*It was late, and the streets of LA were still filled with people. It was within this crowd, undetected, that Emerald hoped to move. Dark sunglasses covered her distinctive green eyes and a kerchief hid her emerald hair. She clutched a suitcase in one hand containing the rest of the money that Cathedral had given her. With luck, she should make it to the Morgue without being spotted. If she was unlucky, she'd get robbed and murdered. In spite of the somewhat shady world she inhabited, she remained an innocent as much as possible. Never in her life had she held a gun or a knife, struck someone in anger, or witnessed a murder. Her naivete made her an easy target for LA's criminal element. No sooner had his partner bumped into her than the other grabbed her suitcase and ran.* Stop! Please stop! *Ignoring her pleas, the pickpocket dashed into an alley and was gone. She stood there, staring blankly as if she expected him to reappear. He didn't, and just like that, all her money was gone. Now she'd have to walk the rest of the way. It didn't help that she was lost at the moment, either.*

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"Target aquired, proceeding with operation.", Sirus said into the pin com he had attached to the collar of his leather jacket. The pickpocket had done his job well and two low ranking Syndicate bruisers were currently taking him apart in that alley. Couldn't leave any witnessess and the money would come in handy. Sirus clicked the safety off the dart gun he had stashed away in a shoulder holster, hidden under his jacket. He always wore leather gloves and had scarred his fingertips nicely, so he couldn't be traced that way. One could never take to many precausions.

Sirus spoke into the com again, "Bring the car up along side her slowly and open the door when you see me in proximity. Preach out." Then, he walked towards her. He was calm and didn't look at anybody else, slipping the dart gun from it's holster. He didn't care about the crowd, they didn't know him from Adam and the Syndicate would hush up anybody stupid enough to come forward. He held the dart gun down at his side until he was right up on her back. Quickly, he said, "Hi, welcome to the organization." That was right before the expert marksman, at point blank range, sent a dart into her back.

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~Hi, welcome to the organization.~ *She was turning her head to see who was speaking to her when she felt the dart. It didn't hurt, really, like the pricking of a pin. Her lips moved wordlessly. It felt as though her tongue had grown until it filled her entire mouth. The dart was having other effects as well. Her limbs were growing heavy. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. Why wasn't anyone helping her? Surely this couldn't be normal, even in LA! A long black car pulled up alongside them, the door thrown open wide. She was tossed in the car like a sack of potatos, and the mysterious man who had spoken to her climbed in beside her. If she hadn't been paralyzed by the drugs, the icy hand of fear that was tightly wrapped around her heart would have paralyzed her just as surely. The smell of death was thick within the car, and she feared for her life. The last thing she heard before the world went dark was the car door slamming closed.*

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As was expectd, everything went smoothly. They always did for Sirus, he was damned good at his job. He looked her over as they went, then pulled the file he had been given on her from the console in the middle of the back seat. He thumbed through it, speed reading. A human lie detector... that would definetly come in good for interogations. He pulled a silver whiskey flask from the inside pocket of his jacket, popped the top, and took a long drink. A long drink was an understatement, he guzzled the entire thing. There was a mini bar in the back, thank God. H returned his flask to his pocket as he started to raid it.

That was about the time he noticed her coming around. As he pulled a pint of Jack Daniels from the mini bar, he reached over and pulled the dart from her back. He stuck it his right jacket pocket and waited for her to get fully situated and coherent before he said anything.

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*She woke up sitting in a simple wooden chair. At first, she squinted, trying to appear asleep. The room didn't quite look like the torture chamber she had been expecting. There weren't any whips, chains, or restraints to be seen. No iron maiden was propped in the corner. It was just her and her kidnapper. She could try running, but where would she go? Not to mention the fact he could just pick her up off the street like last time. Like it or not, she was stuck here with him. The fear that had gripped her so tightly remained. Cathedral probably didn't even know she was gone yet. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she spoke.* Who are you, why am I here, and what is this Organization you refer to? *Her voice had remained steady the whole time, and she was quite proud of that.*

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Sirus turnd up the bottle of Jack and leaned back against the wall. A large portion of the bottle had been drained before he spoke. With his other hand, he pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket, held it between his lips, then lit it with a cheap Bic lighter. He inhaled deeply, then took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a large cloud of smoke up towards the cieling of the room. Then, he spoke very quickly, "Alright, listen up. You're now Syndicate property, honey, and what that means is you do what we say, when we say it, how we say it, or you dine on a fuckin' bullet, ya got me, princess? From now till the day you fuckin' die, you're owned by us. No if ands or buts, honey."

Sirus pushed himself off the wall, then started to pace back and forth in front of her, whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other. He took another drink and took a long drag from his smoke before he continued, quickly again, "I'm Preacher, before you fuckin', sweetheart. I'm a Smiling Jack and you'll find out what that is soon enough, babydoll. Is this sinking in through you're thick skull, honey? I sure as hell hope so 'cuase I don't like to fuckin' repeat myself."

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*She watched as he drank, and drank, and drank, then lit up a cigarette. His words sunk in easily enough, but that didn't make what he was saying any easier to hear. Her previous employers had been scared shitless of the Syndicate. Even the mere mention of the word was enough to make those angry violent men cower like whipped dogs. The shock which Emerald had felt when witnessing such a drastic change in behavior only amplifed now that she was face-to-face with one of these boogeymen. Her only hope, and it was a longshot, was to attempt a mistaken identity.* You must have me confused with someone else, Mr. Preacher. I don't kill people. I've never even held a gun. *If this plan didn't work, she was stuck. In some corner of her mind, she wondered if she would wear a collar as Syndicate property. Would she live in a cage like a dog, only exercised when her skills were necessary? If she was owned by the Syndicate, Cathedral couldn't help her, nobody could. She'd probably never even see her friend again. Not to mention the chilling thought that failure equals death. Silently she cursed herself for being born with this odd power, that made her so different from everyone else and an outcast her entire life. Large crystal teardrops welled in Emerald's eyes, and she kept her mouth tightly closed so he wouldn't notice her quivering lip.*

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He chuckled a bit and leaned his head back, as he paced back and forth very quickly. Another drink of whiskey, another drag from his cigarette. He exhaled a very large cloud of smoke into the air, through clenched teeth, then spoke, "I'm never mistaken, honey, never in my whole life. We don't give a fuck if you can shoot, you'll never have to kill anybody. We want your skills, genius. We want that wierd little fucked up thing that floats around in that brain of yours to do us a favor and weed out the son of a bitches who think they can fuck around with us, princess. I'm talkin' interrogation, getting in their heads, finding out if these bastards have been lieing to us. Now get with the program, sister, and suck it up, cuase it only gets better from here, baby." He drained the last drink from the Jack Daniels bottle, after he rambled on. Sirus held the bottle up and let it drop to the floor, shattering.

He grinned when he now turned to her, looping the thumb of his free hand through a belt loop. He took another long drag from his cigarette, up to the butt, then flicked it to the side. Immediatly, he pulled out another and lit it up, before he went on, "You be loyal, you'll get what ever you fuckin' dream of, sister. Cars, money, women or men... whatever the fuck you're into. We own this fuckin' city, we own everybody and everything in it. The fuckin' rats have our labels on 'em and we love it, sweetheart."

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*He knew, of course he knew. They wanted her for that skill, the talent she had to detect lies from anyone. As he spoke, that same ability told her that he was telling the truth. She could have anything she wanted, as long as what she wanted wasn't to be left alone. She didn't need this man, this preacher, to tell her what would happen to those she deemed to be liars. They would die, as surely as the sun rises and sets to mark the passage of a day. In her little hands, she held power over life and death. The power itself could be intoxicating, if she would ever allow it to be. But, Emerald was, in her heart, a country girl awash in a big city, a small guppy in a monstrous lake. Her fear was fading slowly, like an echo in a canyon. There was no immediate danger for her, not now. She looked up at the man before her.* Why are you called Preacher? What are the *pausing for a moment as she tried to remember what he'd said earlier* Smiling Jacks? *She paused again, wiping sweaty hands on her clothes before asking the most important question.* What happens to me now?

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Sirus took a long drag from his new cigarette and shook his head as he expelled the smoke, spewing it out around him in the air. He chuckled a bit and gave her a grin, before he took a breath and started talking, "I used ta' be a priest, fuckin' Catholic. Dead and gone, it's in the past, doesn't matter. The Smiling Jacks are the best killer's on God's earth, honey, the meanest son of a bitches the Syndicate has ta' offer. Five of us... one, two, three, four, five... we all carry these, princess." With that, he puased to pull a playing card out of his left jacket pocket, taking another drag from his smoke as he did. He tossed the card to her, it landed expertly on her lap. It was the Jack of Spades, though the card was altered so that the Jack was grinning madly and slitting his own throat.

Sirus pointed to the card as he continued, "You get one of them, you get killed, mutilated, your family destroyed, your entire life fucked right up the wazoo, baby. We do what nobody else does for the Big Man, he's our boss, before you ask another dumb question, genius. You won't get ta' meet him, ever, so don't fuckin' worry about it. Now, are you in or out, becuase I can part your fuckin' scalp, right here and now, down and dirty, sweetheart, if not." With that, Sirus pulled his pistol from the double shoulder holster he wore, a Colt Trooper mk.V.

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*She just sat silent and listened as Preacher's words washed over her, staring at the morbid image of the figure cutting his own throat. Her eyes jerked back to Preacher's face when he mentioned family.* I have no family, and only one friend, but he's probably dead by now. *Wide-eyed, she shook her head violently in case words failed her as he pulled a gun, placing the muzzle just inches from her face. * No!! *Her voice was unnecessarily loud. It was only the two of them in a room with no ambient noise to interfere.* I don't want to die, Mr. Preacher. *Her hand clutched the card tightly, and there was resignation in her voice when she spoke.* I'll help you and the Syndicate if you'll just tell me how. *There had been rumors, dark evil rumors of a loyalty test for members of the Syndicate. One version she had heard required a life to be taken, someone dear to the initiate. At the time, they were only rumors. But now, here, in an unknown location confronted by a hitman with a gun, they seemed all too real.*

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Sirus holstered his Colt Trooper, then nodded, taking the last drag from his smoke and casting the butt aside. He stopped pacing now and crouched in front of her. She had stated she never used a gun or had killed anybody, but there were other ways to prove one's loyalty. He looked into her eyes, locked his with hers. The eyes could give away alot about a person. "Okay, so you're in. You're Syndicate now, princess. Now, listen up and listen good, baby. This will mean either life or death for you, so you better answer right. Tell us where Cathedral is hiding out, dollface. You better not lie t me, either, or I'll put you down here and now.", he said, not speaking fast, but slow and unnervingly calm. He watched her eyes, watched for the direction they would move in. If she tried to look away, well, that would cost her. He had done worse things than belt a woman before.

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*She had a choice to make. What was more valuable, her life or his? On one hand, she didn't want to die. On the other hand, he was the only friend she had left. If she told Preacher where Cathedral was, he would surely die. She would have sentenced her best and only friend to a fate she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. After all he had done for her, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It may be in vain, but she would protect Cathedral. When she lifted her head, she wore a look of determination, cheeks glistening with her tears.* He's in LA, but I'm not going to tell you where. If that means you have to kill me...*She drew a raggedy breath, but her eyes never wavered. She stared Preacher straight in the eye, determined to meet her fate bravely. If Cathedral died because of something she did, she would -never- be able to forgive herself. That friendship meant more to her than her own life.* then do it. *Now, she closed her eyes, waiting for the bullet that would end it all...*

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Sirus reached inside his jacket, pulled out his cell very quickly, and pointed it at her, yelling, "BANG!" Then, he chuckled a bit and shook his head as he tossed the phone from one hand to the other. "You weren't paing attention, honey. We own Los Angeles, everything here. We know exactly where he is, just needed to make sure he was back in town. Did you know that he was a freelance hitman, sweetheart? Did you know that the Vegas boys and the New Orleans crew are looking for him? I bet you didn't know this, they'll find him and we aren't going ta' hide his ass away from them. They can have him, disloyal sack a' shit. That was the first part, baby. The second part is real simple, so even a genius like you can fuckin' follow. Go to Jack's Laundromat tomorrow, ask for Bobby Deraimus. He'll fill you in what the fuck else you ave ta' do. Now...", he said, and then pointed towards the briefcase of cash she had been carrying earlier. Beside it sat a small black gym bag. Preacher then continued speaking, locking eyes with her again, "In that bag is more money, a phone, and a Beretta nine milimeter handgun, princess. Learn how ta' use it 'cuase we ain't always going ta' be around to save your ass. There's enough money there ta' sit ya' up nice in a good hotel."

With that, Sirus stood and walked to the farthest wall away from her. He tapped his phone against his chin, then waved a hand at th door. "You can go now, baby, but don't try ta' leave. We have guys in every airport in the city, people watching the roads, and all kinds of neat fuckin' stuff. Don't stand us up or you'll be dead by the next day, ya' got that? Now get."

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*She opened first one eye, and then another. A wave of relief crashed over her when she realized that he wasn't going to kill her. Then, an icy wave of guilt struck afterward as the fact she'd betrayed Cathedral anyway dawned upon her. Preacher's words crystallized, and suddenly an old friend appeared in a new light. His fear at the hotel, the frantic phone call, it all made sense now. Even his beloved morgue took on a sinister glow after Preacher callously stripped away the rose-colored glasses she viewed him with. The thought of one who had been so kind and loving toward her taking the lives of others turned her stomach. Her face was awash in emotion, and she rose, spindly-legged from the chair in which life became darker, more sinister. Her eyes locked with Preacher's, and she nodded slowly.* Jack's Laundromat. Bobby Deraimus. Don't try anything funny and learn to shoot. *Her words were flat, lacking any emotion whatsoever. Lifting the briefcase and gym bag, she headed to the door. The heavy metal door slammed with a Bang behind Emerald, and she found herself in an alley. The wail of an ambulance could be heard in the distance. The emotions that had washed over her like rapids drained away, leaving her cold and hollow inside. She could only croak out "I'm sorry, Cathedral..." before she sank to her knees, buried her face in her hands and cried. It would be nearly an hour before she could get up, face red, breath ragged, and head off into the night to start her new life.*

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