Notes

Marianne sighed, staring at her phone nervously. Hopefully they wouldn't be mad that she disrupted them during work, but this just couldn't wait. Her sudden bout of courage wasn't about to slip past her. The Frenchwoman tapped the 'Call' button and listened intently to the ringing. 'Please pick up.' She thought. 'Please, please, please...'

Eileen wasn't quite sure of herself. She never had been, honestly. Growing up in a divided house, the fact that her father killed her mother then himself, right in front of her, ever since that day... She had lost her mind. She fled her home, joined the military, yet she was sent home due to unsafe mental health. That same mental health only deteriorated drastically. Her siblings likely thought she was dead. The only thing that ever seemed to drive her forward anymore was the sheer adrenaline, the taste of blood on her teeth, the jolting of a rifle or handgun between her fingers. She was insane, yet in her mind, beautifully so. A sane man's dream was an insane man's nightmare, so to say. So of course, it would work vice versa. Her dream was the sane man's nightmare, rushing around, killing for whoever paid high. The money was just a bonus. This was the redhead's way of life, and honestly the only way she had ever known. Currently feeling the cool wind whipping her hair against her face, Eileen shifted her kevlar helmet in her hands, and slipped it on. She laid down on the roof and assembled her sniper rifle, hearing the low buzz of the high-technology scope. Her fingers relaxed slightly, comforted in a way by the cool metal grazing against her fingertips. "One, two, permanent melatonin is a'comin' for you..." She muttered to herself, an uneasy smile spreading across her lips. Her left index finger rested on the precision sniper's trigger. "Three, four, aren't you going to lock the door...?" An insane giggle escaped her lips as her target walked into the scope's view. Now, all she had to do was aim....