The sound of Doctor Poulin’s steps against the freshly waxed tiled floors of the Asylum’s hallway sent a small thrill through his body. There was something powerful about the rhythmical thud of his feet, and his feet alone, heading down the corridor to take him to cell 88A where his new “project” awaited him.

It was midnight in a small city of France and there were important men visiting tonight to see an old friend of theirs who had gone sour. The Boucher Asylum of the Criminally Insane held many types of minds. Most were former Mafia members, captured by the officials and sent here if mentally unstable or otherwise. So the Italian Mob Boss had paid to send one of his most trusted hands to “take care of business” without any fuss. Wouldn’t want their crazy buddy to wind up talking to the police, now would they?

Of course, there were other kinds of psychos and freaks the Asylum held. From cannibals to suicide bombers, this doctor never found himself bored; which brought Poulin back to the present. He came towards the iron door where he knocked a few times before jiggling the key in the lock. Upon his entrance, his beady eyes went straight to the cot, assessing the small lump curled up under what he knew was a very scratchy blanket. Couldn’t afford all the nice things in the world.

“Good evening, mon cher. Looks like you have fitful sleep.” A grin spread those thin lips as he closed and relocked the door behind him. His next destination was the small rusted sink in the corner, turning on the water as he set out his syringes.

More excitement rushed through his veins, knowing the challenge this woman brought. Lethe Novachek had been transferred from a Russian facility to this one in France. Something about insufficient funding. Too bad. She was a piece of work. Strange looking as well. Poulin enjoyed her very much, but never went further than sweet whispers and heavy petting. Not yet. He drugged her before any of it of course. He wasn’t an idiot. These whack jobs were dangerous.

He picked his head up to look in the mirror, and just behind him…he was startled to see the face of a woman standing very close to him. There was no sound at all. He had time to register a bald head and sharp features with the familiar scars trailing down her cheeks. A hard blow to the back of his skull sent his head forward, slamming him into the edge of the sink. He felt nothing at all as blackness descended.

Dr Poulin’s body slipped to the cement floor from the edge of the basin. With quiet movements, Lethe threw a handful of water onto the floor around Poulin’s feet and the soles of his shoes. As she stood, she removed a tiny camera placed just over the mirror and seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye.

The target was only a few more paces ahead, around the corner, probably sitting in the cell with the crazy criminal man who spoke about whales and the Sound of Music. She had known when he would come. She had known what he would look like. And she had known what he would be doing.

He was the target, and she the arrow.

Simply stated, it was her mission to assassinate him, hired by the Asylum warden because the Italian Boss was unintentionally drawing unwanted attention from the cops. She also knew the facility wasn’t quite straight on the moral compass, using patients to experiment new drugs and “techniques” that may help to cure insanity. Lethe highly doubted such things. But the money was good and she had found the prospect interesting, especially the idea of disguising herself as an actual patient. Bad idea, she realized now. Learn from your mistakes, little Nelk.

Ah, there he was, standing in the hallway and cleaning any blood off his hands with a rag while talking to a fellow crony. The crony was taller and looked passed the target to spot her. He nodded his head respectfully, but kept that wary eye open.

Always prepared, Lethe slowly approached them, wearing Dr Poulin’s lab coat, polo shirt, and slacks. Her own shoes were a little dirty, but they would have to do.

The target turned with a frown, opening his mouth to say something, but the needle was out and jammed into his throat. The next movement was fluid and practiced as her hand held on tight to the syringe. She spun and kicked, cracking the extra crony’s jaw before he could pull a weapon on her while she hooked an arm around the stunned target’s neck and whipped it. The sickening crackles of his vertebra echoed before the thud of the bodies. She made sure to use another double dose of the Doc’s drugs to let the crony over-dose before any Asylum guard roamed down this certain hallway.

Afterwards, she wasted no time, finding the exits and disappearing into the night like she never existed. However, this time, it was different. She had killed a man that was not the target. A man employed by the warden who hired her for this job. And the Italians would probably manage to wrestle some info on who the killer of their friend was. The files that the Asylum had on her were falsified, but they had her face. They would be able to find a way to track her down if she wasn’t careful.

It was time to change planets.