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Chapter 3

Eve

“Both Senator Andrews and Colm Lynch the mayor of Kilkenny have been found along with nine other dead bodies, murdered in grisly circumstances…” Eve turned off the television, she had seen enough.

Not bad kid, you killed your first politicians!

It’s all the news was talking about, not that she knew what they were crying about. Those guys were clearly not a big loss for the community. Nor were her other nine victims. Their idea of having fun was spending the night raping and torturing young girls.

She had not been very careful about the whole night, and when she thought about it, she wanted to hide, she was better than this. First, she forgot – or didn’t want to – wear a wig, to at least hide her hair. Then, she spoke to some of the girls. SPOKE for fuck’s sake. She had the strongest French accent that ever existed, and she had opened her damn mouth. And she went a bit crazy, adding ten more kills to her job, but how could she resist? Her other missions had been carried out with the discretion needed, but this last one was truly an epic failure, discretion wise.

She just wanted Senator Andrews, he was her target, the mayor was just a bystander. It wasn’t ’til she was slicing his dick that she recognised him. Those bubble eyes, that thin mouth, and not a single hair on his scalp. But really it didn’t matter, she didn’t regret it one bit, she enjoyed it. There was no better feeling than the immense satisfaction she felt every time she spilled blood. And protecting women was her job, and they sure needed protection yesterday.

And kids…

Despite not being a mother, or intending to be one, Eve always had a thing for kids, and she damn sure hated paedophiles.

Sitting at her desk, she turned her computer on, wanting to check what women were saying on the Forum. Even if this was a “side hobby” to satisfy her bloodlust, she had to consider the opinions of her Guild, and their rules. Stupid rules, stupid rules which were meant to be broken. Were they though?

The screen lit up, and Eve went straight to the home page. It had been designed for women, with every taboo topic up for discussion. Here they could speak freely: rape, harassment, fear… whatever they needed. Some even organised face to face meetings.

World War III had endangered women, but it was especially hard for widows and orphans. While countries were mired in a despicable worldwide fight, women who stayed home had to deal with whatever cowards were left at the head of their countries. In many parts of the Western world those in charge tried to make their mark, creating numerous brothels and organising massacre games. When the war finally stopped, they ended the most gruesome activities, destroying the Reseau.

At least they were supposed to.

But unfortunately, a breach had opened, allowing the madness to return.

The soldiers like Eve had come home, tired and blood sick. She had stayed in France during the war, busy enough with a Civil War on top of the World War, and, like so many others, was so deep in the battle she didn’t see the changes before it was too late.

And now here she was 5 years later feeling like it was 2035 again, dealing with the same issues that caused the damn war. The Suffragettes 2.0 movement had started in Canada as soon as the Armistice was signed, claiming, once again, what was due to women, and the Canadian government was now actively back in action, inciting the rest of the world to do the same.

It was as if the war was useless. All the extremist ideas they were fighting against were back, now replaced by the church.

She woke up post Armistice to a fully male-controlled country, limited work for women — even though they were the ones who kept the economy running during the war — abortion entirely forbidden in order to “fill the voids. ”

Those were some of the reasons why her Guild was created. The Forum was the official face of the organisation that came to her a few weeks after the Armistice, convincing her that her job was not done. Wracked with sleepless nights, stress, PTSD, and a thirst for what started as a job and a duty quickly became a hobby. Unlike most of her colleagues, it wasn’t “just” for vigilante justice. She took a liking to killing during the war, and what better way than to take out her rage on assholes, right? She thought about visiting a counsellor a few times, but it was too late now, she was in too deep. The more she killed, the more she enjoyed it, the more she needed it.

There’s no way out now.

Behind the girly facade of the website was a private message group, where her Guild allocated her missions. She could choose to accept or refuse the missions coming her way, but she really wasn’t a “no” kind of girl. Killing bastards was just too much fun. And the Guild was at least directing her towards the right people to slaughter.

A soft ‘meow’ echoed from below, a warm, velvety touch following as something rubbed against her bare legs. She looked down, and smiled as a small, furry head bumped gently against her skin.

“Good evening my love,” she murmured, stooping down to caress her new little black kitten. Neko purred with pleasure, immediately climbing on her lap. Neko nipping her fingers, Eve quickly glanced at a few topics, checking that everything was normal. She moved to check if there were any new registrants in her area, always taking the time to quickly investigate each of them, and closely monitored anyone who was too curious about the identity of the creators of the blog. She had yet to spot any false accounts. Women were working together even better than before, all allied against the new normal.

Sighing, she clicked on the icon to access her messages, hoping she wouldn’t get in too much trouble for her failure. Her Guild leaders were not to be messed with. If anything went wrong, those women would be the first to betray her.

The purple interface appeared with a small envelope. She clicked on it, her stomach twisting in a way she would rather it not.

Good evening, Luna ,

I saw the news on TV, CANADIAN TV FOR FUCK’s sake. Nothing to be proud of, we will talk about it later. Try to play smart for a while.

“Trytoplaysmartforawhile,” Eve grumbled, moving to look at the address and a name given to her.

Too late to cancel this one, just be smart and DISCREET

Her Guild Team Leader had gone as far as to write out the definition of the word “discretion,” as if pulled from an actual dictionary.

“Bitch.” Eve sighed. Smart and discreet were not always her forte.

Redirecting her attention to the television, she turned it back on to listen to what the 10pm news was saying about her. Thankfully there were no details about her features, yet, she was a little worried the girls she rescued would describe her.

Eve pouted, giving in to the realisation that her Guild Team Leader was right, she had been stupid. She would wear a wig next time, she normally ALWAYS did, but for some reason yesterday she decided it wasn’t worth it. Mistakes were made.

She moved to the couch with Neko, who curled up on her lap, finally stopping his tiny bite attacks on her fingers. The news anchor, tremors in his voice and all, was still describing how cruelly the murderer had acted.

“Which cruelty?” she grumbled. “Bunch of fragile motherfuckers.'' Why were people giving her a bad time? They should thank me for cleaning up.

Her eyes narrowed on the men standing behind the news anchor. Three taller than average weird looking guys and what seemed to be Detective Mark, from Dublin Police, with his beige trench holding a coffee. Cliché much?

Eve frowned, her heartbeat stopping a split second before resuming its peaceful pace, but she straightened despite Neko’s complaints. She wasn’t an expert on gossip and stuff, but even she recognised Cyrus McRory and his two gorgeous right-hand friends, a redhead and a spiky blond. Their pictures were on the “TO BE WATCHED” wall at the police station.

Cyrus was heir to one of the biggest fortunes of Ireland, and a smart businessman. On the darker side of life, he was also known to be a fearsome gang leader and police enemy number one.

The giant….

Eve sat back on the couch, her mind ablaze. What the hell is he doing there?

According to some of her colleagues, Cyrus was certainly smarter and had much more resources than the police, he was rich, yes, and also had a reputation with the ladies, so she wondered if the brothel belonged to him. She remembered hearing gossips about him and his friends wiping out the infamous Reseau a few years ago, him in charge of a brothel didn’t make any sense.

“He’s way too hot to be a baddie… What do you think kitty?” Eve said, caressing Neko behind his cute little white ears. Kissing the fur ball, she put him down on the couch despite his plaintive meowing. Watching Cyrus on TV had triggered some memories she had tried to forget, another failure.

Shaking her head, Eve stood and went to her bedroom; she had some work to do and a GTL to make happy. And she had promised herself to bury the whole “almost died on a cruise ship” topic. Opening the door of her wardrobe, she stroked her “superhero” costume with her fingertips. The leather suit and gloves were a pitch black. Say whatever you wanted, but that was still the sexiest thing she could wear for her hobby.

Her mouth twisted, hesitation taking over. The address was only seven blocks away, she could easily walk there or run with a jogger's outfit. It would be more discreet than Catwoman on a black motorcycle. She pushed aside the sexy leather with a sad sigh, grabbing a sports tank top and her favourite black leggings before braiding her hair to bring it together in a crown.

Her hair was far too identifiable, and she knew she was being too confident, which according to all the Detective novels she had read was clearly one of the first mistakes serial killers made. She grabbed her small black backpack she used for her morning jogs and put her knife and gloves inside.

A shudder of excitement ran through her.

The blood is going to run again tonight.