"Renegade to Mad Dog," she murmured under her breath, the small earpiece uncomfortable but invisible in her ear. "Comm check."

The message's recipient - the Italian man driving - was inaudible over the soft purring of the expensive car, but the tinny voice came in clearly through the earpiece. "Mad Dog functional. Renegade?"

"Confirmed," she responded, then, "radio silence until arrival. Renegade out." She tapped on her ear to deactivate the earpiece, which silenced itself with a soft blip. In the front of the car, Maddox did the same thing.

"Ready?" he asked confidently, as they pulled up the driveway to the great manor, faint orchestral music coming from inside as couples walk up, arm in arm, dressed like kings and queens.

”Do you expect me to say no?” she responded wryly, as she stepped out of the car at the curb. Maddox was dressed to look like a chauffeur for now, but as soon as Kirsi was in the house, he’d leave to change and get ready for what he was there to do. There could be no hint of a connection between the two, especially since they were carrying out separate operations at the same party - Maddox just happened to be old enough to drive, and Kirsi wasn’t. The infamous Mad Dog was there to steal something from the manor’s owner - Kirsi hadn’t asked what because she really didn’t particularly care - but Kirsi was there to carry out a hit. Someone important was displeased with one of the guests, and had decided to hire Renegade to take him out.

Contrary to what most people believed, hitmen in real life weren’t the stealthy, ninja-like beings that movies and games claimed they were. The likelihood of getting hired was usually based more on location and inconspicuousness than anything, and with prior experience with an organization. Kirsi was associated mainly with a few organizations that spread the word about location-specific people who were willing to carry out hits - in other words, basically acting agencies for hitmen - and it turned out that New York was a perfect location to work from. It also meant that her targets weren’t always exotic and heavily guarded - some of them were relatively low down on the food chain of life, but just happened to be in New York, which was why someone of her caliber was taking him out. Also, this was her first hit in this new locale, meaning she'd have to build up her reputation a bit again. People knew of Valdyr and Railgun, but not about Renegade.

As she entered the house, she could hear Maddox driving away, and she wouldn’t expect to see him again, considering he was taking a more cat burglar-like approach this time around.

The party was an elegant affair, with expensively dressed people clinking bubbling champagne glasses as they milled around the great hall of the manor, as a string quartet played some sort of textbook classical music on a raised platform at the end of the room. There were some children present, and any new ones were apparently being shuffled off to a side room where they could play as the adults talked business. But there were some, meaning no one spared Kirsi a second glance as she wove through the people, making her way up the stairs to the balcony that overlooked the ballroom, scanning the faces, looking for her target.

And eventually, she found him. Eyes trained on her target, she inconspicuously tapped her earpiece to bring it back online, passing the movement off as her tucking her long, white hair behind an ear.

”Renegade to Mad Dog, do you copy,” she said softly, under her breath, eyes moving to follow her target, who was chatting amiably with somebody else next to the hors d’oeuvres.

"I copy. Update?” came the response.

”Mockingbird sighted. Proceed?” Mockingbird - the codename for her target. It was a sort of joke of theirs, calling targets Mockingbird, because Maddox was a huge fan of American literature but not so much of a fan for what Kirsi did for a living.

”Hold. Grail still under lockdown.” So he hadn’t gotten to whatever he was trying to get just yet. “Lockdown” was their code word for, well, “locked down,” in a “it may take a while to get it out” sort of way. ”Fastest and easiest way is hit-and-run. Proceed?” Normally, hit-and-runs - smashing whatever it was contained in and then running with the item - was inadvisable, because it made it very clear that the thing was getting stolen, considering alarms usually went crazy and the room went under lockdown and a bunch of other not-so-fun stuff. But getting trapped wasn’t Mad Dog’s problem, considering his teleportation ability - setting the alarms off was, because it could throw off Kirsi’s mission, and they’d decided that if they had missions in the same place, they’d communicate to make sure what they were doing wouldn’t compromise the other. But in this case, alarms would be great - in the chaos, it’d be difficult to even notice that someone was dead, and if Kirsi went right before Maddox did, she wouldn’t risk hitting anyone else.

"Permission to proceed. Countdown.” She could hear the whirring of something mechanical from Maddox’s end.

"Three.”

She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, eyeing her target.

"Two.”

Everyone around her must’ve thought that she was just an eccentric little girl, playing around with a bobby pin. Maybe she was trying to point out her dad or something - none of them registered that she was even remotely a threat. Mockingbird was in her crosshairs now, so to speak.

"One.”

Hades ghosted through the party, unnoticed, not standing out at all. Hades was a master of disguises and tonight he was a slightly elderly gentleman who had donated generously to the charity event. Not too much mind you to draw attention, but enough to be invited to the VIP section.

His gait was that of a slightly arthritic elderly gentleman. He was dressed for the occasion, shirt and tie, jumper simple yet well tailored jacket, flat cap, black leather gloves and a walking stick made of dark wood completed the picture. he was here for a number of reasons.

Firstly as a well known assassin, he was often passed rumors of hits that might happen, especially when the client hoped against hope that Hades might offer to do it. Once in a blue moon, for his own personal reasons, by it an odd eccentric sense of morals or a desire to perhaps serve justice, Hades had taken jobs well below his level. Since then some people viewed Hades a little like a lottery, you might just get lucky. Hades paid them no need. It was a good way to keep tabs on what was going on though.
The other reason was that it was always good to get out and keep in touch with the goings on of prominent figures. The police chief was going to be here, as well as some of those responsible for pushing through the META program.

Hades passed through the crown with practiced ease, drifting here and there listening, watching. That was why the nine year old caught his eye. She was an anomoly, something out of place. She was not acting like a typical nine year old, she was too... focused. Single minded determination, as she appeared to be searching for someone. A nine year old could be searching for her parent but this one moved so much more confidently that any nine year old had a right to feel. She acted almost like a predator. Hades decided to discretely observe her from afar.

Kirsi frowned, hissing very suddenly into her earpiece, "Hold.” She lowered her arm, eyes no longer focused on her target, but on the neatly-dressed, elderly man instead.

”Report,” came the wary voice over the comm.

”There’s another here,” she said darkly. ”Another interloper.” Interloper - code for others who did what Kirsi did. ”Professional. Old. Jumper, flat cap, gloves, dark cane. Be on lookout. Time until retrieval?”

”Ten, maybe twenty. More than we wanted to spend. Proceed?”

”Permission granted. Silence until update.”

Maddox’s end fell quiet, and Kirsi searched for the man watching her again from her position on the balcony. There he was, and he was good. Even with her training, her eyes had glossed over him once or twice, dismissing him as not even remotely a threat. But he definitely was, because someone in her line of work had to be very aware of the competition. She couldn’t put her finger on a name, but she knew the face. He was international, and so only somewhat on her radar, as assassins like him relied more on notoriety than anything, and often charged so much more that localized ones like Kirsi did. A kill from a notorious international assassin often got more headlines than a kill from a little-known one did, but that was, sadly, very often what people were looking for, even if the big ones tended to be loose cannons since they believed they could do everything on their terms. Kirsi was a precision contractor, not a statement contractor - people hired her when they wanted things done a very specific way, usually low-profile, and while she wasn’t paid as much as the statement killers, she still made ridiculous amounts of money for it.

So she was not going to allow an arrogant, holier-than-thou international assassin to steal her kill.

She started walking down the steps again, and once the man continued to follow her, she knew that his eye was on her. She doubted he’d recognize her immediately - she was one of perhaps eighty contractors working out of the immediate area, and while she was the most distinctive, most of her notoriety came from her exploits in Eastern Europe, under a different name. There were no records of Railgun or Valdyr in America, and as far as the authorities knew and believed, she was still operating out of Eastern Europe. Renegade was a ghost, and Kirsi intended to keep it that way.

Kirsi swept out of the ballroom once she reached the main floor, moving very quickly through the rooms of the house. There was a brief moment in which a slightly irritated guest halted her, asking what she was doing outside of the ballroom, but she merely put on her “confused nine year-old” face and asked where the bathroom was, because she’d gotten terribly lost. She didn’t run into anyone after that, even as she dodged and weaved through the ridiculously numerous rooms.

Eventually, she reached a sunroom of sorts on a balcony. The mansion was built on a cliff of some sort, so from her position, she could actually see the party. She took the scope from the little bag hanging from her shoulder, where she always kept it, and peered down into the crowds - there was her target again. Good. Now she had a view of her target, and there was no way for whoever the mysterious assassin was to sneak up on her, and even if he did, Kirsi had the easy escape route of “off the cliff,” and it would barely hurt her. But she was sure he wouldn’t - fellow hitmen had a code, and that was that they wouldn’t steal someone else’s kill out of the blue unless explicitly ordered to do so.

Well, that was for the localized ones. She didn’t even know if this international one would be so honorable as to do so.

Hades knew the instant he had been made and stopped discretely following the girl. He was confident that he was not recognized, he could count on one hand the number of people who could identify him by his face. In the intelligence communities he was regarded as part myth part urban legend. Many suspected that the title of "Hades" or "Reaper" was passed on from assassin to assassin or perhaps it was a group that operated under one name. If any of his hits had appeared on the papers it was usually under the heading "Tragic accident befalls XXX" or "XXX dies of heart attack" etc. Though now his interest was piqued. It had been years, no decades since someone had made him, the last time that happened they had been on the lookout for him. He had decided to go to this party last minute under an iron clad alibi. How did someone so young come to be so skilled? Training? perhaps she was an immortal like himself. Regardless he would wait to see if there was an opportunity to speak with her.

Hades knew better than to follow her, most likely she had assumed that he was there to stop her or steal her kill. No matter he did not need to tail her to find her. He had surmised her target, and where he was, she would be not far behind. the party had moved to an out door courtyard where a stage had been setup. Hades stayed in the shadows and discretely looked around. The setting sun illuminated a small glint on a balcony. A scope reflecting the light only for a second. Many would have missed it but for a veteran like Hades that was all the confirmation he needed. the mood in the party was expectant. There was an announcement, a senator had arrived with the local police chief in tow. Hades could guess the rest. The police Chief would want as much political support for the new META program, especially in the light of reports that there had been problems with the robots differentiating friend from foe (see You Made Your META). This was also a play to get more of New York's rich and famous behind the program. There was at least one model of each type of robot on display, although to prevent any mishaps each one had a retainer who could give it direct commands. There was at least one helicopter overhead. No doubt part security partly to record more footage for Purposes. Hades wondered if the girl would still take the shot. As if to answer his silent question a cry followed by multiple screams pierced the air. From where he was Hades could not tell if her target was merely wounded or killed. What was certain was that security clamped down, Hard. Soon there were officers and bots going from person to person checking invitations and scanning for weapons.
 Hades wondered if the girl would need help getting out. He doubted that she could pull the lost little girl act now. Then again it was known that sometimes assassins would help each other...

****Elsewhere*****

In a dark alley way, George cracked his knuckles. There was a big to do attended by the rich and famous. If any of them went for a walk, well he and his gang would be waiting. This could be his night to mug a rich person. He grinned evilly.

It'd been fifteen minutes. Kirsi was constantly checking the childish purple watch she wore, which seemed innocent enough, but had really been synced to the second with her partner's. That was usual protocol for any group of people going on a mission, after all. And, as expected, her comm finally buzzed to life in a faint crackle of static.

"Grail retrieved. Mad Dog out." Kirsi could hear something in the background - Maddox was presumably making his way out through the partygoers, as he tended to prefer teleporting as a last resort.

"Copy. Wait at meet point."

"Copy," the voice said back, but suddenly, there was an agitated cry.

"Mad Dog, report," Kirsi said quickly, peering back through her scope. She located her partner almost immediately in the throngs of screaming people - she'd know him anywhere - and watched as he immediately and instinctively ducked for cover.

"An interloper found our mockingbird," he said distastefully. Following his line of sight with her scope, Kirsi swore in Swedish under her breath.

"Helvete," she growled softly. She'd never learned to swear in Norse - people were rather conscientious of that sort of thing around people her age when they weren't involved in criminal enterprises - but the majority of her work had been done in Sweden, and it was hard not to swear when you'd been shot by a nine-year-old girl. "The same one as before?"

"Can't tell," Maddox said back. "I can hear the horn and the dogs are on the prowl, though, so I'm out." Kirsi's subconscious immediately translated it from the code that they used - hunting horn meant the police were on the scene, and dogs meant that META was too. Maddox had better leave, because if he was identified as a mutant and a wanted criminal, Kirsi might be compromised too.

"Leave, now," she said, and Maddox only muttered his assent before disappearing. That was what she liked about his power - there was no pomp and circumstance whatsoever. He was there, and then he wasn't. It was quiet and nobody would see him coming.

Kirsi focused on the scene below in the courtyard again. The police seemed to be checking for weapons and invitations, and while she could pass off her lack of invitation by claiming her dad had it, it was hard to pretend a sniper scope was anything but. And if META suspected her, well, she couldn't hide her DNA. But if another assassin really had stolen her kill - not that the man hadn't deserved it; he'd been bribing people to keep quiet about META's numerous failings and ordering hits on those who refused to comply - it was, in all likelihood, the assassin she'd seen before.

So, while she could play it safe, she was going to place her bets on the fact that she was a nine-year-old girl to protect her. If need be, that courtyard was right by the edge of the cliff, and she would be one of the very few people who could comfortably survive that fall without a scratch, and, in fact, end up more powerful for it.

She dodged out of the room she'd been watching from, tucking the comm and the scope back into the purse, burying it beneath an American Girl doll, a little, rather angry-looking stuffed puppy, and numerous changes of clothes for the doll. (The puppy was a joke. She still thought Mad Dog was a hilarious code name.) Making her way down the stairs and to the courtyard, she was only stopped by one policeman who saw her wandering and asked, seemingly worried, about where her parents were. Kirsi just shrugged and told him that her dad was somewhere at the party, and easily lost him in the crowd when he tried to keep her from seeing the dead body. Nice thought, but she needed to confirm the kill by sight herself.

And that was the bastard, all right. She frowned almost apathetically at the body, still concealed by the faux horrified (but really morbidly fascinated) people surrounding it, before weaving through the hordes of people again. It wasn't hard to find the interloper - he was standing with his back to her when she found him, and so it was easy enough to almost materialize behind him without him realizing.

"You know," she said, in her childish, almost angelic voice, "it's not nice to play with other people's things."

She was holding a pen in her hand, and seconds later it was on the tiled courtyard, coated in blood. Her hand was pointed at the back of the man's leg.

She was not happy with this situation, and she was decently sure that what she'd done had made that very clear.

The crowd was in panic but the rapid deployment of the META bots was exerting a calming influence. In the rush of things Hades lost sight of the young assassin. They were going through checking people one by one for invitations and weapons. One thing sHades would give them they were efficient. They had set up a preimeter driving the crowd into the center of the courtyard away from the doors and railings and as the people were processed they were asked to leave the premesis.

Hades flowed with the people. He was relaxed. it would not do to seem suspicious. He was sinking into the character of his disguise. Tonight he was Mr Kurosawa, the head of the rich Kurosawa family. over a third of the art pieces at this even were on loan from his collection. He was rarely known to attend events and even if he did so he preferred to go unnoticed. the cover was solid and would bear up to scrunity. He only heard a young voice say

>"You know,it's not nice to play with other people's things."

The next thing he knew there was a sharp pain in his leg. It was only through training that he did not cry out or stumble. Though a hiss escaped through his teeth. it was at that time hades was glad that he had a cane. He turned to face the child. The hubub of people flowed around them people ignored them they were all intent on leaving.

In a voice with a thick Japanese accent he spoke through clenched teeth. "Ahh, the young assassin." He paused regarding her, he had long ago trained himself to be able to ignore pain. "Play with other peoples things? Humph." he said not impressed. "This is not my hit... this job is...small.. boring.. beneath me. There were over 15 different ways you could have carried out the hit that would not draw attention to yourself, this effort was.... childish, amateur." He paused for a breath. His posture was hunched, no trace of pain showing, as a traditional Japanese man, he would show no pain or weakness. He was in character. Also in character was the harsh, blunt and direct way he spoke to her. She was a child and until she proved herself would be spoken to like one. "To much reliance on powers, yes? It is ....a weakness."

He was about to say more but then suddenly they were swept apart, while there were talking their turn had come to be processed. They were covered by no less than three META bots each. A human "handler" approached Hades as a different one approached Kirsi. Hades ignored what was being said over on Kirsi's side, they were being treated as separate individuals and were being processed separately.

"Scanning...Scanning....Mutant 85% positive. Warning injury detected, bleeding."
In character Hades waved up a hand to hold the paramedic. "Wait, I have aa words to say first." He said in his thick Japanese accent. He handed the handler his invitation out of his jacked pocket. The handler gasped as he read the name. Hades forestalled his response with a hand and spoke again. "Over a third of the art pieces in this building are on loan from my collection." Fact. "You make a fuss or let it be known that I was here and I will have them returned by tomorrow and you will no more donations from my family. Understand?"

The handler nodded, in a more respective voice he asked "Can we see to your wound?"
Mr Kurosawa cocked his head and considered it. "That would be acceptable." He said. As he was sat down and his wound tended to he looked over to see how the young foolish assassin was getting on. If she got out of this, in character, the little girl had earned herself a stern talking to from Mr Kurosawa.

The nerve of this guy. "You're not even Japanese!" Kirsi hissed at him incredulously after he felt the need to lecture her on her skills. "You're trying to criticize me when you, as a white man, try to disguise yourself as Japanese? Seriously, have you ever seen You Only Live Twice?" Kudos on staying in character, but really? As if anyone legitimately accepted that he looked anything but a hundred percent Caucasian, even with the effort clearly put into the disguise. Really, it just looked racist. She was surprised no one else was calling him out on it.

Before she could say anything else, though, META had grabbed her and the other man both. She couldn't do anything as the bot scanned her, having been taken by surprise, and she certainly wasn't surprised when its robotic voice said, "Scanning... scanning... mutant 96% positive." Well, apparently she was more of a mutant than 'Mr. Kurosawa,' so she supposed that was some sort of consolation. But now, the policeman manning the bot was staring suspiciously down at her as she looked innocently back up.

"Hi there!" she said cheerfully. "Are you mister Robot's friend?"

The policeman's eyes softened. Good. She had him.

"Yeah, I am," he said slowly, as if expecting her to have trouble understanding, and as if he wasn’t really sure how to word his next question. "Listen, uh... do you know if you have, um, superpowers?"

Kirsi stared at him in confusion. "Don't be silly," she laughed. "People don't have superpowers."

”Maybe not superpowers,” he clarified. ”More like… are you special? Compared to most people?”

She looked at him balefully, wholly enjoying the wince that spread over the policeman’s face. ”I can play violin,” she said tentatively. ”Daddy says that being able to do that is special.”

”Oh, your dad!” he said, brightening up. ”Is he here with you?” Kirsi nodded. ”Do you know where he is right now?” She shook her head. The policeman sighed. Another officer walked over, clearly wondering about the holdup.

”Graham, what’s going on here?” he asked gruffly, arms crossed. Clearly this Graham’s superior, then.

”Nothing. Bot probably glitched. Said this kid was a mutant, and she’s not even old enough for a mutation to have manifested.” Graham's commanding officer looked at the man stiffly.

”Manually edit the records to say she’s fully human,” he said in a low voice to Graham. ”There are quite a few people here who are very invested in the performance in the META bots, and we don’t want them to hear about a glitch.”

Graham nodded, watching the officer’s back as he walked away, before turning back to Kirsi. ”You’re free to go, alright?” he said in that tone people took when speaking to young children.

”Okay!” she said cheerfully, before bounding away to the dessert table, which was largely abandoned in the presence of a dead body. It looked as if she were just a little kid wanting some sweets, but she was really trying to get as far away as possible before the officer decided to have the META boy check again to confirm. That had been close. Much closer than she would’ve preferred.