Sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 13. 2024.
On the GPS in her car, she pins her destination and soon finds herself speeding well over the limit on a highway, to the subway station. Alessia puts the vehicle in auto and reaches for a long, black case laying on her backseat. She hauls it over into the passenger seat, quickly flipping it open, while glancing ahead of her at the street.
Her phone lights up again, vibrating in her pocket and she pulls it out, swiping up to Petro on the other line.
"Keep your bluetooth in, always. Just a reminder." He says firstly. She flings open the drawer of her car, takes out a back, marble-like earpiece and fits it into her left ear after turning it on. Automatically, he connects, and he continues, "I'll be lingering here, telling you where to go, because I am tracking her phone, but I'd love if you'd hurry. she cannot run or hide for too long."
"Yes."
Alessia goes back to her open case, picking out her G19 GEN5 9MM glock, a suppressor, some spare bullets and a holster, securing everything around her waist. Today, she wears a shiny, black, high-waisted, leather pants, a white, half-top and a pair of black, surprisingly spiked heels.
The car pulls up on a curb. The GPS beeps three times, before the engine dies. She throws on a long, black coat, with a high collar, protecting her from the autumn breeze. And, she adds a black beanie to cover her outstanding hair and a black mask over her nose and mouth as she gets out of the car.
It locks itself, and with nothing to worry about but her mission, she begins, "I'm here. Where is she?"
A few strangers glance her way, because of her appearance, however, they go about their day, not wanting to get involved.
"Further underground in the drains. She's still on the move."
"Direct me, I'm running." She exhales, then breaks out into a sprint.
With his tracker now on both females with the help of Micheal Frayer, his IT (Information Technology) guy (Petro is an old man), he talks as fast as his accent allows, guiding her to the left, or the right.
Alessia runs down the train tracks until she comes upon a heavy side-door that's been left ajar. She slips through the opening and, from there, it's a whole bundle of lefts, rights and straight ahead. Suddenly, she hears shuffling, a gunshot, then a female yelp. No one sounds hurt, making her breathe a sigh of relief.
"Wait! Don't shoot! I can make you an offer!" The shaky voice of a woman tries to bargain.
Whether she's planning to con the shooter, or betray her commitments, isn't any of Alessia's business and she bends the corner in silence, spotting Monica pressing herself against the steel bars of the dead end of a drain. Water rushes past her feet, 3 inches above her ankles and seven feet away, stands a shapely figure, clad in black.
There's no time to lose when Alessia's eyes zone in on the familiar twitch of the gunslinger's hand and she rams her foot into the back of the victor, giving Monica way to get behind her. She then narrows her eyes at the crouching woman she just knocked down, pulling out her gun and pointing it at her.
"Did you find her?" Petro pipes in, realizing it's quiet.
She cocks the safety off her pistol. "Yes."