There are people who sometimes judge the artist’s work. They either hold the artist’s work in deep contempt, claiming how utterly appalling and unimaginative the art work was, or they do nothing but sing praises about the artist and their work.

            These people are called critics.

We in the assassin profession also have to deal with this phenomenon, except our critics are the government, spies and our fellow peers, not fat, pathetic snobs who sit on their asses all day and write columns in trashy papers (you know the classic symptom of those who can’t do, write).

Sometimes an artist can lose their touch and will get such bad ratings, that they are shunned by their peers, their progress watched by all especially the salivating critics, who are eager and ready to produce another piece of slop about the artist’s failed potential. Every one wonders if the artist will be able to make a comeback or will they just wallow in the pity of being burned.

The same applies to an assassin.

If a mission is compromised or some of the assassin’s private life comes into play many can get blacklisted from their employers leaving them washed up, penniless, and/or dead. Some are able to strike new deals and get back into the fold, others aren’t so lucky.

But even if you comeback, the stain of what happened-your burn- stills lingers, everyone knows and it eats you alive.

-o-

The whole England trip turned out to be a bust: there was no trace of my mark anywhere; I was pissed. Needless to say, after calling my employer and complaining for an hour, I left England for Texas. Joy.

Texas, home of the free and land of the brave; the only state with its own constitution. More like Texas, home to the stupid land of the hot; the only state with more bleach blondes with fake tits per square mile. I had never been to Texas before but I have seen TV and I can now say that all country folk are sluts. I can’t help but miss my penthouse in NYC, the lovely view of all the steel monuments, the glow of Times Square shining through my curtains. Ah so peaceful.

Anyway, the reason I was in Texas was because my bosses though that I needed a refresher on who hired whom, so they decided to send me to Texas and stick me with some incompetent shit. Team work, Bah!

As I walked through the airports shitty baggage claim, my cellular rang. Adjusting my burdens, I grabbed my phone and looked at the screen. ‘Boss’ I thought, accepting the call and putting the receiver to my ear.

“Bill, what have you got for me?” I asked after the fourth ring.

“There is a car outside waiting to take you to HQ to meet your partner.” Bill rushed cutting to the chase. I rolled my eyes biting back a retort “Anything else”

“Yea play nice.” The phone went dead and I could have just screamed. ‘Goddamnit!’ I thought as I made my way out side, luggage in hand, to this mystery car.

Outside a simple black suburban caught my attention. Begrudgingly, I made my way over to the car and knocked on the window. Slowly, the window went down to reveal a cute green eyed blonde. “Open the trunk” was all I said and within ten minutes we were on our way to headquarters.

-o-

“Cassia Versey, due to your good work and many achievements, we are giving you a new high profile mission. And because we are so proud of you and have a lot of faith in you, we are setting you up with a partner…”

I could careless for the bullshit that this dude was spitting. As far as I see it, they were giving me some little shit to either weigh me down, or fuck me up.

“Your partner has a notorious reputation for being an angel of death and the best assassins of his generation and although he has recently been blacklisted, we need his expertise…”

OMG! Hold the motherfuckin’ phone. Did he just say blacklisted? Oh now, this is just wonderful.

“Miss Versey, meet your new partner, Mr. Viper Cross.”

‘SHIT!’

-o-

            Benjamin Thoreau or Viper Cross was no noobe to the assassin world. Being young, handsome, and talented, he had become one of the greatest spy/assassin any government organization could have. Standing at six foot four, the auburn haired, grey eyed Adonis was almost too good to be true: perfect yet surreal. It was a shame though, that in his prime, at the ripe age of twenty four he got blacklisted.

The reason was unimportant, all that really matters was that he was once on top and now he was at the bottom: a twenty-seven year old wash-up forced to work with the cocky, diva, child prodigy that was Cassidy Michelle Barlow or Cassia Versey. Lord be with him.

 -o-

“OH HELL NAW!” A loud scream could be heard as all the cries of “Miss Versey” were drowned out by my loud screams. “There is no way on Gods green earth, that I am working with that half-baked, washed up Frenchman who fucked up on the Amsterdam job. Hell no” I roared, crossing my arms over my chest like a child.

“Half French” a soft accented tenor stated, belonging to none other than my “new partner”, Viper. “And I am not very happy about this arrangement either.”

I rolled my eyes. “I need to talk to Bill-” I started, but was cut off by a Big Whig “Miss Versey, we have all ready talked to your supervisor and he agrees. He feels that this will be a good learning experience for you. Now if you are done acting like a child, may continue?”

As pissed as I was I didn’t want to be scolded or burned over some stupid shit like this. “Whatever” I muttered with a wave of my hand signaling for the conversation to commence again. Everyone looked at me for my lack respect but they could get over it, all I could think about was that by the time all was said and one with, someone is gonna die and it certainly wont be me.