Prague, Czech Republic. One of the oldest cities in the world. Now a modern day tourist trap, people from all over the world come here to get a taste of old world culture while enjoying new world comforts. A nameless man sits quietly in one of the many apartments scattered around Prague. His back was straight against the chair while he typed away on a small laptop. A white wife beater t-shirt and black dress pants were his choice of relaxed wear for the afternoon. His brown hair was cut short and styled in a very prestigious fashion, just below his bangs were bright blue eyes that were sharply following the words he typed onto the screen. A small icon appeared on the bottom right corner of his screen before a message box read 'Package Sent'. The man tilted his head to the side before looking to a knocking on his door, an envelope being pushed through the mail slot. His right hand moved silently to a 45. customized handgun and brought it with him to the side of the door. He checked to make sure no one was outside the door before retrieving the envelope. He sat down once again before reading the contents of the envelope, after reading he typed into the computer, "Package Received".

[IMGleft]http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b383/Mysthero/DuelColt45.png[/IMGleft]

Albert Krendel
Age: 43
Profession: To the public eye, he is a wealthy and careful investor of pharmaceutical companies. In truth he is a drug lord and arms dealer, making his fortune in Chernobyl, Beirut, and hot spots in the middle east and Africa.
Status: Our client is very concerned about a meeting the target will be attending this weekend during the Life Day parade. The target is currently staying at a hotel suit in the downtown district until his meeting, he is extremely paranoid and has a guard posted at the door 24/7.
Conditions: Our client has asked that you leave evidence of a rival drug lord using the attached pendent.
Good Luck

The man studied the picture for a very long moment, before pocketing the pendent and throwing the envelope and the other contents into a tin wastebasket and setting the contents aflame. He dressed into a button up white long sleeve shirt before putting on a shoulder strap for his 45. He proceeded to attach a silencer that had flames etched into the sides of the barrel to the 45. and placing it into his the holster. After putting his coat on he left the apartment, just another day in the life.

[IMGright]http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b383/Mysthero/MP5.png[/IMGright]It was late into the evening before he stepped onto one of the higher floors of the luxury hotel of Prague. The agent placed a pair of black reflective sunglasses over his eyes as he made his way to the suite with an armed guard. The guard stared at him as he came closer until holding out a hand to stop the agent. Suddenly, the agent's demeanor changed and a smile appeared on his face. "Hello there, I have a message for a mister Krendel." The guard explained that Mr. Krendel was not to be disturbed, it became more apparent from the sounds of a woman crying out in rhythm of the thuds that came from behind the door. The agent nodded and smiled in embarrassment. "Ofcourse, it can wait obviously, I'll be back later..." The agent turned away and started to walk down the hall before the guard called after him. "I'll take the message for you, he'll want to know who it's from." The agent turned but at the same time drew his 45., the guard was caught completely unaware, a bullet whispered from the barrel and collided with the guard's head between the eyes. The bullet traveled through the skull and went out the back of his head to be followed by a small spray of crimson fluid... sprinkling the wall and floor with bits of skull and gray matter. The body of the guard hit the floor with a rough thud that only matched the rhythm of the animal frenzy in the room only a few feet away. The agent took the blood stained room key and unlocked the door as he readied to enter. When he did, he saw that his target was so busy in his passion with a local prostitute, that they hadn't even noticed him enter the room. He made his way to the foot of the bed and took dead aim. The prostitute who was laying on her back opened her eyes just long enough to see what was about to happen, she prepared to release a scream before a bullet was drilled into her head a few millimeters above her left eye. Mr. Krendel felt the woman's body go limp and looked to see what happened, a look of horror coming over his face as he saw blood all over the pillow and the empty eyes of the prostitute. Albert desperately tried to go for his glock on the nightstand, but two bullets tore into his back between his shoulder blades, the shock and pain of the attack forced him out of bed and onto his back on the floor. The agent stood over Mr. Krendel watching him cough and attempt to breath, blood starting to pool underneath him. The agent confirmed the identity before extending his arm to aim the 45. at the forehead of his target, firing one last round into the mark. The agent vanished as quickly as he claim, a pendent of a Colombian drug cartel firmly placed into Albert Krendel's hand... the job was completed.

[IMGleft]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v605/kjb127716/Mask1.png[/IMGleft][IMGright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v605/kjb127716/Mask2.png[/IMGright]The life of the city buzzed in the background while Beethoven played from a desk radio. A melody of car horns, screeching tires, shouts, screams and the keystrokes of the piano. The city was alive with chaos, romance, greed, and crime while the darkened room was silent and still. A surreal refuge that was untouchable to reality.

It's bland cream colored walls reflected the neon lightshow just outside the window that spanned across the wall of a penthouse apartment. The glass fenced balcony overlooked the main square of the buzzing hell-hole. A small two person iron table sat outside with a single chair facing the world just beyond. A small garden lined the right side of the railing harboring blossoms from exotic lands. Inside sat a scarlet velvet couch in the main living area, facing The Japanese Bridge painting by Monet. The picture was nestled in an extravegant bronze metal worked frame and hanging above what a faux fireplace. However these two items were the only color in the room. A untouched kitchen lingered in the background. There were no pots or pans. No silverware or plating. The stove was spotless, while the countertops held no kitchen props. A small hall curved around leading to a bedroom, bathroom and guestroom.

The bedroom held more color than the living area, thanks to the large bed on the right wall that the apartment came with. But again, it looked untouched. The neatly tucked turqouis bedspread had gold sequins stitched in following an interlocked diamond pattern, while the pillows looked to be perfectly fluffed and not a single thread of hair lay upon the satin cases. The cream coloured walls were again, unadorned and led to another large window that spanned the far wall and facing another building whose lights flicked on and off. The chocolate dyed curtains were closed secluding the room from the rest of the world. On the left side, however, sat an antique looking dresser. Several decorated Venitian masks sat on faux head models. They're unique designs added color and flair to the blandness of the rest of the room.

Still... Quiet. There was no clocks to determine time. No ticking of the seconds to determine how fast life was passing by. Just the mingling peaceful melodies of crescendos and chaos.

[IMGleft]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v605/kjb127716/Gun2.png[/IMGleft]The front door slowly squeaked open as light from the hallway pierced the darkness. The radio went silent as the CD track finished and went to start up again. A pair of black high heels slowly walked across the hardwood floors. As the door closed and engulfed the room in darkness once again, the CD started back up greeting the newcomer. The clacks of heels echoed in the dark, passing by the couch without a second thought and dropping a customized Colt .38 with a 7" barrel onto the accepting cushions. The heels echoed down the hallway, and stopped at the dresser setting down a golden mask. The darkness silhouetted the slim figure as she pulled the curtains to the side. City light flooded the room like a dimmed stage. A backless ebony evening gown shimmered in the given light as silvery blonde curls bounced free from the cherrywood chopsticks that had been keeping them restrained for so long. The soft rays illuminated a once angelic face that had been scarred.

[IMGright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v605/kjb127716/Mask3.png[/IMGright]The marred ivory skin started from her right eyebrow and twisted down (in a crescent shape) down around under her right eye. Her shadowed ice blue eyes slowly opened as Beethoven echoed in the hallway. Another perfect act.

She slowly turned back to the masks. The souless delicate faces stared back at her in the night. Their features shimmering in the moving lights, as they awaited their next performance.

It was pure bliss when you stood there, witnessing the climax of the plot as the protagonist reveals her true nature that lies within a mask. Adrenaline heating your body and making you come alive. There was always a pause for dramatic affect just before the beginning symphony of panic, terror and desperation of escape. The soft melodies silenced as the star of the act rang out a cry, slicing through the heated air and striking the antagonist. It's then that time seems to slow down. The crimson decorating the stage as the perfect game comes slowly to a halt. Ending with silence. Silence that followed by the lights dimming, and darkness sinking in as the curtains draw to a close.

Her reward? The audience giving a standing ovation as the sirens wail in the distance and people gasped and cheered in shock. A simple bow... before disappearing off stage.

A smile twisted the corners of her mouth upwards as she ran a finger down the edge of one of the masks. One day, she'd find the perfect ending to her play. Something that would be the talk of the town for years to come. But for now... her role was finished.

She turned away from the masks and slowly walked back out to the living area, the soft clacks of her heels fell into rythm of the piano. She gracefully lowered herself onto the velvet couch and stared up at the Monet painting that hung above prop fireplace. The lids of her eyes lowered as her eyes unfocused themselves. It was almost as if her soul left her body, her hand idely draped over the .38.

===

Over in the Czech Republic...

As the door swung open and clicked closed, a machine flicked on and whirred before a female voice filled the room. "Evening Rafnier. Don't be shocked... and don't bother looking around the house for intruders. This is a motion triggered recording, so put your gun away. Another task was successfully completed..." the soft churning of a tape recorder filled pauses rather than the intoxicating silence, "The money will be wired to your usual account. The Client would also like to pass along gratitude," She paused, "However, the gratitude in which they would like me to express it in is professionally inappropriate. Money will suffice." She paused once again, a soft sigh escaping her lips; "I'm sure I don't have to tell you to destroy this when finished. So... Until then, Farewell." The tape recorder snapped off. The hushed silence slowly wrapped the room, as it felt like the woman's voice still lingered.

The heat was almost palpable as was the trademark weather of Miami, Florida. It was daytime, with the sun at its highest point in the sky, shining down on both locals and tourists. Most would either be at the beach or perhaps biking around, some even trying to escape the hot rays. But only some of those people actually lived in the area. Most were there vacation. It was obvious by their fanny packs, visors, tied sweaters (why would anyone have one in this weather?), and backpacks, but that was a common site anywhere that could be a vacationing town.

However, those that did live in Miami could be rather wealthy by any means, be it by drug pedaling, fraud, or having loose ties with the mafia, but if it gave you beach front property one might as well. One such palace was owned by quite the unknown, yet all that important mafia member. Which, was why a certain black haired boy, well a black haired man resided a few blocks over from the residence. The job was simple really, just be as stealth as possible while following his plan to kill the man. He checked his pockets for weapons, all while sweeping and tying up his hair.

The worst thing that he could do was leave behind evidence. Really, he should shave his head, but being bald already makes you recognizable. He didn't want to leave behind anything to alert to guards, police, or even the help so he left the guns at home and opted for something a little more stealthy. Currently, he was dressed as a relatively normal looking person who could have been a pool cleaner, but in reality he wasn't. But hell, no one needed to know that.

He walked at normal pace, soon reaching his destination and of course without any problems. The maid had answered the door and with a silent greeting, he was led out to the backyard where a huge pool had taken up most of the yard, though it still left able room for folding chairs, a jacuzzi, a lawn, and various types of exotic plants. It was ostentatious really, but who was he to talk? He didn't exactly have his own yard either (but from experience, he was lucky that this yard didn't have a glass door instead of a wooden one). Once the maid left, it was just him and his target.

The man wasn't a tough target, diminutive in height with a beer belly and a cigar burning away between his index and middle finger. He was sitting inside a bubbling jacuzzi despite the heat, his face red from either the wine held in his other hand or the sunlight that beat down on his balding head. So the "pool boy" went to work, walking over to his target and immediately whipping out his fiber wire and wrapping it around the wrinkled neck of the mafia male. Without air, the target soon collapsed, his form crumpling. The pretend pool cleaner pocketed his weapon and lifted (with a grunt) the dead body. Now the question was where to hide it.

Would drowning be a good enough alibi? Aside from the visible red line around the neck there wasn't really any other evidence of strangulation. There was nowhere else to hide the body and people would start to suspect something if he didn't act fast... He continued to heave the body until he reached the deep end of the pool, slowly dropping in the dead body. Another job finished. He would have given himself a pat on the back, but he still needed to get out of there.

With a sigh, the hitman stretched and knocked on the wooden door, being let in again and showed out all while admiring the various luxuries of the house: a granite counter for the kitchen, a huge, flat screen television, and even foosehockey table. Sure it might not seem like lot, but hell, he was kind of a cheap person. This was quite the ample amount of things. He exited the house, cracking a fake smile before walking away in the same direction that he came, wanting very much to ditch the clothing. A collared shirt and khakis really weren't his style of clothing.

((I just want to say, Moo. I love you. Lol! You followed the picture trend without using actual photos of your character to a tee and adding your own flair to it. You brought even more diversity to the roleplay as well with your character's personality. It was epic. We are just waiting for the final person to post her introduction post. I am excited as to how she is going to bring her own touch to the roleplay as well.))

(( :D Thanks! *blushes from compliment* I'm excited to see the last person's intro post too (: ))

[IMGleft]http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b383/Mysthero/Interpolbadge.png[/IMGleft]Lightning cracked above the city of Lyon, France. The sky hurled thunderbolts and shook the ground with thunder. Lyon was a city of culture, of romance, love... the bonds that held humanity together were absent in a small house on the corner street of Carnot. Lightning clashed in the black sky once again awakening a lone man in his bed. He sat up from bed in a cold sweat and heavy breathing from the nightmares the vicodin had given him for the past few hours. With some grunting and light regret he dragged himself out of bed to look out the window. He stood there only for a few moments before lightning flashed and blinded him.

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[IMGright]http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b383/Mysthero/Gun3.png[/IMGright]In Paris they were on the trail of an infamous hitman and they had tracked him down to a very popular hotel. After a three years they had finally caught him, and they were going to make sure that he paid for his crimes. A few swat teams surrounded the area and did their best to seal all the possible ground escape routes. "Three years... do you really think we cornered him here? Charles? The man's partner asked as they stood side by side outside of the hotel building doors. To which the man responded as he looked onto the many windows of the almost full hotel room. "I didn't wait this long to stop now... we go in."

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Charles looked away from the window and rubbed his eyes, his mind must have been playing tricks on him. He wasn't fully awake yet and he couldn't focus yet, that had to be it. Charles went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Only wearing boxers to cover the essentials, his body had gone through extensive training so he could be among the best detectives in the world, a few scars marring his chest and a three bullet scars, two of which were in his chest and one in his left forearm that sent him out of action for the past eight months. He went over to the sink and ran cold water through his hands to splash it onto his face.

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[IMGleft]http://i23.photobucket.com/albums/b383/Mysthero/Interpol2.png[/IMGleft]The Swat teams surrounded the hotel room and prepared to breach, but before they even reached the door the hotel room exploded into a fiery inferno. The hitman hid in a bathtub with an explosive charge just under it... when the charge went off it sent the structured bathtub crashing down to the floor below allowing him ample time to get into the hallways away from the swat team members. Firefighting broke out in the hallways but the fire did its work perfectly, the lights went out and now the hitman was in his element. "Frank..." Charles called into his radio, "Frank! Respond!" "He's in here Charles! I got him!" gunshots rang out on the other end of the hall and when Charles tried to get there, he would be interrupted by taking shot a shot to the arm, angered by the sudden attack he fired blindly down the hall but his muzzle flares gave him away to the specter and two more bullets found their target.

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Charles pulled away from the sink in a panic, looking at himself in the mirror, that scared look on his face, it quickly turned to self loathing. All he could see in his reflection was the hitman mocking his failures and dead partner. Charles' anger quickly turned to rage and punch through the mirror in hate, blood dripping down the mirror and other the sink from his hand. He couldn't sit around anymore... there were too many scores to settle. He took two pills of vicodin, grabbed his badge and left to get dressed.

The minutes passed by as a man blankly stared at the crime scene. The police cars sat in the background, the obnoxious lights casting their red and blue entities on the nearest structures. His index finger tapped his cleft chin. Brillance at work?

His gelled black hair was swept back with a superman curl dangling in the middle of his forehead framing his deep brown eye and high cheek bone structure. "I believe that... this was a homicide... By drowning. You say that the pool boy was the last one at the scene? Then it must be an act of jealousy... You see, it was the infamous love affair between one of his mistresses and the pool boy."

Obviously, not much brillance as there were so many details he had missed or overlooked. "Yes, definately a love crime." He said with a smug look on his face, watching the rubbery body bob up and down in the water.

Two weeks from retirement, that was all that came to Frank's mind when he came to the scene. Frank was a man in his mid fifties, and it showed with features of a man who had seen far too much, too soon, and with little comfort from experience. His face carried with it a mustache that was grayed with age along with his hair that had been combed to be appropriate for work in the Miami Police Department. He didn't catch the first part of the theory of the other detective but he did know that the poor kid must have rotted his brain in front of a bad television throughout his life to come up with something so rotten and half baked.

Gray Eyebrows furrowed at the young detective as aged brown eyes turned to the body that bobbed in the water like a swollen cork. After taking thirty seconds to actually examine the scene he spoke out against the detective. "What kind of idiotic fuck did your mommy and daddy do to bring a retarded little crotch stain like you into this world?" While letting the detective recovery from the sudden verbal assault, he knelt by the edge of the pool and flipped the body to be face up... strangely he didn't ask the investigators if they were done taking pictures, but he never did work by their rules. He saw that there were no facial wounds or signs of a real struggle until noticing the thin red line that encircled the neck. "This fat fuck didn't die from drowning you asshole... He's a member of the Terellie crime family... didn't have mistresses he just hired hookers. Also, he fired his pool boy six weeks ago... rather long time to plan such basic revenge... your autopsy will report that there is no water in his lungs and that he was killed by strangulation of fiber-wire... a professional hit. Why don't you do something that's fucking useful and get me a cup of coffee... black, twist of lemon, no sugar." He stood up from the side of the pool and straightened his brown suit with his hands, and black dress shoes led him around the pool so he could check the perimeter for security cameras.

Today was just like any other day in Mexico City. The weather was mild, just as it always was during the summer. A cooling breeze swept the cobbled streets. Khaki shorts, Hawaiian shirts, and dangling cameras dominated the area as tourists got their fill of the many sites the city had to offer them. Children played in the streets, darting in and out of the crowd, nearly knocking over unsuspecting tourists. It seemed the inhabitants of Mexico City had nothing to do and all day to do it.

Everything was average for a summer day in Mexico. Everything except the tiny figure perched on top of the hotel in downtown Mexico City. A young woman in her early twenties sat atop the hotel facing the Parque Lincoln. Her black business clothes and popped collar distinguished her from the crowd. Her concentration remained on the park, never wavering.

When it seemed she had spotted her target, the woman leaped toward the Russian Dragunov she had placed on the edge. Pulling the shades from her face, revealing her charcoal eyes, she placed the glasses inside her jacket. She leaned in and pressed her eye against the sight of the rifle. Without taking her eye from the gun, she whipped a black scrunchy from her coat and pulled her obsidian hair into a tight ponytail. Hands firmly planted on the gun, the woman watched her target with objective interest.

A business man sat on the bench in the Parque Lincoln. He seemed irritable, as if he was waiting for something that had yet to come. His head turned this way and that, searching for what would cost him his life. With a quick, impatient motion, the man stood himself up. He turned to face the entrance of the park. In an instant it was over.

When the man had stood, the figure on the building had a perfect shot directly between his eyes. Aiming with the precision that had achieved her this job, she squeezed the trigger and a bullet shot across the sky. It soared a straight path right through the man's skull, spewing blood and grey matter through its exit. The man collapsed on his back, eyes wide open in shock, never to move again.

Satisfied with a job well done, the woman whipped a tiny cellular phone from inside her coat and dialed. A ringing could be heard on the other. One...two...three...click. "Hello?" came the voice from the other end.

"It is done," the woman spoke in an objective voice. She preferred not to attach herself. She made better money that way.

"Return to HQ and you will be paid in full," said the voice on the other line. Then there was a click, and the line went dead. The woman replaced the phone inside her coat. Swinging the strap of the SVD over her shoulder, she moved swiftly toward the stairs which led down from the roof. Her quick steps barely made a sound as she rushed toward her room and gathered her belongings. There was only one hour before her plane took off, and she would be out of this city with a large sum of money.

((Just a heads up - the photos in the intro post are OK - but they can not be included in every RP post that is made - just a reminder - don't want to see you all get in trouble ;) (actually- they really can't be included unless they are necessary for the plot. Intro is OK though) ))

(OOC: Understood.)