Not A Small-Town Girl

A bloodthirsty smile crept across Danielle’s face as she contemplated her next move.

Howard and Vivian, sensing the danger of the moment, knew better than to get in her way. They urged, "Danielle, be careful. Stay safe."

The mask-wearers stood motionless like statues, their ironclad bodies unwavering, slowly advancing toward her.

Bullets and knives had done nothing to faze them; even the acupuncture and poisons only immobilized them for mere seconds.

With lightning speed, Danielle closed the distance, landing a punch straight to the head of one of the mask-wearers. To her shock, the blow had no effect. The helmeted head didn’t even budge.

Her heart skipped a beat. ’The head wasn’t the weak spot?’

Gracefully as ever, Danielle danced through the group of mask-wearers, trying to find a chink in their armor.

She pulled out her gun and fired—bang, bang, bang—shooting at the head, the neck. No effect.

Her mind raced as she assessed the situation. These mask-wearers weren’t even human. They seemed to be some hybrid, neither alive nor dead, just maintaining the appearance of life. But surely, there had to be a weakness somewhere.

*****

of assassins gathered in

handful of bodyguards. We haven’t seen him

of the men, perched with

underestimate those bodyguards. They’re

their final job. If they succeeded,

we get David’s head, we’ll rise

multiple contracts to take out

expect David’s life to be so valuable.

that many want him dead. All we need to know is that his death

spoke eagerly, almost as if

for dark. If David hasn’t shown up by then, we’ll scout the terrain. We need to be meticulous." The

"Got it, boss."

*****