Number Nine

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"I've got to let it go and just enjoy the show

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"I've got to let it go and just enjoy the show."


Number Nine


The raven-haired girl with black contacts looked so unnervingly familiar that Faye spent nearly half an hour shivering inside the public restroom. It reminded her so much of him that it hurt; had fiercely upset her that she couldn't keep herself together. Thank god that she had the mind to lock the door first when she entered and thank god that all the cubicles were empty.

She wasn't expecting this reaction. Her only intention was to disguise herself so that she could follow her target more efficiently. Like they said, when in Rome, do what the Romans do. She was simply blending in, making her appearance less questionable to the populace.

Most Filipinos have black hair, dark eyes and varying degrees of brown skin. She was only imitating their look, unmindful of the fact that she was digging her own grave. She should have known, expected, prepared herself for the emotional assault that followed this image.

But she hadn't.

She was naïve.

If only she had glasses with her, her appearance would've been complete. Selena Andrews. The selfish girl who made all the wrong decisions. The identity she created so that she could hide from the prying eyes of the media. The girl, who in all sense, was her truest form, stripped of the popularity and privileges and past. The one who was too weak and too dumb to be of any use. The one who ultimately symbolized all that she had lost and given up.

Stop right there.

Distraction equals failure, 04 was wise enough to tell her that on more than one occasion. She cussed under her breath, applying the brown-colored cream on her pale skin with unsteady hands. Fortunately, she was too tired to cry. She didn't have time to cry. Had not that luxury. Her priority was this mission. This was her job. His chance. Period.

She knew she could do this. She's an Equation, after all.

Instead of wearing her black coat, she opted for some casual attire, a brown tee with matching orange leggings, black mini-shorts and black doll shoes. They were cheap and durable, thanks to the clothes thrift store she discovered as she tailed her target.

She was still shaking when she exited the restroom; the queue of girls waiting for her throwing daggers at her with their eyes. She straightened her back and gazed back at them. Her face devoid of emotion, they shrank back unconsciously, unable to bear her scrutiny that made them feel as small as ants. With a purposeful stride, she headed to her destination, Rael's secret night career.

Cirque de Luna, self-proclaimed the "pride" of the province of Isabela.

The lights, the music and the noise of chattering people made the atmosphere of the small circus festive. For a small town show, the crowd was particularly large. She immediately noticed those who were simply there to see an otherworldly spectacle and those who meant business. Dirty business. Children had cotton candies in packs, some holding balloons, others popcorns as if they were to watch a movie. Their parents either had an annoyed look or a judgmental one, no doubt cynical with the authenticity of the show that had such an expensive ticket.

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