• Feyte sat at her computer, the screen blank and white with a black bar on the page, flashing in and out of existence. A peanut butter sandwich lay half-eaten at her left, and on her right, a nearly empty glass of milk looked mournfully desolate. Her fingers tapped the keyboard impatiently, searching for the words that seemed to have emptied from her mind. Even in 2316, writer's block could still strike with a vengeance.

    She sighed, irritated and hungry, the sandwich long forgotten. "You'd think that I'd be able to write a simple letter of invitation,"she muttered irritably to the blank page in front of her,"to a person I haven't seen in awhile."

    A whine sounded from the ground near her feet, where two dogs sat beneath the oak desk. She glanced down at the brown mutt, her white-tipped tail wagging hopefully, and mournful bi-colored eyes stared at her with a fierce consentration. Feyte sighed and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Perhaps, Feyte decided while her mutt looked at her, hunger gleaming pitifully in her eyes, she wouldn't write that letter tonight after all.

    She slid back from the genuine oak desk with another sigh and stood, stretching out her tensed muscles. The second dog jolted from sleep on a pillow in a corner beneath the desk, her blue eyes staring up at Feyte with a look of pure discontent.

    Feyte glanced down at the two dogs, smiled and led the canines into the small, kitchen her secluded cabin stocked. On the way, she caught sight of herself in a passing mirror, where her sister had it permanently hung. She scowled at her appearance, thick black hair coiled in a braid that hung just past her shoulder blades, with strands of hair falling into a sharp, angular face. Her cheekbones were high and sharp with a pointed chin, and her eyes made small pools of green in her tanned face. She turned more fully to the mirror, examining the lean, fit body, made tough by years in the military, fighting the wars of a corrupt government, highly involved in magic, demons, and disgusting old men. After she backed out of the military, she went mercenary, as a bodyguard, skull-crusher, assassin...and et cetera. You name it, she'd probably done it.

    She shook off the memories when her eyes caught on a holocard she'd framed during a moment of weakness from Sid. The man was crazier than ever, still inventing anything his happy little mind could think of. The man might be termed as a genius, but at the same time, everyone wanted to smack him for being stupid. Still, Feyte liked him, and that in itself was a miricle. She smiled and shook her head when her eyes caught on the tall, more mysterious man named Kord, who stood stiffly in the veritable headlock his best friend attempted to put on him.

    Kord helped kill her twin sister, Destinie, whom Feyte loathed and despised with every fiber of her being. Now that her sister was dead, because she attacked Kord and he retaliated, all seemed peaceful in Feyte's world. Shaking her head at the picture, the half-smile fading with the memories of fire and blood she helped create, her dogs whined pitifully again and Feyte chuckled, her good humor returning when she glanced down at her pets.

    "Alright, alright, I guess you're hungry", Feyte began, striding into the kitchen with a huff. The room was warm and light, something that normally might inspire happy feelings, but Feyte made a point not to be stereotypical.

    "Aurrrf", one of her mutts half-whined, half-growled.

    Feyte yanked two large bowls out of the zapper, a handy convenience made in the late 2200s, that made doing the dishes a thing of nightmares only. Now she just stuck the dirty stuff in, and clean things came out in a minute. Housewives all over the world rejoiced and still made shrines to the things. She snickered while she scooped the dry dog food into the massive bowls.

    Calmly, she set the bowls down on the floor of her kitchen, made the dogs wait to eat so she wouldn't be plowed over in the carnage the two large animals normally inflicted upon her poor hapless kitchen. Once the food made it's way to the ground and Feyte was safely ensconced in a chair by the blackwood table, the dogs had their way with the food that now traveled to their stomachs.

    While Feyte attempted to write her letter to Kord, asking him to come, even though her cabin was safely hidden in the Tibet Mountains, ominous stormclouds rolled in. While she fed her dogs and wallowed in old memories, the storm began. A clap of thunder jolted her and surprised her, catching her in one of her rare moments of unguarded contemplation.

    A light prickle on the back of her neck and the two dogs' sudden yelp of pain and sharp silence gave her enough of a warning to throw her body from the chair and land in a controlled roll. Her assailant smelt of blood and rain, but the blood smelled fresh and the scent of new death triggered Feyte into a combative mode trained into her after 16 years in the military.

    The assailant measured her lean, bony frame, clad in a pair of black denim jeans, a military-style tank top with bare feet, no jewelry, save for a dogtag. No weapons were visible on his target. He glanced into her bottomless emerald eyes, and saw a glitter, feral and deadly. He cursed silently, for nobody in his chain of command thought to warn him about her. Her eyes were close to demonic, they were shading into a deep charcoal grey that began to cover the whites of her eyes.

    Feyte's assailant did not frighten her, but only pissed her off. She turned to face the masked man. Clad in solid black camo, the man had the appearance of a high-ranking piece of cannon fodder. In his hand he carried an old weapon, one that would not be easily traced. A nine millimeter glock handgun complete with silencer slowly leveled parallel to her head. She glanced at the room behind the assassin. The kitchen was covered in spurts of blood from her dogs, blood pooling around their inert and motionless bodies, one still had her head in her food dish.

    Feyte went fluidly still, as anger and grief forced its' way through her. The attacker cocked his weapon, jacking a round into the gun's chamber. Feyte's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, then she was moving a moment later to slam her clenched fist into her attacker's stomach. Her momentum and the force that went behind the blow slammed the man into the wall. Her other hand came up and the heel of her palm smashed the man's nose into a pulp. Her eyes were entirely black now, the rage coursing through her. All the while Feyte remained aware of everything she was doing to the man.

    Her right hand went to his throat while her knee jerked up and into his crotch with enough force to dent steel. The masked man screamed in agony, his voice an ironic echo of the screams her dogs would've let loose. He dropped his gun in his torment. Feyte dropped him, a whimpering wreck on the floor clutching his groin. Snatching up the ancient weapon, she aimed it at him, her finger gently squeezing the trigger, hesitation and curiosity overcoming her.

    "You have three seconds to tell me who wants to send mediocre amateur assassins to kill me" ,she said to the still whimpering man on the floor after a long silence.

    "Ah..." he groaned still feeling her knee resound through his body,

    Feyte, who did not find groans to be a satisfactory answer, took two steps over to the downed man and kicked him in the groin once more. The man screamed in a high-pitched soprano, terrible agonies washing through his body.

    "That was an unsatisfactory answer" ,Feyte told him, resuming her spot two steps away from his fetal body, "Try again."

    "Hruti Aehya" ,he squeaked.

    Feyte frowned, she had put that man into exile with the rest of the misbegotten government two years ago when the former Prime Minister lost his head, literally.

    "Please, I was only following orders" ,he groaned,"Let me live, and I can assure you information into Hruti Aehya's plans."

    Feyte's eyes narrowed, as if she were considering the deal the hitman offerred. Then she smiled coldly, "No thanks." She squeezed the trigger, and three bullets were sprayed into his body, one in the head, heart and the final in the stomach via the back.

    Blood splattered over her, flecking her tanned skin with crimson. Grey matter leaked from the man's head. "Pity, this was a new shirt", she murmured softly.

    Feyte's eyes moved to where her loyal, faithful companions lay. Tears swelled in her eyes, and her hands shook. She stepped over to their bodies, the gun dropped from her hand. She knelt in their vermillion blood and cried, one arm gathering the purebred husky, the left arm gathering her mutt. She held their still warm bodies to hers, and she rocked back and forth, her voice sobbing out, harsh and ugly.

    Slowly, she came back to herself, her eyes hardening into icy emeralds. Her dogs' bodies were cold now. She gently lay the dogs back down to the ground and she stood. Her muscles were stiff and aching, blood coated her clothes and skin. One thing Hruti should have learned before, was to never piss Feyte off.

    She walked into her bathroom, the only other room aside from the master bedroom and her private den. She stripped off the bloodstained clothes as she strolled lazily down the hallway. She unbound her black hair from the braid, clad in nothing but what she wore the day she came into the world.

    Feyte ran the shower at one hundred degrees farenheit, scrubbing the blood and brains from her body. A tracery of silvery scars ran across her lean body, reminders of her misspent youth and her misspent twenties. She washed her shoulder-length ebony hair, and her tan skin. Genetic engineering had rid the majority of humanoid females of unwanted body hair.

    Fifteen minutes later, she ordered the shower off, and stepped out, into the steamy room. She opened the door, walked to her room, snagging a towel from the linen closet. She toweled herself off, drying her damp skin and dripping hair. She took three steps to the dresser next to the bulletproof and soundproofed window in her bedroom. She yanked open the top drawer, pulled out a black bra, underwear, and two guns, a top of the line laser, courtesy of Sid, the world's greatest weapons designer and inventor. She strapped on the bra, underwear and two knives that she kept hidden on the backside of her closet doors.

    She snagged another military style tank top, with the words,"Kiss of Death",emblazoned in calligraphic crimson lettering, across her chest. Feyte pulled the shirt on while she walked back to the dresser and pulled out another pair of black denim cargo pants. Black socks came out of the top drawer of the dresser as well, and she pulled on her socks, then her pants. Combat boots sat in a pool of dried mud next to the door of the room and she pulled those on with a speed and efficiency that often cropped up in people with military backgrounds.

    A weapons belt hanging casually across the back of an armchair, was swung with easy practice around Feyte's hips. The two guns were set in their holsters, and straps, and those were thrown on with a growing haste. Feyte's hair still ran unbound, so she caught up her ebony tresses with her hands, and a pale white hair tie held it in a messy braid.

    The laser fell into the weapons belt. A small earpiece communicator, provided by Kord, went into her ear. She walked out of the room, only grabbing the black duster made of genuine sheepskin leather that rested on the back of the door. She pulled it on while moving into the kitchen, carefully skirting the carnage within. Her backup laptop sat on the kitchen table, only lightly touched with one spatter of blood. The laptop went into her emergency backpack next to the front door to the little cabin.

    Next to the bag, were three items; a laser rifle, high military and very deadly, the rounds that were immediately placed in the weapons belt, and an ancient katana, forged of Damascus steel. The katana was placed strapped to her back, the rifle stayed in her hands. Finally ready, she opened the front door, and stepped out onto the path that lead from the house into the woods.

    Activating the earpiece she muttered, "Access security system, Delta 5-023, quadrant 654-P."

    "Processing...", came the creamy baritone reply,"Security for Delta 5-023, quadrant 654-P accessed. Please enter passcode and command."

    "Passcode: Firebird." Feyte began to quickly walk away from her house, almost at a run.

    "Passcode confirmed. Awaiting orders."

    "Input self-destruct sequence, 56-J." The command would blow the entire house to smithereens.

    "Inputing command......Command confirmed. Self-destruct sequence will commence in five minutes."

    "Override sequence. Self-destruct will commence in two minutes."

    "Passcode required..."

    "Alpha Forty-nine. S-I-D."

    "Pass confirmed. Two minutes to self-destruct."

    By this time, Feyte had already been running flat out, for thirty seconds, in two minutes, she'd be a half a mile away.

    "Warning alarm activated" ,the computer said

    "Crap",she muttered,"Override alarms",she snarled as the alarms began to buzz,"Passcode- beta fifteen. K-O-R-D." The alarms died almost as quickly as they had churned to life. Feyte continued to run as fast as she could possibly move.

    One minute later, the house in which Feyte resided blew up in a wash of bright oranges and blues. She turned back only once, mourning her dogs. Then she faced the forest ahead, a feral grin on her face. She loaded the rifle and jacked a round into the chamber. Somewhere, in the darkness, a lone wolf howled.