Everyone suspects CHARLIE NAM of at least one of the cardinal sins, but in Nevada, the worst sins are bound by blood and SHE has yet to roll the dice. HER fixation on the neon lights of Nevada started TWO MONTHS ago as a HITMAN. Under the desert sun, they claim the act of CASHIER @ ELYSIAN MARKET. They’re often mistaken for PARK SO-DAM before those crimson colored glasses slide down their nose. CHARLIE better get busy living, or they’ll get busy dying by the ripe age of THIRTY-ONE. There are no second acts in a marked life, and it’s measured out by the melody of CAN’T STOP by RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS.
— written by morgan, 23, she/her, pst . . . player is a cis bi korean female.
trigger warnings: death, murder, violence.
TLDR; met her well-meaning parents in the middle when it came to her destructive tendencies. but she found an incredible outlet for her energy after a mercenary network recruited her post-college. however, after she realized how deep her employers’ treachery went, she played the long game to cut her losses. after three years of constant running, she was picked up by a hitman network. to this day, they’ve proved to be more transparent employers. their targets have transparently terrible reputations too. charlie is still suspicious of her new employers, but she can at least try to atone for her sins and gain protection through her work
prologue.
For what it’s worth, Charlie’s parents did their best. Despite being inundated with cultural shock and their daughter’s massive penchant for destruction, they tried to provide a balanced life. Of course, they didn’t really have much of a choice other than to put in that extra effort.
That aforementioned balance also needed to account for Charlie’s endless source of energy. As a result, she was an incredible student athlete — most notably in soccer, track and field, and gymnastics. She was also placed in hapkido classes, a choice her parents would regret later on when she’d happily use her skills outside of class.
CHAPTER I.
To demonstrate her appreciation as a daughter, Charlie graduated from Northwestern University with a mechanical engineering degree. Her university experiences also involved captainship of the women’s lacrosse team and employment in a hapkido studio as a teaching assistant.
Lupin, a mercenary network moonlighting as a food technologies corporation, lured her into their network during her senior year with a deskbound internship, promising a stable and well-paying job post-graduation. Little would she know that she’d quickly move on from analyzing blueprints to roughing up her knuckles.
CHAPTER II.
Charlie’s employers were never keen on spending extra expenses for long training periods. That’s a big reason why she was filtered for employment — her combat skills, natural knack for espionage, and a rare penchant for remaining relatively unruffled in the face of violence. After a two-year training period, she became a field agent. The details of her assignments weren’t too specific and she was trained to resist her natural spirit of inquiry. Their mistake was relying on that resistance, especially after she started following her gut regarding her workplace’s suspect political affiliations.
After a year of well-performed employment, Charlie copied a few threads of information evidencing Lupin’s treachery onto a flash drive. That felt short of her original plan, which was to get significantly more. Instead, her supervisors caught wind of her covert efforts and forced her to run. She expected it, of course. Even wanted it. Working for people like Lupin kept leaving her sick to her stomach.
But because of her employment’s premature conclusion, she soon had to use her temporary upper hand to feed the press a few headlines. This bought her just enough time to slip under the radar for three years.
CHAPTER III.
Three years is enough time for a girl to get some good hiding practice. It’s also a lot longer than most people achieve staying out of Lupin’s radar, especially when they cause enough trouble to make the news — even if they do so as unnamed suspects.
However, despite Charlie’s talent for hiding, she still attracted enough attention to land her into the protective arms of a separate hitman network. As far as they’ll let her know, they’re totally unnamed. Her instincts tell her they’re not working primarily as a corporation or a governmentally-associated body. Somehow, they also have enough power to let her out into the light without a muscle from Lupin at her heels. Their assignments were a lot more transparent and Charlie’s never expended any sympathy on the people she put in the ground on their behalf.
A whole lot of different details, and none of them make her feel at ease. She also doesn’t believe in miracles. Although she’s not currently in the mood to investigate, she’s smart enough to know that her guardian angels come with strings attached, even if she doesn’t know what those strings are just yet.
Nonetheless, her new employers do offer ample protection. It’s why she can eat at a fast food restaurant without getting sniped. So for now, she’ll simply do her job while figuring out her next step — or figuring out if she cares enough to formulate a next step.
epilogue.
Charlie’s latest assignment takes her to Las Vegas. Not the first time she’s been there, even for work. Maybe even especially so. The city’s penchant for clutter and chaos serves her well, offering enough anonymity for her to work in peace.
OPEN / CLOSED — for @la-sangradura — ilya lysytsya
LOCATION & TIME — rooftop of toddy leash's ice box, 2am.
“You know —” Charlie drinks her chilled, triple shot mocha with a lightly bandaged hand, “— my dad was really good at soccer.” She kicks an empty, formerly abandoned cider bottle to Ilya with enough force to hurt anyone else if they didn’t deal with it head on — a bottle that’s been reverberating on the rooftop for minutes now. But she’s pretty sure he’s not gonna flinch. Pretty sure. “Before he fucked up his knee... that old story.”
She pauses to swivel around slightly, flexing her right calf so that its large, impressively heart-shaped muscle juts out. “He’s where I get my calves from!”
Ximena got a cryptic phone message from someone to meet her at this warehouse, requiring her assistance with cracking something. She walks through the entrance and turns her head to look over at the woman as she drops her gaze to the gun in her hand. “Come on,” she breathes. “At least warn me if I’m going to need a bullet proof vest.” She says as she walks over to her. “And it depends on what’s on it and what’s keeping people from getting into it. You should probably go get a snack.”
“Ugh!” But after a bratty, hunger-propelled eye roll, Charlie quickly concedes. “You know what? Sorry. Just doing your job, right?” She’ll just find a fridge to raid once she’s inside. Charlie then juts a chin over to the backpack at her feet. “There’s a vest in there,” she says, “And a 9mm. But only if you know how to use it.”
Turning back to her gun, she confirms her aim and shoots. The tranq dart shoots out of an external piece fitted onto the gun’s barrel — a one-of-a-kind, yet-to-be-patented piece of technology that Charlie was honored to use. Of course, she should’ve tested it out in the dessert during the week prior, as her superiors instructed, but... time flies.
Either way, she jolts up, beaming as she sees the guard snap back from the dart’s impact. He drags his feet as he fights unconsciousness, and then slumps over when he no longer can. Charlie puts her hands on her hips and breathes out before looking at Ximena.
Nisa watches as she drops the shot glass into the glass of beer. The concept was new to Nisa, but she figured she would be able to catch on quickly. The shot glass remained empty and floated before her in the glass of beer. She turned her attention to Charlie as she mentioned the game. “Okay, that sounds easy enough.” Though Nisa had a feeling she was going to be in for a rude awakening if she was the one that had to chug the contents of the glass if she sunk the shot. Her brow raised, twisting her lips at Charlie’s question. “No,” she shook her head as she thought about the schedule, “you don’t work tomorrow,” that didn’t mean Nisa didn’t but given the circumstances of being hung over tomorrow, she could show up a little late if need be. She wasn’t working on the floor but still going through the books. “But, I’m game,” she shrugged her shoulders. It was one way to get her mind off things.
Charlie nods at Nisa’s confirmation, grinning somehow even more widely than before. Then she starts off their game, adding a few drops to the shotglass. That is, before she looks contemplative and decides to surge on and fill it halfway. The bottle feels slippery for a second and she nearly overshoots and sinks the tin glass — a poetic follow-up to her own display of hubris. “Whoa,” she says while she brightly chuckles and widens her eyes.
She passes the bottle along to Nisa, smirking. “Your turn.” While they commence the hand-off, she asks, “You looked all dolled up and down when I walked in here. A terrible combination. D’you get stood up?”
OPEN / CLOSED — for @pullumtendies — ximena.
LOCATION & TIME — some ways away from a warehouse, 7pm.
Black-gloved hands balance the McMillan TAC-50 perched on the ledge of a short, abandoned tower as its user peers through its telescopic sight. So far, it’s been minutes since Charlie’s set up, but the singular guard on duty has not stepped out for his cigarette break, which she specifically estimated would fall within this time frame.
But finally, movement. The warehouse door swings open and Charlie’s trigger finger tenses. However, right before she pulls the trigger, she speaks aloud to her temporary partner in crime, still unmoving.
“So, how long does it take for you to crack this hard drive? Because I did not bring a snack.”
As solo bartender of the evening, Andrea Mendoza finds herself closing up at The Wall once more. Andy pays the patrons no mind as she wipes up the bar after the last call commences for drinks. However, what does catch her attention is the opening of the door. Her eyes wander over to her phone, tapping the screen with her finger to bring up the time. A new patron shouldn’t be making their way into the bar at this time of the evening and his slouched figure makes the brunette’s hair stand up on the back of her neck. Her hand holding the rag stops moving as this person makes their way further into the bar. His slouched figure no longer bothers her as much as the fact she hasn’t seen his hands thus far. “Excuse me,” Andy calls out from behind the bar, the man continuing to approach without saying so much as a word. “Excuse me,” Andy calls out this time with a more stern tone. Her heart is racing in her chest, though she stands still behind the bar as he says nothing once more. Despite her heart threatening to beat straight out of her chest in fear, Andy gripped the edge of the counter, slowing moving her hand toward anything she could use to defend herself if necessary.
Charlie’s fast, but she’ll be cutting it close if she waits too long to close the distance between herself and the newcomer. She makes that conclusion in an instant, and makes it a lot more quickly due to the fact that the lonesome bartender is a very, very alarmed woman. If she scatters too quickly, the intruder might make some terribly rash decisions.
He pulls his hand out by just a hair and she dashes over, grabbing an abandoned whisky tumbler in the process. She slams the tumbler bottom to the back of his head, resulting in a loud PLONK!
She jumps back as he tips backward, hoodie in disarray underneath his now-unconscious body and a gun scraping quickly across the floor. Charlie casually side-steps him before leaning down, two fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. Knowing the amount of force she’d have to use is a matter of muscle memory, and she’s pleased to say that hers is well intact.
Looking up at the bartender for the first time, she grins and raises the glass, twirling it a little. “Ayy, no cracks!” She looks proud, and then gingerly sets it down on the counter before the other woman. “Potential evidence for you, my friend.”
Aydin kept his eye on the tables. Despite the late hour, people were still playing as if it was early in the evening. His attention was caught to the table where a familiar George Somerton was sitting and across from him, a brunette. He paused his rounds, watching the expressions of George’s face change with the rounds, eventually, his face turning pale as he lost. It brought a chuckle from Aydin as he moved on. The crowd of people around the table was normal after a play like that, but he kept his eyes peeled for anything suspicious as he made his way toward the bar to make sure they were closing up alright. As he goes to ask if they need anything, a voice catches his attention. It’s the woman from the table. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips as he meets her gaze, “I suppose,” he looked over at the bartender that looked defeated from the long evening, “what are you looking to have?” He quickly looks over at the bartender again, gesturing that she can take off for the evening, or rather, morning. He figured she would be back in due time. “Aydin,” he introduced himself as he stepped behind the bar.
Charlie was still grappling with the bartender, getting close to pulling a wad of cash from her too-tiny bag to bulk up the barkeep’s overtime pay. But the laborer coldly ignores her and the patron in question couldn’t exactly feel hurt about it. After a defeated sigh, Charlie finally leans back and shrugs her purse’s shoulder chain strap back onto her shoulder. However, as she’s about to leave, her eyes wander and fix on an approaching man, accessorized with a slight smile. He then relieves the bartender from her duties as he nears the bar, a command that his employee obliges with heightened energy.
Charlie’s lips purse slightly into a smile as she connects the dots — starting from his confident command to his initial inquiry, the latter of which she was much more pleased to hear. Some kind of... man of any hour, at least within the jurisdiction of this building.
She plops herself back onto her seat and swivels around on it as she contemplates, wonderment about his current motivations on the backburner as she thinks about her upcoming inebriation. “Two martinis. Very dirty, like seriously — heavy on the olive juice,” she says, eyes widening as she emphasizes her preference. Then, she takes a few seconds before concluding her response, “Charlie.” She’d lie, but something tells her that .
She leans forward on the counter, resting her chin on her fist. “So, I’ve taken a lot of your money. You here to congratulate or warn me?”
OPEN / CLOSED — for @crrisptrepidation — sadie sweeney.
LOCATION & TIME — killer cupcakes, right at opening time.
When Charlie walks in, she blows out at her hand before taking a quick sniff. Although most people would find the scent wretched, she quite likes it — the clean and sweet stench of good vodka. As long as she didn’t drunkenly roll around in dirt and dirty club bathrooms, it’s a pure kind of stink.
She also recognizes the courtesy of not ruining a local business with her antics, but at this hour, she’s probably not the only drunk bitch clearing out the pastry case. But it does mean that she’s got to act quick. So, compensating for her drunkenness with her usual agility, she quickly shuffles over, tilting her head sideways to get a good look at the remainder of the bakery’s inventory.
“Sadie, heyyy,” she says, grinning while her bleary eyes sloppily scan the contents of the case, “I’m not too late for my usual, right?”
The sounds of her name was marked with exuberance and it had her lifting her head to a familiar face. One of the employees at Elysian Market had approached her, rather one of her more difficult employees. And not because Charlie wasn’t good at her job - no, she was, but it seemed that if Briar was in, Charlie was finding a reason to leave early or show up late. Nisa, for the first time in owning the shop, had no idea how to handle such a behavior. The brunette held too much pride for the job to go to her parent’s and well, Charlie wasn’t bad for business. So, she kept letting it slide. There were times in wished she’d say something. It wasn’t like she was without a backbone for the number of times that she went up against Berkan but Charlie didn’t get under her skin, didn’t rile her up.
Meeting the other’s gaze, she gave her a smile as Charlie ordered from the bar. Nisa’s brows raised as the she was asked a question, “Submarine?” She questioned back, the word foreign on her lips in the form of a game. “I can’t say I have.”
Charlie’s brow cocks before putting on a wry smile. She replies, “Oh? Then tonight’s on me!” She energetically finishes up, carefully dropping the shot glass into a 3/4 full glass of beer.
Then, she glances up at Nisa. Based on her boss’s expression, she’s successfully distracted her from whatever was ailing her before. Score. Although Charlie was working at Elysian out of boredom and a need to surveil the city without pissy circumstances, it helped to have an amicable working relationship. After all, while Nisa’s been nice so far, nice women getting ruthless wasn’t the type of incident she was well-equipped or highly motivated to rectify. If anything, she should be crass because of a sick hangover.
After ensuring that the shot glass stays floating and empty, Charlie raises the unopened soju bottle and waves it at her boss. “We take turns filling the shot glass little by little. Whoever gets it to finally sink has to chug the whole thing.” Smirking again, she asks, “You game?” After a beat, she adds, “Wait, I don’t have work tomorrow, right?”
OPEN / CLOSED — for @la-sangradura — atticus bailey.
LOCATION & TIME — ambrosia café, 7:30am.
“Iced Americano... matcha frappe... pineapple black tea...” The cashier before Charlie blinks, since all he’s hearing is some incoherent, chant-like mumbling. But overnight surveillance and three hours of sleep before a scheduled confrontation doesn’t get any easier, especially after officially hitting her thirties. Finally, however, she gives her order, opting to then sit down in her pre-planned seat — across Atticus Bailey, seated conveniently at a table for two.
But before she can do so, she stops, fully looking at the café’s pastry case out of her peripheral view. “Ooh!” She hurriedly finishes her journey to her self-designated seat.
OPEN / CLOSED — for @la-sangradura — verity saint.
LOCATION & TIME — chef tian’s, 8pm.
Today’s an off-work day for Charlie, from both her mercenary work and Elysian. It’s also a great opportunity to become a diurnal creature once again, hence her upcoming plans to attend a concert at a seedy venue and conclude her night with some club hopping. Both activities are meant to tucker her out, but she’ll still need some energizing grub before descending on this familiar path of hedonism. A conclusion that’s led to the half-eaten plate of before her, littered with Peking duck, its cleanly-eaten bones, Chun Bing, and stir-fried green beans.
Charlie lifts some ponytailed locks with her non-greased hand and sniffs, grimacing at her frankly unwise choice to deal with this finger food for a pre-game dinner. But a girl’s got to eat. Besides, she was perhaps due for a quick shower from washing off her suspiciously copper-stained sink anyway. Her eyes meander around Chef Tian’s as she contemplates, and before landing on a familiar face — one that elicits the phantom sensation of begin lifted upside-down over a beer keg, the rancid scent of the dumpster behind Northwestern’s Allen Center building, and the sweet fizz of sugar-free Red Bulls.
“Verity?”
Charlie waves around a small duck leg, looking bright as she greets her old friend. “It’s been a while!”
OPEN / CLOSED — for @aydinxersan.
LOCATION — ashina casino.
Charlie’s participated in petty bets. Drunkenly parked her fake-carrying nineteen-year-old self at the slots machine during her sophomore year Vegas trip. But considering her typical penchant for overindulgence, having an insatiable appetite for gambling too would have ruined her.
Just as it’s about to ruin the man across from her tonight. George Somerton stares down at his cards, openly resenting the deceivingly innocuous baby-face before him. If her plan takes off, this resentment will transform to desperation, encouraging him to jump straight into her target’s financially well-equipped arms.
So tonight, she adopts an uncharacteristically cold, immovable stare — something that betrays a competitive streak that’s scorching internally. That same competitiveness has paid off significantly so far, with the chips stacked in her favor and in very close proximity too. She was surprised, considering Somerton’s sterling reputation for his plays. Who would’ve thought he’d give up his dignity so easily at Ashina, one of his favorite epicurean playgrounds? Though she had to say, seeing his demeanor continuously crack brought her some very petty, naughty satisfaction.
Finally, he throws down his last his cards after looking somewhat relieved.
Charlie’s poker face finally breaks when she sees them, prompting her competitor’s face to pale and drop. With a wide, dimpled smile, she throws down her own cards, tilting her head as the audience exclaims, the tension the game’s produced finally dissipating at this final play.
15 MINUTES LATER . . .
It takes a while for her to shake off the crowd (and an emasculated, pissed off Somerton), but it helps that it was very late — too late for most people to keep their eyes open after such a night as this one.
But Charlie’s hours are fucked. So, she strides over to the hurried bartender at the now-empty bar, an employee that seemed super dedicated to her job — especially the closing part.
She’s almost distraught. Just one drink, and she’d feel warm and fuzzy enough to catch a ride back to her humble abode!
“Aw, c’mon. Can’t even keep the bar open for a while longer for a winner?”
OPEN / CLOSED — for @andyxmendoza.
LOCATION — the wall.
“... late hours, gun license, cameras all around her property, really loud dog...” Charlie’s head teeters back and forth as she rattles off some mental bulletpoints. She’s incensed at her employers’ untimely sense of urgency, which has now resulted in a half hour call that’s just about to conclude at 1:50 am.
She unceremoniously kicks one of the table legs after the call finally ends. What an injustice. Can’t a girl simply end her boring night with a dizzy drink? Though she supposes she could use a Dexter rewatch as an excuse to pull out some white wine at home and “meal prep” a pound of pasta with it too.
Charlie tilts her empty glass towards her, staring wistfully at the meager three drops that sloshes forward. Her chair scrapes as she finally stands up, which sounds loud against the quiet of the nearly closed bar, save for her lonesome and the seemingly sole bartender on duty. As she does so, the door swings open, revealing a slouched figure.
The figure looks antsy, shuffling in awkwardly. Then he tosses a sour glare at Charlie as she dons on her jacket. She stops. The likelihood of a wide-eyed, alert patron that doesn’t know he’s walking into a bar at final Vegas hours? Very low. Especially one that’s got sweat pooling at his brow and isn’t willing to stick any of his hands out of his jacket.
Undetectably silent, her boots quietly step into the shadowed space between a tall cabinet and a corner wall. Alert, she observes this fishy character as he finishes his bumbling stride.
Nisa, having taken poor advice and got on dating apps, found herself stood up for what felt like the fifth time this month alone. Sitting at the bar, Nisa scrolled through her phone, wondering if it was worth finishing her drink or leaving it and heading home for the evening. With the approach of someone else, Nisa turned to look at her bag that was placed on a seat for someone else, “Sorry,” she stared at the bag, rather than the person, “this seat isn’t taken anymore.” Nisa grabbed her to place it into her lap.
Charlie walks in, looping her arms behind her back and stretching languidly. Today was all about intel — gathering it, to be specific. Super boring, like bash-head-against-the-wall boring, but she could at least remedy her stiffness with an equally stiff drink. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for her to spot an empty bar seat, and she heads over to fill it before anyone else can. As she does, however, she notices a familiar posture, albeit a bit sadder and with hair that’s more sleekly styled than she’s seen from the woman she suspects it belongs to. All is confirmed when she comes closer and catches a glimpse of Nisa Kaplan’s profile and bag, something she’s seen plenty of times at Elysian.
At first, she almost grimaces. Comforting a boss in a bad mood isn’t in her skill set. It’s also definitely not her responsibility. But she can at least take advantage of her boss’s heightened need for a strong drink by gleaning a great drinking companion for tonight.
“Nisaaa!” Charlie starts boisterously, filling the silence herself before her employer could bring up her tardy check-in from the day before. She then asks the bartender for a tall glass, a shot glass, a pitcher of beer, and a bottle of soju. “Have you ever played,” she begins her inquiry as she sets up, “submarine?”
