Beauté Mortelle

My name is Kareena. For now. I speak 42 different languages, I have been to 63 different countries, I have killed 720 people in the past 3 years, and I can murder a man in 36 different ways. I have had 21 different identities in the previous 5 years, 203 in my life. I am on the run from Russia, France, Germany, China, Australia, and England. My job? I am America's top secret weapon. Aka- Americas top agent. I have never failed a mission, nothing has ever gotten in the way. Until today, when I face every girls biggest problem. Love.


3. Trop D'informations.





   I walk outside to the busy New York City street, digging my hands deeper into my coat pockets. From the public eye, it seems as though I am just a normal 20 year old, walking out of a company building. From my eye, I am walking out of New York's only Capitol entrance.
 "Taxi!" I yell, waving up my hand. A small yellow cab pulls up to the curb, making me jog to catch up. "122 eat King Road" I tell the driver my address, and he speeds off.
  "Um, sir, my street is that way..." I tap his shoulder. "I know" the driver says, his eyes fixed upon the road. I then slowly slip my hand into my coat, wrapping my fingers around the silver pistol I carry on me at all times.
  "What is going on?" I narrow my eyes. "Sorry, but that is classified information, Agent" he then pulls into a empty lot, flipping around in his seat and jabbing a blade into my direction. I cuss as I fling myself onto the floor of the cab, dodging the blade and causing my attacker to plunge his knife into the seat, instead of my chest.

  Without words, I grab my gun and jump into the passenger seat. The driver pulls out a blade, throwing it at me. I turn my head, making the knife fling into the window and shatter the glass behind me. Before he can pull out another blade, I push the gun to his temple. "Wait-Please!" He tries to pull himself back, but I grab his collar and pull him closer. "Who are you?" I spit. "J-Jerry. Jerry Sprawn" he stutters, and I slap him across the face. "why are you trying to kill me?"

"He- He told me too."

"The Agent."

"The Agent for which country?!" I yell.

"Eng- En-" he stutters as he is so panicked the words are hard to say.

 "England. Of course, those bastards.." I murmur under my breath. "Please, oh God, please! I cant die- Im only 32. Just- Oh Lord!" the driver begins to sob, and I sigh. "Sorry, sir, but you already know to much" I then pull the trigger, setting off a gun-shot and a scream.

  I hop out of the cab, carefully going to the trunk and pulling out the spare gasoline jug. I unscrew the gallon and pour it atop the car. Then, I back away a good 20 yards, grabbing a match stick, and tossing it onto the roof.

  The yellow car begins to burn, soon the flames devouring the whole vehicle. In the distance, I hear a police sirens approaching.


  England, here I come.

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