Pitch Black

[Akura]

Georgia ran her brush through her hair, stroking it with her hand. Satisfied she slipped it back into her purse and ironed out the creases in her dress with her hand.

The lights flickered again, there was a blood curdling scream followed by some shouting, a second later she could hear machinegun fire. A few shotgun blasts later and there was silence again.

The door burst open, an armed thug in the doorway. He cocked his shotgun, and paced forward. Raising his shotgun he kicked open the first cubical door, moving along the rows, he kicked each one open, checking for survivors.

Nothing.

He placed his shotgun carefully on the sink, undoing his flies and moving into the cubical. He sighed, the lights in the bathroom flickered again. As he began to whistle, the lights dropped, shrouding the room in darkness.

He cursed loudly and fumbled around for the sink, he grabbed his shotgun and scurried off in the direction of the wall with the light switch. He bashed his hand against the wall, misinterpreting the distance. He swore again, feeling along the tiles for the switch.

His foot hit something, a small rounded item on the floor. He reached down curiously picking it up and feeling it with his fingers. It was a shotgun shell, confused he pumped his shotgun, dreading the sound of the empty chamber.

He fumbled with the shell, loading it and pumping once. He turned to where he predicted the sinks were, firing off blindly, in the flash of light from the muzzle, he saw a girl. A butterfly knife in her left palm, ready to strike, he attempted to scream.


"What the hell are you shooting at in there?" yelled the other thug from the VIP lounge,

The doors swung open and he turned to see Georgia, she fired a single shot before he could raise his gun, throwing him backwards over the sofa with a satisfiying spray of blood.

The room was thus devoid of life, the rich boys in the corner had tried to run, their bodies sprawled over the furniture. The rich girls had been the first to go down, not even moving from their spot. The business men at the table on the far side of the room had tried to use each other as sheilds from the bullets, failing in doing so.

Georgia dropped the 12-Gauge and dropped down beside the artifact dealer, checking for a pulse. She found none, though the holes in his belly and chest explained that.
She tugged at the chain around his neck, pulling off the amulet. She cursed again, throwing it aside. A fake.

Georgia pulled out his room key instead, folding his arms across.

"Sorry Mr French" She sighed, "I didn't see this coming..."

She fumbled through the pockets of the thug she had shot, finding nothing but ammo and cigarettes. No clue as to the random display of violence.
Georgia checked the number on the door key, hurrying along to the far exit to the lounge.


She rushed down the stairs, pressing her back against the wall again, at the corridor below she peered round to the right, nothing. She heard talking as two thugs passed her, running off somewhere to the ship's lower decks.
Georgia darted across the hallway, to a second flight of stairs, following them down to a different set of Luxury suites. She followed the room doors along, counting as she went.

024, 025, 026.... 027! She had found it. Georgia swiped the magnetic key, nothing, noticed the gap in the door, pushing it open. The door was already ajar.
She took one last glance down the corridor on both sides before slipping in unnoticed.


This room was larger than hers, designed either to facilitate multiple people, or a very fussy individual. Georgia gripped her knife tighter, making her way over to the dining area. Nothing, a few plates laid out ready for a grand dinner, but no sign of life.

She made her way across the hall to the bedroom, pushing the door open as she went. The room was largely empty, a few clothes on the bed left unfolded, an empty shotgun shell on the ground by the bathroom door.

Georgia pushed herself against the door again, peering round to check for lifesigns. She saw the bathtub, filled with water, red water. Seems like Sir Percy's wife hadn't been lucky at all, her lifeless body leaning back lazily in the tub, shotgun wound in her chest clarifying the situation.

Georgia coughed, backing away towards the bed. She sat down on the edge, taking a deep breath. Across from her on the dresser was a bust, designed to hold jewelry when the owner slept, or took a bath for that matter. Sure enough, hanging around the bust was one of the finest amulets she had ever seen.

Georgia approached it, touching it with her index finger gently. It was warm, not residual heat though, it responded to her touch, assuring her it was active. Georgia squealed and snatched it up, admiring it closer. It was an artifact of course, looked like a simple jewel to anyone else.

She pocketed it and slipped back out of the room, grabbing a small tourists map of the Leavenworth from the counter.