History is written by the victors, so Nastasia Caso became one.
She was 16 when she won the 68th hunger games. It had come as no surprise to the young girl. She was the career from district 2 with words that tangled knots around the throats of tribu...
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Nastasia Caso had, contrary to popular belief, only killed six people in her life. Six was definitely above the average, but given her circumstances she thought it was rather remarkable. She was a victor of the hunger games after all.
Before you start thinking that this was because of some moral compass I'll stop you there. Nastasia had no care for morals. She just preferred her hands clean. It was a lot trickier to track her down for murder when she hadn't pulled the trigger herself. Tonight however, she would have to go old school.
'The Empress', an exclusive cocktail bar in the eastern region of the capitol, glittered like a smashed disco ball in the dark. It's tall spires jabbed dramatically at the sky, poking shards into the city skyline. Unlike miss Caso, it had yet to witness a murder, newly built from the funds of the last hunger games and opened two days ago. But that didn't mean it didn't house assassins.
"Miss Caso! Welcome to the Empress, we are so glad to have you with us tonight!"
The doorman, flanked by a pair of bouncers, beamed instantly at her as she stepped out of her hover-car and dipped an outrageously feathered hat in greeting. It could have been out of fear, but she knew it was admiration. The people of the capital adored how notorious she was, a thrilling movie character in their eyes.
"Thank you, you are too kind."
His grin intensified at her comment and he eagerly typed the code to open the doors for her. Nastasia watched as a neon 'VIP' sign throbbed and a security scanner blinked approvingly without batting an eyelid. What did they take her for, an amateur?
One particularly fluffy feather bobbled on the doorman's head as he wished her a good evening.
She scooped up a handful of her evening gown in a sharply manicured hand and smiled a reply back. "I'm sure I will."
The elevator only took a few moments to reach the top floor so Nastasia didn't waste a moment before pulling two halves of a gun from the heels of her shoes and slotting them together. Another beat and the barrel of bullets entered with a swift motion. She set the sleek metal into its strap around her thigh before sliding her dress to cover it.
After the many mandatory hours of target practice back at 13 she was an excellent mark, but she still preferred knives. Sadly she'd had to leave them back at her apartment as they wouldn't have passed security. The gun, presently cold against her legs, had been designed to collapse to fit her steel shoe heels and thus go undetected.
She smoothed her dress as the elevator opened.
The party inside was not large, it was an exclusive high society event, the specific reason Nastasia had been selected for the mission being the highest profiling agent in the rebel army, but even if it had been all the eyes in the room would have noticed her arrival. She had that effect on people, and she knew it. Nastasia was an assembly of strong bone structure and caramel complexion, ebony hair edging her features and falling down towards her waist. Her beauty seemed to almost be exaggerated by a black evening gown that shimmered as it cloaked her from the neck down, revealing only her hands and a high slit along one of her legs.
