hidden in her shoes.
“You picked the wrong family to screw over,” she said, hovering over him; her small body casting a large shadow over the quivering mess before her.
James Whitby took a very long time to die.
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Sorry that's all I got
And since not everyone reads author's notes at the begging of the story
IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM AUTHOR (REPEATED): This fic may never be finished... ever. Keep this in mind and decide before you read. Right now my city (Bangkok) is about to hit a major flood. So anything that can be posted, will be posted as soon as possible in case I lose all of my data then I can at least save some things online, so I'm posting this even if I haven't written more of it in like a year.