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Dinner Party
(Pending Title)
It was supposed to be a party, a coming home celebration...
But it went wrong...
All wrong...

When 26 year old Sandy is found murdered during a party held in her honor, young up and coming defense attorney Abbey will have to return to his hometown and clear his friend's innocence, and find out who was responsible for such a gruesome crime.

Dinner Party: Prolouge.



He walked briskly through the misty haze, lead by the florescent light shining above the black doorway. His footstep pounded against the concrete, sprinting as fast as he could towards the booming bass and muffled cheers from the inside.

Grinding to a screeching halt, he approached the two bouncers who were standing erect on either side of the entrance.

“I.D,” one sounded off, a grim look on his face; his arms folded.

The cat smiled politely and reached into his pocket to search for it. He decided to make some small talk as he pulled out the smoother leather wallet, searching for the I.D that was somewhere inside the sea of receipts.

“Wonderful weather we’re having,” he commented.

The bouncers were not excited.

Sighing, he finally found his I.D and handed it to the bouncer closest to him; he clenched on it with his big black paw and pulled it towards him, scanning it intently.

“Mike S-”

“That’s me!” He interrupted, “now can I please go inside?”

The other bouncer finally spoke up, his voice quiet and meek, making Mike do a double take.

That voice should not be coming out of that body.

“I think I went to high school with you…” he murmured, squinting at him, “weren’t you with that Lucy girl?”

Mike tried to hide his annoyance, biting back a venomous retort. He put on a fake smile, “we broke up a long time ago, and I have a fiancée now.”

The meek bouncer frowned slightly, “who’s the lucky girl?”

“Sandy,” Mike replied briskly, grabbing the I.D from the tough bouncer, “have a nice day.”

The towering dogs stepped aside as Mike took a deep breathe and opened the door.

Good thing he was wearing his earplugs.

Inside the club was absolute chaos, the rave lights going crazy above him, the classic DJ scratching his heart out up on the stage, the crowd was enormous with beer, wine and tequila aplenty.

Her darling voice grabbed his attention.

“Maishul, this way!” She called, his emerald green eyes locked onto her gray.

Mike still couldn't believe they had agreed to have their get together at this place, but hey, Sandy wanted it.

Whatever makes her happy...

Everyone was at attendance; they were waving at him from a table far away from the madness.

Way to be late to your own party… he thought, powering over to them.

He took the empty seat next to his beauty and gazed briefly over his party guests.

Daisy was to his right, looking at him and smiling brightly, she hadn’t changed a bit with her cute curls and bright pearl necklace. She had grown a bit bigger, but nothing could dash her childlike complexion. She dressed up for the occasion, a dark blue gown that seemed to glow in the white light.

Lucy was beside her, not making eye contact with Mike at all. Mike turned his attention away from her quickly; after their messy break up eight years ago they still couldn’t stand each other. The only reason she was here was because Sandy wanted to see her.

But he couldn't deny, she looked radiant.

Her hair had grown out quite a bit, and her beautiful pink bow was wrapped around her neck, just as always, typical Lucy.

Her dress was a light purple, sprinkled with white all over the fabric, her baby blue eyes had their attention turned to the man next to her, Paulo, her fiancé.

She could tell by the ring on her dainty finger, and the way they spoke to each other.

Hell, he could hear them talk about wedding plans.

Good for her. He thought, trying not to look jealous.

Paulo was wearing a suit, though he didn’t look comfortable in it all at; he was constantly fidgeting and messing with the sleeves. It was sleek and black, like it was brand new, in fact, it probably was. His chocolate brown eyes stared at his lover; his hair gelled up to perfection.

David was sitting next to him, wearing the exact same thing. He flirted with Tess, a sly smile stretching across his face as he stared blankly at her, his mouth agape.

Good to know someone hasn’t changed.

Jasmine was there to, laughing at David futile attempt to woo the older cat. Tess wore a black dress, and her hair was long and a sleek brown, all traces of her highlights gone.

Jasmine’s hair was down as she sat in a deep green dress that complemented her very much, she looked extremely chipper.

Then, there was his girl, his Sandy. Her soft gray eyes and beautiful face and slim figure and that lovely white dress…She out preformed everyone at the table by far.

Who would even compete!

Tess took notice of him, ignoring David who was trying desperately to get her attention.

“Way to be late to your own party, Mike.” She commented, a playful smirk on her lips.

Mike smiled back, shaking his head, “it’s not for me; it’s for Sandy,” he commented, clearing his throat, “thank you all for being here today.”

Though as soon as the kind words left his lips, he noticed one, single empty seat beside Jasmine.

“Where’s Abbey?” He called, searching high and low, “is he late?”

“Abbey couldn’t come,” Daisy spoke, putting on a brave face, “he has an important trial going on far out of town.”

“Trial?”

“He’s a lawyer,” she explained, smiling. Though Mike could hear a hidden tone buried in the words.

He couldn't put his finger on the emotion.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t be here,” he tried to comfort her.

“It’s alright…” she whispered, “he’s never there…”

The table went deathly silent.

“Annnnnyway….” Mike started, “where have you guys been! I haven’t seen any of you in ten years!”

“Detective David here!” David shouted, showing off his chest and muscles through his suit, he gazed at Sandy this time, “and every superhero needs a damsel to save…”

Mike gave him a biting glare.

No.

Sandy only chuckled at him.

“I’m a CEO for Blasto,” Paulo said, looking at Mike, “what do you do?”

“Oh! I’m-”

“Fruit.”

Jasmine snickered.

“What! But I haven’t even-”

“I already know it’s going to be something completely and utterly gay,” he laughed, moving onto the next person, “what do you do now Tess?”

“Travel agent,” she stated, smiling proudly.

“Why a travel agent?” Sandy asked politely, “if I may ask?”

“I just like going places,” she said, “plus the pay check was pretty awesome.”

Mikes not surprised.

“I’m a designer,” Jasmine said, “I sell clothes, I also coach softball and I’m supporting a charity for the blind, I lead the community church and I run a phone tree in my neighborhood-”

“Doctor Daisy PH.D!” Daisy exclaimed, cutting her off.

The group waited for Lucy’s answer, she hesitated for a moment.

“I have a karaoke gig at places like these,” she stated, traces of nervousness lost, “though Paulo makes most of the money.” She leaned back in her chair, shrugging apathetically.

“That sounds nice…” Mike replied, trying to make peace.

She only glared, “why do you care, jerk face, I thought you hated me.”

Typical Lucy.

Paulo, however smiled greedily, Mike could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

They spent a long time catching up, talking and getting to know each other again, soon Paulo and David left the table after dinner to join the crowd, Daisy excused herself to the bathroom and Mike was left alone with three good friends and one beautiful lady.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” Mike asked, nodding his head towards Paulo and David who were currently busy chugging down a bear.

“Nah,” she waved dismissively, “I’m sober now.”

He smiled and the table was left in an awkward silence.

“It’s really crowded in here,” Sandy stated, waving her hand in front of her face daintily. “I’m going to go up to the rood for some fresh air.”
Mike nodded, asked for her to come back soon and she left the table; he watched her go.

Lucy left soon after to go check on Daisy, though Mike didn’t ask her to, she was pretty determined and abrupt about it.

He shrugged it off.

Not my problem.

Sometime after that, Mike did manage to start up some small talk with Jasmine and Tess for a long while, watching Paulo and David dance their hearts out on the floor. They were giggling drunkenly, as the crowd created a circle around them, clapping and shouting.

He saw Daisy running back, smiling and waving and jumping into her seat.

“Sorry!” She cried, “I just got out of the bathroom and Lucy came to talk to me, did you send her after me?”

Mike shrugged, “she just got up all of a sudden and said she needed to check on you, maybe she needed to go?”

Daisy looked away, “she did see me, told me to hurry back and then went into one of the stalls. I saw her walking out while I was heading back here…”

“How long do you think she was in there?”

“Like, five seconds? Maybe less?”

Okay, that’s odd, why would she go into a stall just to walk back out again?

Even thought he was curious, he didn’t push it, he didn’t want anything to do with Lucy’s dodging the subject and ability to give everyone headaches.

They talked again, and with Daisy there the conversation became much more lively, after a while Mike checked his watch.

12:00pm

It’s been a while since the girls left…

“Jasmine?”

“Hm?”

“Can you go check on Lucy and Sandy for me? It’s been a while and they haven’t come back…”

She stood and saluted, “on it!” She shouted and rushed off briskly on a rescue mission.

He turned his attention back to the dance floor, where the music and the cheering was reaching its peak and the lights started to flash even faster. The two best friends were dancing in the center, stumbling and taking more shots.

Then, as quickly as it had come on, the song ended. Paulo and David finished off their dance and posed dramatically, though Paulo lost his balance and stumbled.

Mike chuckled, and the crowed cracked up in laughter. Paulo didn’t seem to mind.

“PUT ON A’NOTHER RECOOOORD.” He shouted from the ground, “Ima guna bring da house doooooooown. DAVID. DANCE OF.”

“YES.” The dog cheered, "YES."

The crowd cheered; hollers and whistles sounded out in the crowd in front of them. Mike joined in, encouraging Daisy and Tess to join along.

Then, through all the madness, he heard it.

A scream.

A bloodcurdling, bone chilling, spine tingling scream.

His eyes widened and his mouth shut tight, the crowd quickly shushed each other as the terrible screech continued.

He recognized the voice.

Jasmine!

Mike jumped out of his chair, knocking and over and forcing it to smash against the ground.

He rushed towards the staircase, the mob eerily silent, the heroic ones of the crowd joined Mike in his search to locate the source of the eardrum shattering shrill cry.

Mike had to cover his ears as he approached, his earplugs becoming ineffective as he drew near. The crowd followed behind him, matching him footstep for footstep.

Is it from the roof?

He rushed up the stairs, the crowd becoming more and more vocal as he approached.

Mike came across the doorway leading to the top; he grabbed the rusted doorknob and twisted it.

He gazed upon the scene.

Jasmine was there, on her knees, looking into a janitorial closet in the corner of the flat roof, the door was wide open; she just kept on screaming.

Mike felt like his earplugs were going to burst out of his canal, he rushed toward her as fast as he could, grabbing her by shoulder.

“Jasmine!” He cried, shaking her, unable to get her to stop, “Jasmine what’s-”

Then he saw her.

She lay limp against the far wall, legs tangled up in an impossible angle.

Her jaw was lying against her chest, and as Mike grew near he realized that the fluid around her was warm and sticky, her dress was stained was the red liquid; slashed and torn to shreds.

Her fingernails and toenails were ripped from her fatty flesh and lay in a pile next to her, they bleed profusely, the tips starting to turn black.

The noose around her neck was cut just above the knot, covering her neck completely in beige rope.

Mike ventured even more into the closet and Jasmine continued to scream, as he approached her still body he felt sick, the bile rising in his throat, reluctantly, he lifted her head up with his finger, breathing heavily, trying his hardest not to vomit.

“Sandy…?” He called meekly, his voice caught in his throat, his face going pale.

Her cheeks were slashed in neat incisions, like gills, blood was pouring profusely out of the wounds.

Her mouth was agape in a silent agony

But her eyes…

Her beautiful, warm eyes…

There was nothing anymore, only tissue…

The blood… it poured down her checks like tears…

Mike looked over to his right side and saw the puddle in the corner, the pitiful withering orbs splashing vainly in the red sea.

He could hold it no longer.

Mike rushed out of the room, bent over, and vomited on the concrete.

Soon, he joined Jasmine in a cacophony of screams that echoed into the night…

Myself


The only thing to fear is myself…

The only thing to fear is myself…

He turned away from the keyboard, wiping the sticky, stagnant, sweat off his brow and stretching his slouched spine. He waited for it to crack before getting up from his leather chair and staggering toward the dimly lit, small, brown hallways of his apartment.

He felt weak, his finger ached and tingled uncontrollably, how long had he been sitting there typing? The time escaped him.

Stopping in his tracks, he shivered, a feeling of immense dread washing over him. He almost staggered when he heard the mumbling coming from the room over.

The lamp was talking again.

“What are you doing?” It asked with its voice small and childlike, it turned on its pivot, tilting to the side and looking at him with its sightless eyes, as if beckoning him closer, “Don’t you want to write some more?”

The man approached, gulped and shook his head, “I… I can’t…” The man cried helplessly, his voice hoarse and meek; his lungs shriveling up and refusing to work again.

Somehow he spit out the words he’d wanted to say since day one, “I can’t write anymore...”

“Why not?” The lamp asked, its voice starting to resonate throughout the room, its voice rising ever so slightly, “you have to finish it.”

“It’s not worth it-”

“You HAVE to finish it!” It screamed as the room began to shake and the termites started to scuttle around it, covered his ears to stop the growing sound screaming, and bit his lip to hide his terrified yelp.

Then, as quickly as it had came, the sensation stop and he shook again. Defeated, he walked back to the chair, sat down, and bent over the keyboard.

The only thing to fear is myself…

Do you want a napkin please?

I would like a napkin please, thank you!

The walls have eyes.

Little Timmy and his toy boat

The walls have eyes.

Death, decay, slaughter.
THE WALLS HAVE EYES.


He had it

In frustration he slammed on the keyboard, ignoring the pain in his hands as he grabbed the device by the edges and stood from the chair, prepared to strike.

“NO!” The lamp shrieked from the other room, but it could not stop him and hit the computer with the keyboard, knocking it off its stand and sending it
hurtling toward the carpet. The assault didn’t stop as the man kicked it all around the room, shoots of pain hitting him as the glass shards embedded themselves into his skin and sticking within the fleshy confines of his foots fatty tissue.

The room started to turn, distort and turn in impossible directions.

“What have you done…” the lamp whispered, “oh Charlie…what have you done?”

Charlie turned in a primal rage, tears were forming, “I can’t do this!”

The room came alive, and the eyes were everywhere.

They glared for a moment before melting and pooling slowly down the tan, ripped wallpaper. The red veins spotting the white avalanche as it spilled down on
the floor, bubbling and fillings the room.

Charlie ran.

He raced down the hallway; dared not to look back at the express train hurtling toward him and jumped into the kitchen. He collided with the cupboard, grabbing the light green pills from his medicine basket and quickly pouring himself some water from the rusted sink.

“Don’t do it Charlie,” they all called out, “you need us!”

He took a deep breath, put the pills in his dried mouth, and took a swig.



And then, it was over.

He stumbled down the hallway and looked for the lamp.

There never was one.

Fatigued, he slunk back to his chair, mind clear of the chaos and cacophony.

There was no train.

The wall didn’t have eyes.

Everything was fine.

He couldn’t help it; laugh bubbled in Charlie throat. He shook his head yet again and reached out for a piece of lined paper.

“It’s only in my head…” he murmured, smiling wildly to himself, “only in my head, only…”

He placed the paper in front of him, grabbed a pen and started anew.

The only thing to fear is myself…

Chapter 1

Smells and sounds filled the humid air as bodies upon bodies of humans meticulously paced the grey sour streets of New York City, traffic cluttering the busy intersections as the used exhaust from weary car engines quickly closed the gap between the mortal world and heaven. Above the countless skyscrapers silently judged like concrete, sagacious giants, benevolent in nature as their blank slated walls stared deeper into the city. Filth surrounded passersby’s no matter where they tread, seemingly following step for step like a disease; as ominous as a hangman drifting in the slow evening wind.

The noon sun beat down on the pavement, showing no mercy on those who dared to walk upon it. It was a record high, that’s what the newspapers said; NYC wouldn’t see highs like this one for years to come. The cafés were crowded as a result, clammy and sweaty people added to the growing lines, in a desperate attempt to catch a cool refreshing drink in an air conditioned paradise.

“These are the worst possible conditions,” a man whispered to himself as he sat outside in the shade, underneath the café’s generous awning. He sat in a black steel chair and leaned back in it fully, a white newspaper in both hands, clenched tightly in his damp palms. His dark shades rested upon his nose as he pretended to be interested in the contents within the print, reaching over momentarily to his left to sip a spot of black coffee. He then took a brief surreptitious moment to adjust the tiny earpiece resting in his right ear, as he had done repeatedly every five minutes or so.

The man was lean and rigid, his ivory skin kept hidden from the suns glare. His auburn hair was kept short and swept to his right; his chin and possible sideburns were neat and shaven. He seemed to perfect for New York City, too in control of his appearance and personage. There had been CEO’s on their way to the most important meetings of their lives that had looked messier than he, but it hardly mattered. It was to be a quick mission, a simple stakeout and a successful retrieve; appearance didn’t matter, for they knew he would be in area. They knew the risks.

It’s too bad they’ve played the wrong card.

“The great Viper? Complaining?” A strong male voice came streaming from the earpiece, his tone obviously had a mocking edge to it. “Can’t say I’m surprised, it’s in your blood.”

Viper rolled his hard brown eyes, “Weasel, it would be wise to keep your mouth shut, you're only here to give me the O.K."

Weasel laughed at this, a large boisterous sound, before long the sneer returned to his voice. “Last time I checked I was handpicked for this position, just as you were, as we always are. It must be because of our good team chemistry.”

“Or maybe the boss just wants to annoy me,” Viper muttered back, “he always pairs me with rookies like you.”

Viper had only met Weasel in person once before, and that was during an old mission briefing five years ago. He remembered his appearance well, how could he forget, he’d easily been the most…interesting man Viper had ever met in the field.

Weasel was a heavyset man at an estimated one hundred and eighty three pounds, wore thick glasses that seemed to have come right out of the fifties, along with a grey suit and tie that seemed a bit too tight for his belly and pants that cut off all circulation to his legs. His face was nothing short of odd as well, a bungle of terrible genes. His nose was a bit to large, his eyes were a bit too far apart and his lips were just a tad bit too small, but to make up for such a horrible appearance Weasel had amazing technical skills, as well as an intriguing personality.

As a pairing, they’d gotten along fine during their first mission together in Guam, as well as the black op in Spain and the search and destroy in Paraguay. He was easily the most skilled of the rookies the agency had to offer, and the boss knew it. He’d gotten the nickname Weasel from his ability to infiltrate any agency, technologically or in person, and weasel out any information that could be used in our favor. He would create his own path to the cheese; that was just the ingenious little rodent he was.

That, Viper had deduced on the plane ride over, was why they’d been paired up together again.

Viper reached over to take a relaxing swig of his coffee once more, careful not to spill any of its contents on his pristine yellow trench coat. He looked like one of those classic television detectives and that thought amused him, causing his stoic mask to crack as release the tiniest shadow of a smile. He crossed his legs, adjusting his rolled up tan khakis and white undershirt as he continued to briefly speed read the newsprint in front of him, tightening his tie only a small fraction to the left. To his dull surprise, Weasel did not attempt to make any type of small-talk during the next twenty minutes of purebred silence. Either the receiver was shushed on his end, or he was extremely invested in something else. Viper spent the rest of his time pondering this possibility.

“The radar is going off,” he finally stated, his voice sounding alert and focused, “your target is in the area, if our Intel is correct they’ll be passing off the blueprints right around your location. No fix on the exact coordinates yet, stay alert, do you copy, Viper?”

Viper nodded to himself before replying, “I copy.”

He relaxed his muscles a bit, lessening the slack on the newsprint he was so devotedly clinging too. Like a hawk he kept his hardened marble eyes on his surrounding, looking for anyone who stood out among the bustling crowd of New York City.

What were these blueprints the boss has wanted so badly? Viper didn’t know, nor did he care. He’d learned a long time ago never to ask questions when it came to his profession; looking into what you were doing was akin to signing your own pink slip. He had been told that the contents were jeopardizing national security, and that was all he had the liberty to know. Yes, sometimes Vipers curiosity and need to know nature would become riled at the thought of national secrets at his fingertips, but he knew the stakes, and he’d been at this job far too long to lose it over some momentary slip-up.

Weasel paged in again.

“The target is moving closer,” his voice was strained a bit, his own senses heightened as the situation began to grow dicey, “he’s only a few feet away from your current position; do you copy?”

“I copy,” Viper repeated once more in a dull monotonous tone. There really was no need for “copying” back, but Weasel enjoyed acting more important than he actually was. Viper pitied him for this a played along with the rookie, unsure whether to tell him that the act of “copying” was just a movie cliché.
Suddenly, he saw it.

Northwest, a few meters too his left a cloaked figure appeared from the shade of an alleyway across the zealous streets of 4th and 5th avenue. A woman, but the litheness of her frame underneath her long blue trench coat and matching fedora hat. The bottom half of her face was hidden by a blood red scarf, and her eyes left blocked by thick sunglasses, leaving her emotions unreadable and her motives unknown.
However she could not hide her body language.

She crossed the street toward Vipers position hurriedly, cradling a manila folding under the crutch of her left arm. She didn’t seem to notice him as she waited leaning on the steel supports of the café awning, her right foot tapping restlessly as she waited in the hurried crowd; clutching the folder as if it was about to be ripped out of her slim leather gloved fingers.

From the right another figure appeared, sporting a grey jacket with a common business suit underneath. He was definitely Caucasian; his black hair frazzled about on his head and the beginnings of a beard spotted on his chin. His blue eyes were like light sapphire stones, he would be impossible to miss in a crowd.

Perhaps that was a good thing.

With one had in his pocket and a lazy cigarette in his mouth he languidly waltzed towards his waiting mistress and as he approached she in turn became more restless, clutching the folder in her left hand and fanning her sweating face to rid herself of the rising heat.

Finally, when both were within a hair length away from each other, the clandestine of transactions was put into practice. As he brushed her left side with his shoulder she covertly shielded the switch to the world, turning on her heel to make the contact between them seem real. He quickly and smoothly apologized with a dashing smile before calmly making his getaway, stuffing the newly acquire blueprints in his pocket. The woman, supposedly flustered, quickly headed the other way, head down, avoiding the jeers of strangers who witnessed the event

Viper waited for Weasels signal.

“Go.”

And off he went.

Rolling up the newsprint he left it idle by his coffee on the café table and jumped into the flowing crowd of personalities and stories, pushing gently through the chaos as he tailed the man with the flamboyant grace; far enough to stay undetected, but close enough not to watch him be swallowed by the torrent of bodies rushing on the sidewalk.

He ducked and darted through bowels of the cities underbelly, dirtying his cleansed black shoes in the filth, Viper followed determinedly and so forth the chase went onward. The man with the tainted shoes never once looked back to see the slinking, silent horror that was behind him.

Not many people knew how Viper had earned his nickname, and many rumors had risen among the calamity back at headquarters. Whenever he trudged by the interns would hush themselves to mice-level before scurrying away to the other side of the hall to chat about the mysterious enigma of the office. He’d heard some theorize that he’d earned his nicknames by surviving a rattlesnake bite while on a mission in the desert; that he’d kept a secret crypt of snakes in his backyard when he was a small child, or the hilarious notion that he’d been raised by the small snakes themselves. No, to his chagrin and deep sadness, these were not the cases. It was his expertise, his approach, the way he crept upon his victims like a hungry beast in the night; slithering amongst the undergrowth whilst stalking fiercely through the forest until the target knew no better…and then…

He would give the finishing blow.

With haste he was upon the man with the tainted shoes, his arm wrapped tightly around his boney neck as the smoking cigarette flew from the victim’s mouth in a surprise, burning the earth and releasing the ashes within. The man with the tainted shoes started to struggle as his hands rose up to the vice like grip of Vipers right arm, but only one reached it’s destination as the other had been gruesomely twisted behind his own back, the work of Vipers free hand.

He had him in his hold; it was now time to release the venom.

With a display of great strength the lean, bony Viper lifted the man with the tainted shoe off his feet and mercilessly slammed his dainty skull into the concrete structure before him. A gale of breath flew from his smoke tainted mouth as the blow to the head and the lack of oxygen from the wrapping hold caused his vision to spot and fade, the situation was repeated a brief number of times before the man with the tainted shoes slowly fell limp in his attackers grip. Viper laid him among the garbage, for he found such a spot fitting for an opponent like him. He was not dead, no; his shall breaths pushing his chest to and fro were evidence of that. It would have been mentioned to him before hand if he would be allowed to kill individuals, an act he was most capable to completing. The agency, however, liked as little mess as possible on their record, and dead bodies raise quite the smell, don’t they.

He reached into the mans deep pocket to pull out the apple of so many peoples eyes, the captivator, the small, flimsy pieces of paper that carried so much weight the agency had to be called in to retrieve it. They were blueprints to something, with origins unknown; its nature unidentified.

It was in a perfect rectangular shape, even after all it’d been through it still had no scratch upon its delicate surface. Part of Viper was puzzled by the anomaly, but he quickly disregarded the trivial thought and promptly forgot about it. He began to take his leave, placing the folder inside his own pocket, lost in other thoughts until the strong obnoxious voice of Weasel broke through the radio silence.

“Have you retrieved the blueprints, Viper?”

Viper, once again, nodded to himself as he rejoined the crowd. “Affirmative, Weasel. I’m returning to headquarters now.”

There was brief silence, followed by the sound of clapping and migraine inducing hollering. “Yes!” Weasels cheerful voice echoed inside the tech room, “another successful mission! Go us!”

His child like optimism once again cracked Vipers stoic façade again.

“Dude, wait until the boss gets a hold of this, then we might find out what the blueprints are for!”

Viper simply shrugged and grunted a precarious sound, standing at the edge of the concrete he raised his arm at the passing yellow jets streaming by at obnoxious speeds. Finally one stopped for him, and graciously, Viper slid into his leather comforted seat and gave his request to the kind driver currently acting as his personal chauffeur.

“Airport,” was his terse answer, and the diligent taxi driver drove on into the afternoon sun.