Nyla lay in bed, the side of her head resting on a white pillow. So much of this place was white and clean, including her small cubical-sized bedroom. There wasn’t much in the room but a bed and a small nightstand with a lamp. A window was on the wall opposite her bed, and was open to let in the cool night air. Along with the air came the night sounds of crickets chirping and the wind softly blowing. For some reason she couldn’t go to sleep. It wasn’t like she’d spent the day laying around or relaxing - it had begun with a wake-up kickboxing lesson, then a lesson in swordsmanship, and finally ended with a few hours at the firearm shooting range. Ever since the first few days, Nyla had increasingly became a better, and better shot, beating the accuracy of both Kavita and Takashi, who now each lay in their own cubical bedrooms, sleeping.

Nyla tossed and turned a bit, before coming to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. She decided to walk out onto the small porch in the front of the building and get some fresh air. Maybe after a few minutes she’d be able to go back to bed and actually go to sleep. Anything was worth a try.

She emerged from the front door and turned to take a seat on the one bench on the porch, that was - surprise - white. But she stopped when she noticed that Pierre was already sitting on the bench.

He turned to her, his messy brown hair evidence of his tossing and turning, “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Nyla sat down next to him, shaking her head. “No, I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but gave up and decided maybe some fresh air would help.”

“Exactly my thought.” Pierre gave a small, effortless smile.

“Has it been working for you then?”

“Not really - unfortunately.”

“I think I’m homesick. I mean, I love it here, and learning all these new skills is great. I don’t even have anyone back home in Philadelphia except my parents a few cities over. But its that familiar comfort feeling that I miss. There’s nothing better than being relaxed at home with a pair of shabby sweats and an old t-shirt on. Especially when you add an exciting novel to the ensemble.”

“You know, I haven’t read a book in so long.”

“What do you do for fun then?”

“Practice. Target practice, self-defense, kickboxing, and judo training. I went bungee jumping a year ago.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re not sleeping - you need to go have some fun!”

“It’s hard to have fun when you’re alone in this white building. The Company hardly ever gets new members, is very small, and you and Kavita are actually the first girls to join the organization. It’s been a boy’s club for quite some time now.”

“Well, I’m glad to shake things up.” She smiled. “Why is everything white?”

“Cheap paint? I don’t know. It just is, and always has been.”

“Let’s paint the walls. Blue, green, purple, red. I don’t think we can sleep because we aren’t getting enough fun, and this building is way too white. How about we finish the training, then paint. Might be fun.”

“I never really thought much about that before. Color would be very nice, and I’m sure its fine to take just a bit of money from the budget to paint the walls....why, its employee morale at risk here!”

“Oh, we can’t let employee morale fall!” Nyla was mock-horrified. “I mean, depressed people with guns can lead to some scary situations!”

Pierre laughed. “Especially *trained* depressed people with guns. That’s it, we’re going to get some colored paint.”
((gosh, I'm having story problems........I want to take this in one direction, but then I don't. My stupid potential love storylines all come after I watch some TV show or movie or read a book or listen to music that makes me feel lovesick. And so I put that into my writing, hook up some characters. But its unsettling to me, because I'm afraid I'm taking the story somewhere I hadn't intended it to go, and its all being led astray by my silly romantic yearnings. And then I end up with a bunch of silly writing that just sits in my computer that I never post. But I'm posting this anyways. I don't need to have Nyla have several version of her story to accomodate my whims like I have for Gareth. Poor guy's nearly been hooked up several times, but none of it was ever really put into story. Okay, I meant to just have a short comment and I've gone off on and on. Oops. I'll stop here. : ) ))

[I’m going to skip the whole “being caught” thing because I can’t write it. It just comes out really REALLY stupid sounding.]

“Robert and Sylvia Beaumont, this…Amelia, is your daughter?” Mr. Conklin shook his head. “You want to press charges against your daughter? You’re long-lost daughter whom you abandoned at a very young age?” The three adults were seated in Mr. Conklin’s office. The lawyer sat behind a heavy, bulky oak desk. The various papers and documents were neatly arranged in boxes that sat harmoniously with the trinkets a lawyer would sometimes possess: a golden paperweight in the shape of a hawk rested in the corner, and a stilled Newton’s Cradle occupied the center-left. Conklin stood and began pacing.

“Yes. I believe that this will be a positive affair towards the Beaumont operations,” Sylvia replied, following Conklin’s progress.

“Hm. Well, yes, it probably will. I truly doubt you two would do anything that would hurt your ‘operations.’ But this is insane. What did she do, try to kill you?”

Robert cleared his throat, “Actually, Mr. Conklin, she did. She rammed her stolen car into ours, forcing it off the highway and into a pole. Our Lexus was totaled, but luckily, we survived.” At this, Robert clasped Sylvia’s hand in a gesture of fake sensitivity.

“Quite fortunate!" Conklin paused and leaned forward, towards the couple, "What do you want then, uh, attempted manslaughter?”

“No. Attempted murder, in the first degree.”

“Whoa. That's...that's pretty heavy. Well then. Tell me everything.”

It had been an exhausting day. From the moment they’d loaded their guns with bullets, they’d only stopped shooting to reload. Pierre was very helpful, but he also pushed the three to shoot until they’d managed to hit the bullseye several times.

“Good job Nyla, I see you’ve hit the center once.” Pierre commented as he walked by Nyla.

“Pierre, I can’t do any better than this. The only other gun I’ve handled in my life is an antique one or two that didn’t even shoot anymore.”

“You’re an antiques dealer, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and what do you do?”

Pierre’s appearance of strength faltered for a moment. “I don’t have a job. I just work for the Company.”

“So if Andre does the little recruitment talk, Sterling is the communicator, and Petros is the daddy of it all, what does that make you? Weapons specialist?”

“I guess. I’m the most qualified for the position right now.”

“Well then, you do have a job - weapons specialist for the Company.”

A spark of life flickered in Pierre’s warm brown eyes. “You’re right. I do have a job.”

Nyla aimed at the target, applied pressure to the trigger, and the bullet shot out with a bang - burrowing itself into the center of the target. “And I have hit the center twice now.” She told him in a matter-of-fact voice.

((Crappy beginning, but I don't feel like writing anymore right now.))
Nyla had been picked up from the airport in the morning, along with two other new operatives to the organization. Pierre had spoken a few simple words that signified he was who he said he was, and then they were all set to go to their training grounds. It was a silent ride to the remote location in France, outside of Paris in the countryside. They passed fields of green and lavender, and she spent most of the ride admiring the countryside.

It didn't seem to take long for them to reach a small white farmhouse. They deposited their things in their respective rooms, then met up in a large, empty room with a pale wooden floor and whitewashed walls. As Pierre left retreive something, the new operatives introduced themselves.

“Hi, I’m Kavita.” Kavita was a petite, slender, and rather attractive Indian woman.

“I am Takashi.” The Japanese man gave a small bow.

“I’m Nyla, nice to meet you both. Have you been here very long?”

“No, we arrived here just today.”

“Yes, I met with Andre in the Netherlands at the restaurant on last Tuesday. Today is the first day I am here.” Takashi had the politest way of saying things.

“So what brought you guys here?”

“I want to honor my ancestors by bringing to life the truth. My father was in Japan’s military. I feel it is my duty to him to find the truth.”

“I am tired of the constant suffering around the world. I come from a small, poverty-stricken village, and I witnessed suffering everyday. I felt helpless and unable to do anything. I hope I can make a difference here. Why are you here?”

“I saw a man killed who fought for what he believed in.”

“You seek to avenge the death of another?”

“Yes and no. I think it was wrong the man, Franz, was murdered. Giving up his fight would only be advantegeous to the killers, so I am filling his place and continuing his fight. In some ways, I, like you, want to make a difference.”

At that moment Pierre returned to the room, his arms full of several white boxes. “Here,” he handed two boxes to each of them. “Go ahead and open them.”

Nyla picked up the larger of the two boxes in front of her and opened it. Inside was a standard sized handgun, secured in the box by white styrofoam. She took the weapon out and ran her hand down its cool, black metal side. Never before had she handled a gun, aside from the occasional antique weapon that came into her store. But nothing that seemed to hold the magnitude of power she now held in her hand. She set the weapon back down in the box before opening the next little box, which held two styrofoam encased items. The first was a black metal cylinder that Nyla guessed, based on movies she’d seen, was a silencer. Next to the silencer was a small cartridge of bullets.

“If you haven’t guessed already, today is the start of our arms training. This will probably be the quickest gun handling course in the world. By this evening you will be able to shoot with relative accuracy. Let’s take a quick walk to the outside shooting range.” The three trainees followed Pierre down several corridors to a small field set up with targets. “This is your gun.” Pierre took his gun from the holster around his waist. “Loading is a piece of cake. You just take the cartridge, shove it up the butt of the gun,” Pierre demonstrated as he explained, “And the gun automatically locks the cartridge in. You’re set to go. Now you just have to learn how to shoot it....”

Boooooooo...Amanda pointed out that it says that there are zero comments when there's actually two! GARG! I have posted in the Enetation forums, seeking help and is waiting for an answer... [UPDATE: It's MAGICAL!!! The comments thing works completely now. How strange. I'll post something either today or tomorrow...I had a post written up, but now I'm changing my story a bit. UPDATE OF THE UPDATE: It's not working again...I'm going to go look for a new comments provider...UPDATE OF THE UPDATE OF THE UPDATE: New commenting system. It's HaloScan! And it works! I'm sorry, =( but Amanda's and Mallory's comments were erased.]

Oy, it's works now! Comment away!

Nyla had been back in the States for a month now. She checked her little mirror constantly, but there hadn’t been a single message. Nyla tried to keep busy in her antiques store, she acquired a number of new items, and had done some good business with the richer residents of the town. Recently the rich population in the town had been skyrocketing - it contributed much to the success of her store.

It had been a slow day in her shop when she finally received word of what she was suppose to do. She’d been starring at the mirror when a face appeared in it. Nyla was still able to faintly see her reflection, but the face staring back at her commanded all her attention.

“Hello there, you must be Nyla.” The mirror acted like a videophone. “I’m Sterling Murphy Sullivan.” Sterling, the British “agent” of the group Nyla had joined, had pale hazel eyes and rich red-brown hair.

“Hi.” Nyla couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m in charge of contacting agents in our group and from other agencies. Whenever its time for you to do something, you’ll get a lovely call from me.”

“I see. So what’s the mission?” She could feel a spark of excitement in her gut - she was finally going to be able to do something!

“Whoa there, you’re a bit eager to go. We’re not going to send you off on a mission right now - we’d never do that without giving you some training first. Unfortunately you are our sole operative in the United States for the moment, so you’ll have to go to France for your diplomatic and physical skills training.”

“Physical skills training? What would that entail?”

“A vast array of things - self-defense, swordsmanship, arms training, and a bit of archery.”

“Unfortunately?!” Nyla couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “I get to go to France and learn how to kick ass? I think unfortunately would be the last word I’d use. When do I go?”

“Tomorrow morning. Your flight is already scheduled - walk up to the first ticket counter and request the tickets under your name. Pierre will be at the airport to pick you up in France.”

“Sterling, you have just made my day.”

Sterling smiled. “I’m glad I could make someone happy today. Have a nice flight and be careful with your training. I know its only training, but I don’t want you to end up in hospital.”

“Thank you for your well-wishing - I’ll be careful.”

And that was it. She was going to France.

“Great.” Andre reached into a worn-looking messenger-style bag on his lap and pulled out a small black compact. He flipped open the flat, rectangular two inch by three inch compact and handed it to Nyla. “Looks like a regular compact mirror, right?”

Nyla nodded her head as she gazed at her reflection in the little mirror.

“Well, when we need to get in contact with you, messages will be displayed in the mirror. You’ll still slightly be able to see a reflection, but what you’ll mostly see are the words and pictures we need you to see. The compact is only a receiver though, we will give you instructions later on how you can contact us. There are a number of items Franz concocted before he was murdered - he was quite the technical genius. Now we’ll need to replace him, but for the moment we should be fine.”

“What do I do now?”

“For now, finish your vacation in Germany, then go home. Do what you normally do, and we’ll contact you when we need you to make your first move.”

“That’s it?” Nyla felt a little surprised at the simplicity of it all.

“That’s it.”

Amelia heard the footsteps of pursuit behind her and quickened her pace. She felt her legs tire, but she took deep breaths of air and kept running. Up ahead, she spotted the filled parking lot of a shopping mall and a prospective victim: a teenage boy opening the door of a Toyota Supra.

“Forgive me,” she muttered as she kicked him in the groin, grabbed the keys as they flew out of his hand, and leaped into the car. She backed up and sped away, careful not to run over the boy in pain.

“ That girl took my car!” the boy screamed hoarsely.

By then, Robert had caught up, on foot. He was out of breath and slowed to a walk, seeing that it was useless to run after a car. Sylvia sped by in an old Lexus illegally armed with a semi-automatic rifle integrated into the passenger area. She screeched to a halt and Robert climbed in.

“If we can’t get her, we’ve got to kill her, Rob,” Sylvia said grimly, stepping on the gas. Amelia had reached a line of cars behind a red light and, seeing Sylvia behind her, drove up on the sidewalk and turned right, into the oncoming traffic of a one-way street.

“God, she’s crazy!” Sylvia sighed and followed determinedly, “We can’t lose her.” Rob clutched the seat and nodded, “Right right. Just follow her.” He opened the glove compartment and pushed a bottom on the side. A long slit of the hood disappeared and was replaced by the rifle. He pulled the handle and trigger up and out into a proper position. “There she is!” Sylvia sped up, dodging the cars in front of her.

Seeing the angry woman in her rear-view mirror, Amelia streaked down an empty residential street into a busy business area. As she exited onto the freeway, it finally hit Amelia that she didn’t exactly learn how to drive, she didn’t have a driver’s license, a police car was signaling for her to pull over, and Sylvia and Robert were following behind her. She was cornered. She was desperate.

“Amelia, I know you're awake.”

Amelia opened her eyes and glared at her father, who was standing over her. “So what's the real story behind trying to find me?”

”I cannot tell you at this moment. We will let you know when we need you.” He walked out of the room and locked the door. Pressing a button on a complex handheld controller, he unlocked the handcuffs on Amelia and moved away to find Sylvia. Amelia slowly raised herself into a sitting position, rubbing her wrists. The room had a single flickering light bulb hanging from a thick wire in the middle of the room, giving off a wavering faint light. The yellowed window was layered with dirt and grime. She stood on the metal bed and started to pound at the glass. Realizing that her current attempt was futile, she backed up, grabbed the light fixture and swung towards the window. After a few seconds, she was able to aim a kick at the glass. Once, twice, three times did not manage to break it.

Amelia heard the click of the door and twisted around, anticipating her visitor. It was Robert.

“Amelia, what the hell?” he shouted, dropping the various wires and an electronic apparatus on the ground before she let go of the light and barreled into him. She looked through the door, saw Sylvia running towards her, and slammed it shut. Giving her father a kick with her heel, she grabbed the heavy machine and tossed it out the window, finally successful in breaking it. She wiggled through just as her mother came through the door.

“Stop!” Amelia heard her mother yell.

She ignored the call and sprinted down the street, thinking about her guitar, what little clothes she had, and her money. “Damn it…”

"I've gone through my entire life, not knowing you, and it worked out fine. You're opening old wounds," Amelia said firmly. Robert sighed, ran his hands through his thin hair. "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaumont. I really--"

BAM. Amelia collapsed into Robert's arms from the behind-the-head blow. Throwing her over his shoulder, the wonderful father jerked his head towards her possessions, and his accomplice gathered them and followed Robert into a waiting van.

"She refused, like you said she would, Sylvia," Robert commented to the woman sitting next to him, after securing the girl in handcuffs and throwing her in the corner.

"I saw it from here. It wasn't very pretty, dear. I think you could have done better. Your anger overcame you."

"I know. I was so sure she would cooperate. I am her father, after all."

"She isn't one to care. Is she salvageable?"

"Perhaps. We'll find out later."

The three adults sat quietly in the rocking van, occasionally stealing glances at the unconscious Amelia. Soon, the van slowed, stopped, and the back doors were thrown open. Robert carried Amelia into the large building and reclamped the handcuffs to a metal bed in a dark back room. Presently, Amelia woke up, but kept her eyes closed. She knew something was wrong.

"She's been asleep for an awful long time, Rob. How hard did you hit her, Cedric?" Sylvia asked.

Cedric shrugged, "Pretty hard." He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Maybe we should fire him," Rob suggested, "He's got anger management issues."

"So do you," Sylvia sighed, following Cedric's actions.

"So, daddy," Amelia sneered sarcastically, "Why are you here?"

"I've made many mistakes in my life, and abandoning you is probably the worst. I've been trying to find you for three years. I'm going to take you home, honey." Robert reached out to touch Amelia's red streaks. "Your mother will be so happy."

"How did you find me?" Amelia stubbornly jerked her head away from her father's hand. She was not used to affection.

"I managed to track down most of your foster parents. They gave me a description of what you looked liked and the last couple told me that Washington D.C. was the most logical place you could be. You've got friends, too. I think I asked every homeless person in this city about you."

Amelia looked away. "Mr. Beaumont, I think you have the wrong person. I am not your daughter. You do not have a daughter named Amelia. She died when you stopped loving her 15 years ago."

Robert's joyous face became stern. "Amelia. I apologize. You cannot live as a homeless piece of trash! You need a family!"

"I am 18 years old. I am an adult. I do not need you. Now go away, Mr. Beaumont, before you make a scene."

"You will address me as father!" Robert shouted, grabbing his daughter's hair in his fists. "Stupid cow, you are my daughter and you will act like it!"

Amelia gasped at this sudden act of violence as tears of pain smarted her eyes. Instinctively, she smashed her knee into his stomach. "Get off!" she screamed through clenched teeth and shoved him away. Robert clutched at his stomach, surprise clearly written on his skinny face.