'Meet me in Carron Alley, when the dusk begins to wander', is what the note read. The murderous writing it's message had been scrawled already sent chills, more intense than the frosted winter of London, down Marlene's spine. The silent clack of her boots strode across the cobblestone and further deep into the guts of the dark city. Fear was taunting Marlene and her thin frame, a shaking mess.
She squinted her eyes and peered into the darkness of Carron, gulping slightly before taking another cautious step. An echo of muffled laughter cues at the sound of her shoe.
"Who calls?" She asks into the void.
"Who else would?" A familiar voice soothes. A shadowed silhouette line of a figure can be barely seen, confidently sauntering through the dark to meet Marlene's tearful eyes and quivering lips. "Marls, I've missed you, you know."
She shudders at the nickname, however freezes, a rippling wave of shock washing over her fearful expression.
"Elliot? The Boss allocated you?" She blubbers.
"Mm." Elliot smirks.
She exhales heavily, the worry escaping through her breath. She relaxes her tensed shoulders and smiles thinly. "Thank God. I thought Foxeye was going with me. There's no one I can trust around here anymore." She wearily sighs.
"Why would that be?" Elliot questions.
"The Boss doesn't know all about the shit behind the scenes. Do you know how many missions I've had to undergo, all whilst being mentally and physically tortured to my wit's end?" She rambles. "All of these blokes working are complete dicks. One even tried to rape me. All 'cause I have tits or whatever." She wavered off.
Elliot nodded thoughtfully for a moment. However, what Marlene wouldn't have expected was for the towering man in front of her to unsheathe a blade from underneath his coat pocket. Before Marlene could react, he lunged for her body and jabs the knife deep into her chest. Marlene chokes out a strangled cry of alarm before collapsing to the floor, unable to move.
Elliot grins and kneels beside her dying body. "Your tits? 'Course not. It was you who stole our jobs, our victories. It was all about Marlene Withers, wasn't it? Well, not anymore it seems. The others were, say, pusillanimous, to defeat you, dear woman."
Tears and blood leaked out like coursing rivers onto the cobble, as Marlene listened to the final spiteful words of her brother.
ns 18.68.41.148da2
