001: C-Class Designation

Early morning light crept through the windows, revealing the visage of a lady aiming a standard-issue 9mm Glock towards moving marked targets. Despite the natural lighting peaking into the room, it would still be quite difficult for most to accurately land a shot on them because there were no lights on in the room. She had been confused and mildly disturbed about the dream she had last night, so she had figured there would be no better way to vent her frustrations than to take careful aim. An important figure in her solar system's council with some man seeking to serve her every whim? The thought was almost laughable if not for the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. A government dog is the last thing she could see herself as, she'd rather see it burn.

Layla's stygian hair flowed like a river, gently flowing between the passes of her fingers as she flicked her hair to the side. To say she was as gentle as her curls would be absurd, she's a trained killer, and today, like any other, she would prepare to kill.

[Time : 08:00 | Date : 12/14/2254]

Her eyes were sunken, the bags flush against her pale skin nearly competing with the pitch-black shade of her lips. Her target was within the parameters to receive a C-Class designation, which would easily make this her most difficult hunt yet. They were a relatively well-known man in this part of the neon-lit city, he held the leash to some of the most violent loan sharks these metal streets have ever seen. Bloodied bodies of families, children and mothers alike, were as natural a sight as a streetlight. The government often promised to resolve issues like this, but it was often a mess left to be cleaned up by rogues.

Crimes, so long as it didn't noticeably affect the inner rings of the city, were essentially not even discussed. Rogues, those who are hired and funded by even more vile stains on the planet, are even more overlooked. After all, why would the government snuff out an unaffiliated janitorial team for fledgling criminal organizations? The government was more concerned with competing in technological advancement against the large corporations that were eyeing their seats.

Name : Teddy Ferraway Age : Forty-Six | Species : Glaxian . He lived in the only high-rise residential building within this destitute region and was often accompanied by at least six highly trained guards. Considering the scale of his operation, it was quite a small escort, but there was little concern of an attack on him from the people under his 'care.' With not only himself, but the men protecting him as well, sporting B-Grade cybernetic enhancements, there was no way someone could even come close to kissing his soles unless he allowed it. Coincidentally, he was allowing someone to grace his boots in the lobby of his apartment building as the people around barely paid it any mind.

"Please, sir! I promise we'll have the rest of the money by the end of the week-" the muffled sounds of a begging man were cut short with the whirring sound of thrusters willing Ferraway's foot through the man's skull.

The force was enough to leave a bloodied footprint in the metal foundation of the building, blood and mashed brains swirling in the hole. One gleaming metal eye managed to escape the carnage, rolling along the floor as a truly sickening smell spread throughout the room while the body's contents escaped alongside the man's soul. This caused a sour expression to appear on his face, as if he was offended that the man's body had the nerve to do such a thing. Even then, people around them continued their conversations and business as usual.

He looked down at the damage he had done with an equally sadistic and annoyed expression as he looked at the deceased loan shark's partner, "Consider the costs of repair and my laundry added to the funds you have to collect from those entrusted to you. This suit was expensive. Oh, you may go, and make sure not to dilly-dally. Your predecessor promised within a week's time."

Rogues were not above the law, they were simply under it. That is why Layla would do as he said while waiting for the perfect chance, making a smile much too gentle for a woman such as her towards the shimmering red cybernetic eyes of the man standing several heads above her, "Of course, sir. I'll make sure of it."

Glaxians, Ferraway's species, come from a neighboring galaxy. Their first appearance on Earth was in the year 2156. They visited about six years after humanity had reached the technological 'Tipping Point' that made it a worthwhile investment for other civilizations to make contact with them. Their visit would mark the tenth intelligent alien species to visit the planet, but it wasn't until 2189 that non-natives were officially welcomed to live on the planet by the newly formed world government. It was a long process, not only due to the fear of the unknown but the internal conflicts necessary for the world to adjust to the idea of one main governing body speaking for the entirety of its population.

Glaxians, in particular, are one of the most humanoid visitors. However, they do have a characteristic blue hue to their natural skin and protruding sharp spikes along their arms. Identifying Ferraway was the easy part, getting him into a position in which Layla could put a bullet in his head was another matter entirely. Carrying a gun around him wasn't a problem since not a single soul in the neon city bats an eye at an assault rifle strapped to a person's back, let alone the Glock affixed to her hip. To be honest, it'd be more suspicious if she didn't carry a weapon in his presence.

Out on the streets, Ferraway would be escorted by six guards of exceptional talent. Funnily enough though, he'd be more vulnerable in the comfort of his own home despite the hundreds of men protecting him there. She'll figure her escape out when she knows how to even get in.