Ebony Winters

For some months now the Winters appartment had erupted into fueled arguements and crashing doors as Mr Winters and Ebony collided. Both had equally strong tempers and a huge stubborn streak. Usually the two were pretty good together, since the two had first met they seemed to agree on almost everything, and what they didn't agree on wasn't really major...Well, except for the career she had chosen for herself.

See Ebony wanted to follow in his footsteps and be an assassin. She had wanted to from the age of 8. He had always said no. For ten years she had been upset about his rejection, but it never bothered her until a few months ago when she discovered his blood nephew would be arriving to train as an assasin. Then all hell broke loose!

Mr Winters hoped to collect his Nephew before Ebony woke that morning. He had silently dressed and was headed to the front door when he noticed her, sat on the sofa, playing with a 9mm. Inwardly he trembled. Still, maybe she hadn't noticed him...

"You know, I want this a lot more than he does." She spoke slowly, not looking at him. "Why does he get to train when I can't?" She asked. Now she did turn to look at him. Such cold fury burned in her eyes that for a moment his gaze softened. Yes, she would make a wonderful assasin if she were trained, but he loved her too much. That was something she would never understand. Something he could never explain to her.

"Little girls should play with dolls, not guns." Was his only reply. That went down like a lead balloon. Shouting had erupted from the appartment building once more and eventually ended with him slamming the door and racing down the hall way. Late.

Ebony threw the gun at the closing door. Angry and hurt. She stalked back into her bedroom. Oh how she hated him. She wasn't sure who she hated, but it was deffinatly a male. Her father, Mr Winters, the men who killed her family, Mr Winters Nephew... Her black mood could pin it on any one of them, or all of them. A finger jabbed her stereo and music instantly blared through the speakers, filling the appartment. No one told her off. He was off to fetch the golden boy.

Diesel.

He'd called himself what he chose when his parents had dissapeared from this realm. He discarded his old name as soemthing he would never need again. Diesel existed for something fewer people seemed to live for these days, He lived to kill others and live in shadow. As a child Diesel had been quiet and stood up for what he believed in, but he could see that this philosophy was impossible to follow forever; Killers wouldn't wait forever for him to grow older and defend himself.

Earlier in life, a man had shot his mother while his father looked on in fear from the closet. Fate would have Diesel home in another few moments, and entering. At twelve, Diesel had already developed a sociiopathic personality and he was a little less than sociable to most.

Entering, Diesel found his mother and the discarded gun, the killer long gone. Picking up the gun, Diesel turned to see his father standing there, trying to tell him it would be alright and Diesel lashed out, firing twice into his body,the useless one that couldn't even give his body to a cause like he'd been taught to. The golden rule.

Do Unto Others. Diesel was only a child at the time, but he would have cast his body into the gunfire to at least stave off his mothers lonliness for eternity. He'd lived for another six years on his own, free of despair, simply living as a void in everyones' memory, the blip on the radar people avoided as they approached. Diesel was taboo with the family with everyone but one man.

His uncle, who'd gripped his shoulder at the funeral, who'd seemed so proud of him.


Now he stood quietly and patiently, there at the train station, a large bag on his back, his grey coat hanging to his ankles, he'd pulled the collar up,and this, mixed with his long blonde hair covered his appearance entirely. He glanced around once before turning to look out across the station, seeking his uncles face.

Now he would stand for something.

Now he could have a meaning.

Diesel was Justice.

Mr Winters paused on the stairs, hearing Ebonys music blare from the speakers. That child had never been easy. Even as an eight year old she had been more difficult than anyone he had ever met. A sigh.

He headed out of the building and towards the train station. Now he was beginning to have doubts. Things could go terribly wrong with this plan. Was it such a good idea to have two such volitile people under the same roof?

It didn't matter, there he was. "Diesel" He called, making sure the boy had seen him.

Diesel turned to his uncle and smiled softly, extending a hand slightly, not altogether amused witht he concept of shaking someones' hand, and cocked his head slightly.

"Mr. Winters," He said, then grinning warmly. "I hope I'm not pulling you away from anything," he said, a hand on his hips.

He briefly took Diesels hand, rleasing it rather speedily. "No, not at all." He replied smoothly. "How was your trip?" He asked kindly, motioning for Diesel to follow him as he made his way back onto the streets.

Diesel followed quietly, glad to be out of his grip and carried his bag over his shoulder quietly, not much for standing around forever. Patiently he stepped behind him and held pace with him, musing to himself.

"So where do you live?" he asked, curiously, his free hand in his pocket.

"In an appartment not too far from here." He replied absently "Apartment 3b in the Watkins building." After a few moments he pointed at a rather large building and added "There. Second floor."