Eris eagerly pressed the gas pedal of her black, Dodge Challenger as she sped down a San Diego freeway, right hand on the steering wheel and the left holding a cigarette near the rolled down window. After killing the priest and going home to change clothes, she took a look at her BlackBerry and saw that the Director wanted to see her at two thirty. It was two o'clock right now.

  Bored, she held her cigarette between her lips and flipped through her CD case, barely paying attention to the road. As soon as she found the one she wanted, she shoved it into the CD player and punched the seek button until she found the right song.

  She began slapping the steering wheel to the beat of Miranda Lambert's Gunpowder and Lead as she sucked the rest of the smoke down and spit it out the window without taking her hands out of the ten-and-two position. Feeling the need to chain-smoke, she lit up again while bobbing her head. People in neighboring cars shot her dirty looks, disgusted by the fact that she was enjoying cigarette while polluting. She did not even look at them, keeping her pitch black sunglasses on the road, and flipped them the bird before accelerating past.

  Eris was surprised that she made it to Headquarters by the time her song had finished. She slipped into an empty parking space, coincidentally the Director's, put the car in park, and shut off the engine. Sliding out, she sang parts of the song and swung her keys around, holding onto her Harley Davidson and "Keys I Haven't Lost Yet" key chains.

  "I'm going home. Gonna load my shotgun, wait by the door and light a cigarette..."

  She walked to the entrance and scanned her ID. Other employees had to have a fingerprint match to get in. Not Eris. How would they get a match? She had no fingerprints. She burned them off with acid. It did not really hurt her. She had a high threshold for pain. Very high.

  Strolling down a hallway, she glanced at a receptionist and nodded. The receptionist seemed to phase out and back again like a TV with a bad signal. "Good afternoon, Miss Godric," the hologram greeted.

  "What's up, Holly," Eris replied, still walking.

  "The Director isn't expecting you for another twenty five minutes," Holly the Hologram informed Eris.

  "Well, tell him I'm early," she called over her shoulder.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Eris continued down the hall until she reached an office with a name plate that only held the word Director. She flung the door open, took a few steps, and threw herself down in a huge office chair behind a rather large mahogany desk, tossing her sunglasses on it. The office itself was also very large. The walls were lined with book shelves that held encyclopedias and case files, except for the wall behind the desk. That wall held several awards from the Director's military days. Several were for his shooting skills, boasting about how good of a sniper he was. Eris always got a chuckle out of these. She had gone out to the shooting range with the Director and witnessed these skills. Then she beat him. What does that say for the best sniper the Marines ever let go?

  The Director had been in the Vietnam war. One might think that was pretty cool, but it got old after the five thousandth story.

  "It was so wet and muddy in Nam, we damn near had gardens growing out of our boots."

  Yeah. Hilarious.

  Eris looked at herself in a mirror across from her by the door and blew her bangs out of her face. She was beautiful and the world knew it. Her hair was dark brown, so dark it looked black. Her eyes were grey. You know how the clouds look before a violent, thunder storm? Well, if you could grab that color and make it into a contact lens, those were her eyes. She had high, perfect cheekbones, full lips, and an olive skin tone. Standing at six feet, she had a lean, muscular body that was always black-clad. For instance, today she was wearing tight black jeans, even tighter black t-shirt, and combat boots. She had been wearing a leather jacket earlier, with her guns hidden inside, but that was hanging on the chair behind her.

Sure, it was all a bit stereotypical. But Eris did not care one bit.

  "He wants a fight, well now he's got one. He ain't seen me crazy, yet..." she sang while she peered at a chrome digital clock on the desk. The numbers 2 and 45 glared at her in red light. She heard the tell-tale sounds of men's dress shoes clacking down the hall.

  "Slapped my face and shook me like a rag doll. Don't that sound like a real man?" Eris casually reached behind her and pulled out one of her Hardballers, cocking it just as the door handle began to jiggle.

  "I'm gonna show what a little girl's made of," she pointed the gun at the door as it opened slowly, "gun powder and lead." She fired a shot at the door frame, causing an explosion of splinters to fall on the Director's Armani suit as he entered.

  "Jesus Christ, Eris!" he roared.

  Eris smiled as she relaxed her hold on the gun. "You're late," she greeted.

  "So, you shoot me?" the Director demanded.

  "No. I didn't shoot you. I shot at you. If I shot you, your rib cage would be the thing with a hole in it and not the wall." She shot him a smile. "What did you want to see me about, D?"

  The Director eyed her, gestured to his chair, and cleared his throat. Eris replied with reclining in the seat and propping her boots up on his desk, her legs crossed at the ankles.

  "Enjoying my new chair?" he asked sardonically.

  She sighed, put her arms behind her head, and reclined even further. "Very much," she told him.

  He, too, sighed. However, his sigh was one of defeat. No matter how friendly the terms you were on with Eris, she was the most dangerous woman in the country. Hell, maybe the most dangerous woman in the world. And she could not be trusted for anything but bloodshed.

  "I must congratulate you on a job well done with Operation Serpent in the Flock," he began, "and on an even better job of being seen by four people."

  "They didn't see me kill the worm," she retorted.

  "No, they saw you leave shortly after a gunshot was heard which is just as bad."

  Eris snorted. "Oh, please. Like they could catch me."

  The Director stalked behind the desk, next to her, and opened a large filing drawer. He pull a manila folder out and threw it on Eris' lap. "One witness helped with a sketch. Take a peak. I think they did a wonderful job capturing the murderous gleam in your eyes, but I could be wrong."

  Eris bowed her head, harshly exhaled, and looked up at him with an arched brow. She reached back into her jacket and pulled out her Marlboro's. Slipping out a cigarette, she pulled out a Zippo lighter with a triquetra on it and puffed until the cig's tip glowed. Only then did she sit up, slowly, and lower her legs. She glanced at the Director as she grabbed the folder and slouched so she could rest her elbows on her knees. Then, she nonchalantly flipped open the cover and looked over the sketch and a witness statement attached to it.

  "Paula Baker," she read aloud. "Hm... address and everything." She paused and brought her eyes to meet the Director's. "I can kill her, y'know. Tie up that little loose end."

  "No, you will not kill her," the Director said. He sounded like a mother telling her kids to quit jumping on the bed or not to yank on the cat's tail. "You will tell me how you could make a mistake like this. What was going through your mind when you shot this man in a church? You practically repainted the back of the confessional with blood. Furthermore---"

  "First of all," she interrupted, her voice at a low growl, "it was a Catholic church. Like worse things haven't happened in those confessionals. Second, he was not a man. He no better than the proverbial scum between my toes."

  "Not the point, Eris," he snapped. "You left witnesses! Anyone of them could point you out at any time."

  "I still don't see the problem here."

  "How could you not?! Look--"

  "No, you look!" She stood up and got right in the Director's face. "I have no fingerprints. I never go to the same place twice, the only exception being Starbucks. I get my guns directly from the manufacturer under the name Lilith so there would be no paper trail leading to me. And---" she stopped. Pinching her neck, it appeared as if she was peeling off her skin. A piece of semi-transparent latex snapped off like a broken rubber band. "I wear this crap every time I'm on a job so I don't leave DNA! Do you know how much of a pain in the ass that shit is to paint on? I usually wear contacts so they won't know my true eye color. Sometimes, I even wear latex body parts!

  "The only thing they could possibly have on me is that my name is Lilith and I don't exist. So tell me, oh fountain of knowledge, what I could possibly be doing wrong because I think I'm doing a damn good job!" With that last word, she snatched her jacket from the chair, her shades from the desk, and stormed out.

  Eris was well down the hall before she heard the Director yelling for her. Screw him, she thought as she continued past Holly and out into the parking lot, sliding on her sunglasses. He did not catch up with her until she had gotten into her car and started the engine.

  The Director opened her door, his face resembling that of a dog's that was just smacked with the paper. "I get it," he said, his voice slightly raised over the roar of the engine. "You're good. I can't deny it. And all of your past jobs stand testament to that, and all the work you've put into them so you wouldn't get caught. But damn it, Eris. If you let something like this happen again, I swear on my mother's grave---"

  "You won't fire me," she told him, looking up at him with a cocky smile. "And you're mother isn't dead. She lives in Bakersfield." She switched off the car, shoved the Director out of the way, and got out. She shut the door and leaned on it. "So, why did you really call me in here anyways?" she asked.

  The corner of the Director's mouth twitched at a fetal attempt of a smile. "You have a new assignment."