☠ name: Evangeline Fairchild
goes by; Eva
age; 18
job; crime scene investigator. 
likes; safety, knives, justice.
dislikes; men, betrayal, empire. 
bio; Growing up in dark places makes you appreciate the light, but once you have seen the dark the shadows of the past never fade. They follow you through time always waiting to catch you. Evangeline, the name may mean good news in greek but she is anything but. Connected to a dark world people ignore, she strives to make up for the past, to escape it, and leave it all behind. For a while she had been doing just that by trying to make the world a safer place, but lately she can't shake the feeling things are about to catch up to her. 
relationship status; single, not looking. 
model;Flavia de Oliveira
taken by; hottiecheerleader


I could see the light shinning through the barred windows, casting a warm glow on the harsh room I was in. Four large burly men sat behind the bar, you could see their faces each one more frightening than the next, you could see if you looked close enough the way their shirts brushed against the guns they concealed, you could feel the animosity pour off them. I sat alone in a corner as they conversed pretending to be mentally not present, it was best when they thought little of your intelligence, but these men knew me, making it harder. 

Even still I drank up every word, memorizing it. I was their errand girl, and had been for some time, they considered me a brain dead junkie who worked for them for drug money. This was not a stretch for the imagination, my face was pale, my cheeks hollow and my hands constantly trembled, but this made me all the more valuable. 

Not valuable to them, for I was as I said the errand girl, I bought the ammo so they couldn't be traced, and the guns. What ever they needed. But I was valuable, valuable to their enemies, valuable to my real employers. The word spy was so cliche, however the accuracy of that word was astounding. I gathered information from them, plots of murder, assassinations of other gangs, what ever they were doing and fed it to another, more powerful gang. The term gang is hardly relevant for it refers to men shooting at each other in drive by's and such. These groups plotted murders, and never got caught, they stole children in the dead of night, they were untraceable. "How would you feel about this bank?" 
A man suggested pointing at the soiled map spread out across the bar, which held dusty liquor bottles. 

"It has had security issues in the past." Another shrugged. "Damn it." One swore. I kept my eyes in front of me, in a mock daze. But I felt their eyes. "What is the bitchh doing here?" One demanded. They hadn't even noticed me. "What does it matter, she is fucking fried." The shorter one said. "I don't like her hearing shitt." "She probably doesn't know she is here you paranoid bastard." They grumbled for a moment. 

"Bitchh." One addressed me. I didn't look up trying not to shake with fear. I heard the scrape of the bar stool as he stood and walked over to me the floor boards creaking with each step. Without warning a large hand stuck me across the face, sounding with a sharp noise. I fought to keep the tears from my eyes, and the scream in my throat. Looking up keeping my eyes glassy I starred at him. He had eyes darker than the night, a scar lining from his jar to his eye and smelled of rotting bodies. "Get the fuck out, and don't come back till we call for you. " I stood, wobbling slightly and walked expressionless to the door. I heard laughter behind me. 

Once our side I took a few slow steps in case they were watching, but after I rounded the corner I ran, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I had to get away, and not there wasn't enough baths in the world to scrub the permanent stench of fear from my body. I lived one day at a time, I lived to live, that was all I could live for. 

I shook the flashback from my mind breathing deeply trying to steady myself before I turned back to the crime scene where a young girl, only fifteen by the looks of it, lay dead, clothes torn to shreds, body bruised and bleeding. I shuddered that could have been me, then I remembered it still could be me. I lifted the camera to my eyes and peered down at the body, laying so unnaturally. Her blood pooled around her head like a halo of crimson, it took all my strength not to weep. 

I snapped a photo of the perfect slash across the throat, the dark bruises scattered about her cheeks, her ripped bloodied nails torn from fighting. She had fought. It was then a sob found its way from my throat and the tears spilled over. Quietly I turned away but it was too late, my supervisor noticed. She was an elegant woman with a tall slender neck and silver hair coiled tightly into a bun. "Eva, why don't you take a break." She said laying a gloved hand on my shoulder. I nodded handing her the camera without looking at her and walked further down the alley, sitting on the asphalt. The smell of the night, and the grime of the alley left me sick. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly and looked away from the scene. It was too much too soon. 

I ran a hand over my tightly pony tailed curls feeling some relief knowing I was intact. But there was something bothering me, the father I looked into the dark the more I could feel someone's eyes, almost a whisper, a threat without words. I knew it was my imagination but even still I walked as fast as I could back to the crime scene without getting too many stares. I couldn't afford to be written up. 

I couldn't afford a lot of things.

Once the empire had you, they didn't let go that easily, I was just waiting till my time came.
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