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When Looks Can Kill

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Hurgha. Sorry for not updating here on the forums. Without further ado,

Chapter 3

"Quite an unexpected encounter, is it not?"

The Summoner takes another sip from his glass, a grin ever-present on his lips as his eyes bore into hers.

Sarah merely nods, barely able to comprehend that her former acquaintance was also the infamous Agent 007, her quarry. And her bounty.

She remembered the nights spent together with him, quick passionate trysts that remained undiscussed. She recalls the last time they had met were in her private quarters in the Institute, enjoying glasses of fine wine atop her bed.


Quickly concealing her flustered countenance, she covers it with a faux seductive visage (A feat easier said than done in the presence of a man of his stature), resting her head against her hand, almost mimicking the stance of the man in front of her.

007 sets the half-consumed martini upon the counter, holding the wrist of his right arm with his unoccupied hand.

Giving her another of his grins, he leans in closer, as about to tell a secret.

"And what brings you to Casino Royale Demacia?"

"What people usually come here for Summoner," Sarah replies with a forced casual tone, a grin just as forced planted on her face. "Pleasure."

"Of course. And with you dressed in a dress like that," the Summoner points at her with a finger lifted off of his wrist, "I am sure pleasurable company wasn't so hard to find."

She understands the underlying meaning of his quip, and allows a laugh to escape her lips, the curves expressed by her clothing shuddering slightly from her amusement.

"You haven't changed much since I last met you," Sarah said as she returned to her relaxed posture "little innuendos and subtle hints always were your strong suit."

"But I am sure that they worked as I intended them to, did they not?"

"Deriving from the fact that the last time we met was in my private quarters, I am sure that they did."

A silent exchange of looks ensue, the Summoner taking yet another sip from his martin with a smile. He breaks his gaze from her, deciding to take a look around him, observing the multitude of finely-dressed Demacians enjoying themselves with either a drink or a cigarette in one hand or the other.

Little did Sarah know that the Summoner's eyes were singularly picking out the well-disguised men mingling inconspicuously, throwing him and Sarah unobtrusive looks, sure that they would not be discovered.

But the Summoner was no fool. The disguises could have very well been discarded, his skilled eyes well-trained to catch the small indications of hostiles in a crowd of common people. As the Summoner continued drinking, his eyes captured each and every implanted foreigner in the casino; ORDER agents.

Noting the number of operatives and their relative positions, the Summoner tilts his body back towards Sarah, giving her a smile from the brief intrusion.

"I trust that you have acquired what you came here for then?", the Summoner inquired, setting down his glass for the barman to quickly dispose of, proceeding to extract a cigarette with three gold rings girding its butt, lighting it with a battered black oxidized Ronson lighter.

"Not quite yet," Sarah replies provocatively, swiveling on her chair to lean on the wooden bar counter, the side-view of her exposed back and luscious breasts a welcome sight to the Summoner as he proceeded to puff on his smoke. Her gaze turns towards his face, a sultry look in her eye. "Not in the pleasure that you imply, anyway."

A toothy grin forms on the Summoner's face before he removes the smoke from his lips with his middle and index finger. Removing his gaze from her face once more, he twists his body to allow his back to lean against the counter as he raises his cigarette to his mouth, his eyes looking upward thoughtfully.

Sarah looks at his face as he continues to smoke leisurely, the smoke escaping his mouth slowly before drifting away to the ceiling of the casino. Anxiety was still very much present in her system, for something about the Summoner disturbed her. But she didn't know what it was.

"But on the contrary," small sort of chuckle escaping his nose, his body turning to face hers again "I do not think that an empty stomach contributes to this notion of enjoyment, don't you agree?"

Sarah tilts her head inquisitively, to which he responds with a knowing glint in his eye,

"I've observed you wandering around for the past few hours. I tried to catch your attention, but alas, it seemed you were occupied with what seemed to be a search for someone..." He looks at Sarah, those electric eyes of his piercing hers. "…else."

Her heart skips a beat at the execution of his last sentence. The way he had uttered his words seemed to speak with her personally, indicating he knew more than he let on. This notion made Sarah begin to perspire a cold sweat. As she stared into his eyes, her suspicions began to affirm.

He knew.

In her head she dismisses this assumption as what it was; a mere assumption.

Tapping into her reserve of hard-willed resolve, she regains her composure, turning her body entirely to face his, crossing one leg over another. Her hand still maintaining contact with her chin, her arm nestles into her thigh as she leans forward, granting an abundant view of her breasts as she spoke.

"So you were…" her eyes look upward as if looking for an appropriate phrase before returning to his. "…following me?"

"I think," The Summoner replies, fingers taking hold of his martini, "a more appropriate term would be…observing with keen interest."

A grin before his fingers raise to his lips to take another inhale of heat.

Sarah's expression changes when a sudden though strikes upon her mind; How didn't she see the Summoner roaming around her? A tall man like that, especially one that she knew, would definitely have caught her attention.

But, same with the eerie feeling the Summoner knew more than he was supposed to, Sarah casts aside to continue her banter.

"Fair enough. But what brings you to Demacia? I'm sure things in the Institute are busier than usual, with the bombings of Zaun and all."

It seemed she had hit a sensitive nerve, the Summoner's reaction one of distaste.

"I was hoping you wouldn't mention that my dear. But I guess it's futile to ignore the elephant in the room," The Summoner said, a glint suddenly catching in his eye, but his face still maintaining its unhappy expression.

He sighs before continuing, "Yes, the Institute has been nothing but a tumult of Summoners and Champions running about, settling disputes between just about every city-state existing in Valoran. One day it was Noxus and Demacia, which was to be expected. Then Zaun against Piltover, the city blaming its loss of life on their technological neighbors. Suddenly the Kinkou intervened, deciding the balance was being disrupted by the sudden increase in conflict, and so and on and so forth."

The Summoner shakes his head, sucking in some more smoke on the withering cigarette between his fingers. The look in his eyes had changed since he had begun to speak of this matter, the congenial and light-hearted flicker of blue now replaced with a fire of grim seriousness.

This look sent a shiver down Sarah's spine, reminding her that this Summoner who she once knew was also the cold-blooded agent who had killed many men in the past, the last sight of each and every one of those men most likely the icy-blue orbs that Sarah stared at now.

But for some reason, Sarah thinks that this look somehow…suited him.

"And so I've been sent around across Runeterra like an errand boy, searching for plausible solutions to this daunting predicament. The way things are going, if another slight mishap such as the bombings in Zaun were to happen, it won't be long until Demacia and Noxus are at each other's throats again, the League unable to prevent anything from happening, unless I find what I'm looking for here in Demacia."

He stares silently in front of him, calming his lungs with more flavored smoke. In a flash, the flame diminishes from his pupils as his gaze returns to her, the amiable air around him returning to its warm luster.

"So to answer your question Sarah, you might say I am here on…business."

"…what sort of…occupation do you have exactly? It definitely doesn't seem like a Summoner should be doing all of this." Sarah instantly regrets the words that had come out of her mouth, fearing that they would give her away.

"And that," winking at her, "is a question that I believe you possess the answer to.

Another unintentional skipped pulse. All the pieces were coming together, but yet Sarah still refused to believe what the completed puzzle implied.

"Now then," he continued, distinguishing his cigarette on a nearby ashtray, "back to the topic of dinner. The dining room next to this bar has the most wonderful filet mignon. But of course, their menu is laden with an ample selection that I am sure will suit your palate."

The Summoner proceeds to stand, his hands smoothing over his attire. He straightens his tie and buttons his suit before checking his cuffs, making sure everything was in order. His actions were somewhat mesmerizing, Sarah never seeing such class in a man in the longest time, if ever.

Breaking her out of her daze, his hand reaches out towards her.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd love to have you dine with me tonight, Sarah." the Summoner said, that grin of his splayed across his visage.

Sarah's heart skips a beat, the cause for this not relating to her uneasiness or apprehension, but was in fact due to the Summoner's impeccable charm. This was supposed to be her mission; to become closer to her quarry in order to rid of him during their private rendezvous of intimacy.

But as time slowed around her, Sarah couldn't help but drop her nervousness and apprehension, completely forgetting the suppressed pistol resting against her thigh. Her hand slips into his, and a smile crosses her lips.

"It'll be my pleasure."

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Chapter 4

"Your order of bouillabaisse, madam, with the clams and fish imported directly from Bilgewater," the mustachioed waiter said, presenting a white bowl, its innards occupied with an exquisite seafood soup, the white rim girding the hot stew peppered with green seasoning. Steam wafted towards the ceiling from the bowl's contents, exposed clam shells glistening in the orange light of the dining room.

Stepping briskly to his left, the waiter proceeds to grab another silver tray from an elegant cart, opening the tray's lid to expose a plate; upon its surface stood two pieces of meat, accompanied with scattered vegetables.

"And your order of Freljordian lamb cutlets with buttered peas and new potatoes monsieur, the meat slightly brushed with oil as you requested," the waiter said, placing the plate on the magenta table cloth before standing upright, a white cloth hanging from his crooked right arm. "If there is anything else, please just ask."

"I think that is all we need for tonight, thank you," the Summoner replies politely after silently asking Sarah if there was anything else needed with his eyes, to which she replied with a quick shake of her head.

The waiter bows before swiftly exiting the scene, pushing his cart along into the hidden kitchen that lay behind the walls embellished with fine curtains and tapestries. As the Summoner had promised, the menu was laden with a surprising selection of fine foods, with everything from signature Noxian flame-roasted pig to Ionian dim sum.

Just as exquisite as the food on the menu was, the dining hall itself was an extravagant chamber illuminated by crystal chandelier fixtures that emanated a soft orange glow. Every table was clothed in hand-woven tablecloths, candleholders attached with flickering flames occupying the center of each one.

Sarah picked up her spoon, eager to have a taste of her beloved soup. She had only eaten it a few times prior, all during missions to high-class locales similar to Casino Royale Demacia. Pausing however, she takes a tentative glance upwards, catching sight of the Summoner's eyes staring at her, his hands clasped.

Roused by the sudden eye contact, the Summoner straightens himself, stuffing a white napkin inside the opening of his suit before grasping his knife and fork. Grinning brightly, he pauses before his silverware makes contact with his meat.

"Well, as the nobles say, bon appeti!"

His knife digging into the brownish flesh of his cooked lamb, he continues speaking.

"I presume that you are partial to Bilgewater's seafood?" the Summoner inquires before sticking a slice of lamb accompanied with a piece of buttered potato into his mouth.

Sarah smiles at him after taking a spoonful of her soup, the fiery yet delicate flavor of the stew lingering on her tongue before she replies.

"Of course," she says matter-of-factly "I've been living in Bilgewater all my life, so it is obvious that my palate would conform to the food presented to me hun."

The Summoner nods, before silently resuming his meal. Sarah follows suit, consuming another spoonful of her warm soup.

This continues for the remainder of their meal, silence permeating between them unless the Summoner dictated small bouts of insignificant conversation. Sarah periodically looked up to steal glances of the Summoner as he enjoyed his meal heartily, chewing slowly with his eyes always looking about him; almost as if he was apprehensive.

As the meal passed by in this manner, the Summoner finally gently wipes his mouth in a ceremonial flourish of the white cloth tucked inside of his suit, carefully folding it and placing it beside his plate afterwards.

Sarah soon finishes her bouillabaisse. She licks her lips with relish, not bothering to wipe her mouth.

The Summoner smiles at this, and proceeds to remove yet another cigarette from his inner pocket, deftly lighting it before taking an inhale of smoke.

"Absolutely delicious, which I suppose is to be expected from Casino Royale Demacia," he said before taking another inhale of his indulgence. "I trust that you enjoyed the dinner as well?"

"Quite so. Never tasted better bouillabaisse in my life."

"Probably because I've only eaten it twice," she thought to herself.

The Summoner nods approvingly, obviously impressed. After a brief silence, and another puff of smoke, he proceeds to speak, a sort of apologetic look occupying his visage.

"Now, excuse me for saying this, but I never really expected you to be a cultured type."

Sarah smirks as she revels in the irony of his statement.

"Goes the same direction for me dearie," she replies honestly, head unintentionally tilted seductively on her hand; force of habit. "I was quite surprised to see you so refined. I don't recall you acting this way, or maybe my recollections of you are distorted?"

A throaty chuckle ensues from him, as he waved away the waiters who had cleared their table of its contents, simultaneously inquiring if he or Sarah desired any dessert.

"I'm afraid that your recollections are most likely spot on," the Summoner said, extinguishing his cigarette on an ashtray atop the table, "for I am prone to don a different mantel when I'm in the field."

"'In the field'?"

"Recall that my presence here is purely for matters of business," he replied, clasping his hands together on the table.

His last comment seems to suddenly awake Sarah from her delusion that the dinner and conversations with the Summoner were completely recreational. The steely skin of the Ruger Mark II suddenly makes its presence known as her skin feels its steel press against her, alerted of her forgotten mission.

Her sudden surge emotions must have seeped to her expressions, for the Summoner looks at her with a concerned look as he inquired,

"Is something wrong?"

Collecting herself quickly, she realizes that the faster she had the Summoner in her grasp, literally and metaphorically, the less difficult her job would be to execute once the time comes for her to finish it.

This fact solidifies itself as her eye catches a waiter leaning nonchalantly in a doorway across the room, his face grim and staring directly at hers. Their eyes lock, causing the waiter's head to jerk backwards to signal that it was time. With that, he turns and casually walks away out of sight.

Sarah is left to stare at the empty doorway before she feels the Summoner's steely eyes looking into hers.

"Is…something wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, surprisingly convincing, her gaze returning to his, "nothing at all."

The Summoner responds by merely staring at her with his face wearing an expression that was impossible to read. She immediately smiles sultrily at him, desperate to break the awkwardness currently existing between the two.

"So…I heard the suites upstairs are quite lavish."

"Very," the Summoner responds, his expression only changing slightly to a more positive visage, "I've been staying in mine for almost a fortnight. Why?"

Sarah's grin curves upward slightly. She leans back into her chair, her hand gently whipping about in the air to act as another outlet for emotions.

"Oh, I just thought we could get away to somewhere more…private. I mean, surely you occasionally mix business with pleasure?"

An eyebrow rises on the Summoner's face.

"On the contrary," he leans forward on the table, "I always try my best to incorporate the two."

"If that's true, then I'm sure you'd be happy to oblige if I said I required your services to provide my pleasure," Sarah said seductively, her eyes at half-mast.

"So how about it?"

Her invitation lingers in the air as the Summoner seems to contemplate on his answer. After several moments, he finally gives in.

"For old time's sake?"

A mischievous giggle.

"For old time's sake."

Things will get a little steamy next chapter, but don't worry. It's not going to be a lemon; that's for the last chapters. :3


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Chapter 5

The Summoner's room is instantly lit up as the two step foot inside, illuminating the extravagant furniture scattered about the suite. One corner of the room is solely dedicated to a king-size bed and its respective nightstands, lit lamps occupying each one.

The suite occupied a space on the seventh floor of the hotel, the entire wall facing the doorway a huge window, granting view to the beautiful nighttime skyline of upper-class Demacia.

As soon as the door closes, Sarah places her hands on his chest, intent on quickening the process of his assassination. She maintains her sultry visage, hoping that the Summoner would fall to her charms without protest. The two stand near the doorway, eyes locked.

But a strange feeling begins to emerge in her psyche, for once again, Sarah found herself within the Summoner's grasp.

As if responding to this sudden revelation, she feels the Summoner's hand traverse up her bare arm, taking hold of the back of her neck. Instinctively, she closes her eyes as the Summoner leans in for a kiss; Sarah almost required to tiptoe in order to reach his lips as a result of his height.

He tasted differently than she remembered. Maybe because of the cigarettes he had smoked a few hours prior, or maybe because her intentions with him that night were different than the last time they had met. But either way, the Summoner's kisses were delicious. And she wanted more, her mission forgotten.

And more he gave as the two stumbled toward a nearby couch, their hands now gripping tightly to each other's heads as the osculation demanded deeper contact. Their tongues furtively snake their way into each other's mouths, galvanized by passion as the couple stumble upon the couch before laying their bodies on top of it.

Sarah lets out a moan as the Summoner's skilled tongue grapples with her own, her lips eagerly rubbing against his. She feels his hands untie the single string keeping her chest hidden from view. At the same time her hands skillfully unbutton his suit before proceeding to undo the white shirt within.

Soon his bare chest is fully revealed for her hands to wander, her hands eagerly groping the Summoner's well-toned abs. She feels a sudden cold rush of air as her partner peels the silk away to reveal her perk breasts. The Summoner separates from her mouth, allowing Sarah downtime to breathe air that was lost in the vigorous osculation.

Her eyes looking upward at an exquisite chandelier, she almost loses herself in the light being refracted from the miniscule glass. Suddenly she is taken back into the task at hand as she feels the Summoner's tongue making light contact with one of her rocky nipples, teasing her.

She moans sultrily as his lips begin to lightly scrape her breast, the contact almost full, her psyche desperately desiring his entire mouth to be clamped upon her flesh. Her hands grip tightly on the Summoner's broad shoulders as she feels his hands traverse the silky skin of her legs, slowly moving up her right thigh…

Her right thigh.

Snapping out of her haze of desire, she exclaims with a loud outburst, her hands quickly finding their way to his shoulders to push him away. Reacting to this, the Summoner halts his actions, his head separating from her, the saliva left on her bare skin allowing the air to leave a cold impression on her chest. The Summoner's fingers lay a mere inch away from the gun strapped around her thigh intending to take his life.

The Summoner looks at her inquisitively as she panted, nervousness occupying her visage. Nothing is said between them as the Summoner supports himself on his arms above her, watching her gather her senses together. Instinctively, Sarah covers her exposed breasts, holding up the dress with her hand.

"I'm sorry. Is it something I did?" the Summoner inquires coyly, sitting himself on the couch with Sarah following suit.

While doing so, she quickly conceals her weapon with the purple fabric of her dress.

"N-no, you don't have to apologize. It's just that, um…"

Sarah bites on her lip, thinking frantically for an excuse. Simultaneously, she chastises herself for once again blinding herself with the Summoner's charm. That was the second time in one night; by now she should have already killed the man and left his body to be taken care of, while she received the bounty promised to her.

She suddenly looks at him with her usual seductive eyes, quickly jumping to him and gripping his arm tightly. Her body closes in on his, Sarah making sure her breasts make contact with the Summoner lightly.

"I can still taste our dinner. Don't you think it's appropriate for maybe a little bit of champagne?"

The Summoner stares at her breasts, processing her request. He looks up at her after a few moments with a smile.

"Of course. What was I thinking?" he smacks a head to his forehead as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just wait here, I'll be sure to bring up a bit of bubbly."

To her surprise, he quickly stands, straightening his rumpled suit.

"W-Wait," Sarah exclaims desperately, her hand outreached to his, "don't they have room service?"

He grins, his hand grabbing ahold of hers. Crouching down to face her at eye level, Sarah silences herself.

"I don't trust anyone with my liquor my dear," he said before closing the space between them with a kiss on her mouth, his lips maintaining contact briefly, but just long enough for Sarah to yearn for more "so just wait here. I'll be right back."

With that the Summoner rises to his feet and leaves, the sound of the door closing lingering in the air around Sarah for a few seconds.

With the Summoner gone, she slumps onto the couch. Her plan had, in a way, backfired. Now her target had gone off somewhere else in the casino, without her in tow.

Her eyebrow rises as a realization hits her; the Summoner had stated he didn't trust anyone with his liquor, but he had ordered his martini and allowed the bartended to mix it for him without mishap. Her concern grows as she turns her body to face the door. Something was definitely wrong with the Summoner's notion of obtaining champagne by himself, and this time, she could not shrug it off.

But this thought was almost overshadowed by the fact that she wanted the Summoner to hurry back, not for the assassination, but to continue the lewd acts that had been committed on the couch.

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Chapter 6

A seemingly harmless finely-dressed employee strolls through the halls of the hotel, his finger occasionally reaching to the earpiece implanted in his ear.

Because of his fit build, the manner of his gait and the constant repeated action of his hand reaching for his earpiece, one would simply pass the man off as a hotel security guard.

As the man walks past a closed janitor's closet, the door quickly swings open, two hands roughly seizing him inside. With eyes of surprise, light disappears from the man's world as he is locked inside the small space with his assailant. His breaths come out jagged as he feels a strong arm locked around his neck, only allowing miniscule gasps to pass through.

Deftly the man swivels his body to escape his foe's grasp, instantly striking into the darkness with a bunched-up fist. He feels his hand caught in the air, his attack blocked. Consequently, the presumed security guard is left vulnerable without his dominant hand, leaving an opening for his assailant to plant a hard kick straight into his abdomen.

The breath is harshly stolen from his lungs, and he is forced to crumple back, the strength devoted to his right arm clumsily dissipating, both his hands gripping the point of contact from his assailant's foot. His body slammed against a corner of the dark storage room, his back accidentally flicking a switch, causing a light bulb overhead to flicker to life, bathing various janitorial apparatus with an orange glow.

His eyes adjusting to the sudden exposure, his eyes focus on his assailant, widening as he realizes who he is. In the dim light stood the notorious Agent 007, the man whose body he was supposed to dispose of after a hired gun assassinated him inside his room. Before the man could react, the Summoner lands a hard punch into the side of his face, followed up with an uppercut to his chin.

The last attack sends his head flying back into a metal shelf, resulting in his vision to become black and splotchy as his legs give way, his body crumpling onto the concrete ground. He suddenly feels himself brought back to his feet by the Summoner's hands, the collar of his suit gripped tightly.

The Summoner's eyes burned fiercely into his, a grim smile occupying his face.

"Good evening. Now I have only one question and one question only," the Summoner gives a pause to let the words sink inside the almost unconscious man's head. "How many of there are you?"

The ORDER agent simply looks back at the Summoner with bewilderment before smiling, a trickle of blood from his rupture cheek traversing down his cheek.

"You think I will tell you? I don't care if you kill me."

This garners a roll of eyes from the Summoner, as if this line had been repeated to him dozens of times before.

"Oh, is that so?"

The Summoner suddenly weaves his way to the back of the man, his arm still holding tightly to the agent's, twisting it horrendously in a position that would break it with just the tiniest degree of tension. The agent yells out loudly as the Summoner teases the pain, increasing the tension of the man's stretched arm ever so slowly.

"I shall ask you once more; how many of there are you?"

Through gritted teeth, the man answers,

"I'll…never tell you."

The Summoner gives a sigh, one that almost seemed pitiful; apologetic.

"So be it."

With a swift motion of his hand, he strikes upon the agent's stretched arm, efficiently breaking the bone within with a sickening crunch. The agent yells loudly in agony, as his limp arm is released from the Summoner's grasp, white-hot pain fogging his mind.

The Summoner allows his body to be dropped onto the ground, allowing his victim to write pain. Extracting a silenced black pistol from his suit, he kneeling beside the agent after landing a hard strike into his crotch with his foot.

The ORDER agent lets out another squeal, only to be muffled by the Summoner's hand.

"There, there now. We don't want to attract any attention; people might get the wrong idea. Now, one last time before I disable you from having any offspring," the Summoner threatens, his handgun pressed into the crotch of his victim, his hand leaving the agent's mouth. "How many of there are you?"

The agent looks at him with horrified eyes.

"I said, how many of there, ARE YOU?!" he repeats, his voice raised considerably, simultaneously shoving his pistol into the agent's flesh with increased force. The Summoner's colloquial grin had disappeared, now replaced with a fierce grimace.

"S-Six. There's six of us. P-please," the ORDER agent finally spat, tears of pain streaming down his cheeks as he lay on the floor.

A smile crosses the Summoner's face. He stands, eyes locked with the shivering man below him.

"Now that's a good chap."

He stands as if to leave, reaching for the door. Suddenly, he turns around.

"Oh yes. And be sure to enjoy the rest of the night."

With that, the Summoner raises his weapon, aiming the handgun at the agent's chest. Before the man could utter any words, he is silenced by the soft-sounding shot of the black instrument, his world swirling to a thick darkness as his life escapes him. The air of the small room is suddenly a tad bit colder, only one life occupying the tiny space.

The Summoner looks at the lifeless corpse, his arm still outstretched with his gun, a small wisp of smoke escaping the hole at its tip. His eyes survey the crimson blood spread blossoms the body's white shirt, watching intently the body's front turns red. Finally raising the gun to his lips, he blows the remainder of the smoke wafting from the gun's tip before unscrewing the suppressor and pocketing it with the gun within his suit.

He proceeds to raise a cuff to his mouth, activating a concealed communicator.

"Requesting disposal of a casualty, sending location status with disposable tracker."

He then proceeds to drop a blue, glowing piece of hardware, the wireless electronic sending out invisible waves to other LSMI6 agents. With that, the Summoner straightens his suit, adjusting his cuffs and tie before exiting the janitor's closet, his hand running through his hair.

After shutting the door, he sees a couple staring at him with bemused looks. Giving them a friendly smile, his thumb pointed toward the janitor's closet he says,

"Just finished up my cleaning duty."

Well, the action's just gettin' started. Prepare your anuses.

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No replies or reviews makes me sad. But I will still post more! >

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Wish granted, Oliver Twist.

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Chapter 6

"Your days are over, Agent 007."

Sarah points her suppressed pistol at her target with a smile. Her target smiles back, perfectly imitating the confident and victorious grin occupying her face. Tension builds between the two, her target looking at the end of her pistol with as much unwavering confidence as she possessed. Her eyes narrow to slits as she stares down her quarry with a fierce glare.

Suddenly, Sarah releases an immense sigh, lowering her weapon unceremoniously. Her intimidating posture degrades itself to a discouraged slump. The reflection inside the bathroom mirror, her target, does the same and the two stare at each other with frustrated looks.

The Summoner had been gone for quite some time, and after spending much of this time merely lounging on the couch fiddling around with her gun, Sarah's boredom and anxiety lead her to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, rehearsing the finishing line to the Summoner's assassination.

But to her, this was merely child's play; pretend. Her resolve was quickly withering away, as the notion of murdering the Summoner slowly gnawed at her mind. Sarah continued to struggle with herself as she let her silk dress drop to the bathroom floor, followed by her lace lingerie.

Placing her jewelry atop the sink counter, she removes her heels before stepping into the nearby shower. Her eyes stared blankly in front of her, her hand instinctively turning the shower's metal faucet to result in the showerhead sputtering to life.

The ice-cold water calms her slightly as the droplets traverse over her curves before being deposited into the drain below her feet.

Sarah's face is scrunched-up in a contemplating scowl, her hand partially consumed by her lips as the old habit of biting her nails returns.

How was she going to do this?

At the moment ORDER was her only source of income, and with no savings to speak of (she paid her crew of men heartily out of her own pocket) the bounty for 007's head was almost a necessity.

But at the same time, to kill a man with whom she had personal connections with (personal intimate connections nonetheless), would be too much for her conscience.

When she had accepted the assignment, she had merely thought of her bounty as the notorious Agent 007. A legend. An almost untouchable entity.

But now, the game had changed. This wasn't only Agent 007. This was also the Summoner. That Summoner. The man she had spent hours of her time with, sharing secrets, indulging herself with his charms. The man that she had given permission to touch her in ways that now other man ever had before. The man that, once upon a time, she had been in love with.

Then again, that bounty…

Letting out an angry shout, her fist slams into the wall next to her. Her mind continues its internal battle, the alluring temptation of the price for the Summoner's head nearly breaching the mind's control center for her actions, only to be driven back the barrier of her scruples.

This cycle repeats itself as Sarah stood in the coldness of the shower, unmoving. It would be near an hour before she exited the bathroom, clean and dry.

But for now, she stood as her body regulated its temperature to withstand the iciness covering her skin.

"Maybe," she thought, "maybe the water can turn my blood a little colder."


Unbeknownst to Sarah, acquiring champagne for the long night ahead was the last objective on the Summoner's to-do list.

As he strode through the lavishly decorated halls of Casino Royale Demacia, passing an innumerable amount of rich folk mingling in front of hotel rooms, business that night came before pleasure. His knuckles ached slightly from the bout within the janitor's closet, but the pain quickly dissipated as a green misty aura is absorbed into his hands as a small healing spell takes effect.

Making his way down three flights of stairs, his eyes check his watch. It looked normal enough with its silver face and matching band. But if one's eyes looked closely, they would see a bright blue bar occupying the right side of the watch-face. Currently it was almost full, which is just what the Summoner needed, for the blue bar represented the amount of mana available for his use.

Every agent in the LSMI6 was given one of these watches, for in the field, away from the strong magical auras of the Institutes of War and its surrounding areas, spells and magic required an increased amount of mana, the magical fuel that took many forms of matter.

With the nature of LSMI6's covert assignments, one definitely could not bring too much mana, for if someone were to discover a bottle of the blue substance on the Summoner, his cover would most definitely be blown. The watches themselves were hardwired with a small dosage of the blue magical substance, so as to sense the amount of mana residing within its wearer's body.

His foot reaching the ground floor, the Summoner's head jerks upward, eyes intent on finding his prey.

Similar to Sarah's reason for her presence in Casino Royale Demacia, the Summoner had been sent on a mission.

The mission itself, contrary to the red-headed bounty hunter's, was part of a larger assignment involving acquiring intelligence about the recent terrorist attack that had taken place in the city of Zaun.

As he had mentioned earlier, the information had been searched for all over Valoran; his two-week stay at Casino Royale Demacia was only a mere stop to attract ORDER; LSMI6 had expected their rival collective to send their agents to get rid of Agent 007, since with his cover of staying at the hotel for two weeks, the Summoner seemed to be a completely vulnerable sitting duck.

Once the expected agents were sent to attempt his assassination, the Summoner was assigned to squeeze out as much information from the agents as possible about the bombings and if ORDER had any role with the terrorist attacks brought to Zaun.

This in part was a bit too hasty on LSMI6's part, for a short time after 007's stay, it was discovered that the perpetrators of the bombings in Zaun had left behind a conclusive piece of evidence, completely taking ORDER out of the picture.

But by the time the Summoner was informed of this, ORDER's gun for hire had already infiltrated the hotel with an unknown number of agents in tow. When asked what his next action should be, his superior answered through the phone with a grim voice,

"Exercise your license to kill. Exterminate all sent agents in your location; to send a message back to ORDER, you understand. As for the gun for hire…," 007's superior paused, as if contemplating his next question "…use your own judgment. He, or she, is out of our jurisdiction." With that, he had hung up, leaving the Summoner to stroll through the casino, searching for his would-be killer; neither of them could even have guessed that Sarah Fortune herself was under the employment of ORDER.

Several hours later and now the gun for hire lay inside his hotel room, waiting for him to return with champagne.

She would have to wait a bit longer, for the Summoner had business to attend to.

The Summoner's eyes pass over an almost-concealed door to an outside balcony, only a portion of the entry peeking from behind a draped curtain. His eyes dismiss it, continuing their judicious search for his prey. Suddenly he does a double-take, his head swiveling back to the doorway to the balcony.

At the concealed entrance, a man dressed as a maître d'hôtel reaches for the knob concealed beneath the red fabric draped over the entrance. His head looks around casually to check for any witnesses before he ducks, entering the open doorway into the open air of Demacia before closing the door once again.

A grin forms on the Summoner's face. His Walther PPK handgun acknowledges its presence within his suit as an anticipant dog waiting for its owner to play with it. The Summoner calms himself, the adrenaline pumping through his system in a vicious torrent as his feet bring him to the door of the balcony.

Taking a deep breath, his hand touches the cold doorknob, slight warmth from the last person's touch still lingering upon its surface. Then, with a swift turn, he opens the door and ducks to step outside, allowing the cold night air embrace him as the moonlight reveals four disguised ORDER agents enjoying short break, chatting amongst themselves.

The sudden arrival of the Summoner make the four stand upright with a start from their casual positions around the balcony. Apprehensive looks are shared with one another as hands reach inside uniforms to extract respective weapons.

Putting on a colloquial aura, the Summoner casually walks over to the men, pulling out a cigarette.

Intentionally disregarding the presence of his lighter, his eyes meet with one of the men. The agent in question had his hand tightly gripped around his Glock 16. A cold sweat had formed on his brow as the Summoner continued advancing towards the group, hands in his pockets, the cigarette precariously protruding from his mouth. His three comrades' actions are not so very different.

The Summoner enjoys the fear induced by his presence as he walked towards the men, exchanging looks with all of them; all of their right hands grasped their weapons concealed within their clothing, much to the Summoner's amusement as his clairvoyant vision kicked in. Finally, he leans forward into the center of the small group.

Silence ensues, the wind induced by a Freljordian cold front sending an added chill up the spines of the petrified ORDER agents. 007's presence was completely unexpected; the agents had only been assigned to dispose of his body, not actually combat him.

The Summoner chuckles as his body continued to lean forward, his cigarette unlit as it wavered slightly at the edge of his lips.

"Would any of you blokes happen to have a light?"


Complete and utter action next chapter. Whee.

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I'll just leave this here.

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You look pretty lonely on this thread Waddle. You want me and Rayne to come and hijack this thread too?