Maybe she should have returned to her flat. The queue was winding down the overcrowded alley. The place was jam- packed with other to-be viewers, cars and various stalls, offering anything from bazookas shaped candies to a wide range of firearms, some of which look suspiciously similar to those sold by . The headache-inducing stall owners' shrieks, children' squeaks of joy or pain of being trodden to death and desperate calling of lost members of WWI veteran's trip was starting to grow on her. The event was supposed to be a nicety, a star turn of her free day. It was supposed to be spent with friends.

They were laughing their heads off in a small, unpretentious café, walls taped with film posters and old cameras carefully placed in small cabinets. A forty-something entrepreneur watched them with contempt from behind his Times.

"We must do it more often." A chubby blonde still tried to constrict her laughter. "Hell, when we had a proper chat last time, girl?"

" I think it was half and a year ago."

"And before it was a year, and even before that seven months and before this before I managed to see you every other week!"

" I never thought you would keep such close track of our meetings. The accounting got to you, didn't it?"

"You know what I'm talking about. This job is messing with your life too much!"

If only there was any life left. Here she was, sitting with one of her best friends during her one and only free day in the year. Wrong: her best friend. The other girl couldn't come, or more likely didn't bother to meet with someone, who wouldn't have time to call more often than twice a year.

"Yes, but you know the hag: she would rather eat Saxon's hat than give somebody vacation."

"Oh, I'm sure, that when it comes to Mr. Hale, she would eat something else of his."

They roared with laughter again and a businessman shot them another dirty glance.

"Then change a job, plain and simple. Jump at new opportunities as they say."

"And begin everything from the scratch?"

"Well, it's not like you can get promoted any further, eh?"

She let out a small sight. She thought about this couple of times before and always came to same conclusion: if she handed in her resignation, she could only do worse. Every other company was an underdog. There were only two types, really: the ones that were secretly part of TF industries or the ones soon to go under. That is to say, if she was allowed to leave.

Working for the ones at the top has its consequences.

"Sarah, I don't think I would get another job easily." She brushed her friend's remark off. "The hag would have her revenge and she's got connections."

"Well, then I'm happy I don't get involved with big and powerful of this world, so nobody will have nothing against me leaving"

"What?"

"I'm getting married, Pauling! I'm gonna be Tony's wife this time next month and you would be my bridesmaid." Sarah announced. "And don't you dare to give me this speech about one free day in the year. The marriage will only take twenty minutes, wedding will be up in five hours, but you don't have to stay that long. Let's say… three hours maximum. You gotta dance and eat the cake, girl!"

"Uh huh. How am I to account for myself for this three hours? I have approximately eleven hours daily to myself and that is, if nothing turns up." She looked at her lap, dejected.

"I think you will earn a new ability, something to write down in your CV."

"What?!"

" Ability to delegate. Use that secretary Marigold, she will do. Some new experience she so clearly needs." Answered her colleague with a devious smirk.

Oh yes, she thought when a mischievous smile curled on her lips. Secretary Marigold, the first to leave the office and the first to boast about not-so-her-own achievements. She also had this peculiar effect on male coworkers. The woman wasn't even this pretty, what did they see in her?

"Now that you are sure to come, who are you gonna bring?" Her friend's question brought her back to reality.

"What do you mean? You know very well there is nobody! I don't have time to go out and meet people!" She exclaimed, all her good mood dissipating into thin air.

"Well, you better bring somebody, as cousin Derek is coming. He won't miss the chance to woo any single female younger than fifty who doesn't have a bodyguard and even that is questionable." Sarah stated. The blonde gave her a threatening look. "Don't you even think about shooting him."

"Well then, I'll have to comply to his earthly demands, as there is no way in hell I would have a date for your wedding."

"What about TF employees?"

"They're all too scared to even as much as look at my shoes, a mere thought about asking me out could probably cause them a heart attack."

"Not these sissies!" Her friend frowned. "I'm talking about the killer ones." Sarah saw her friend tighten. "Oh, stop looking at me, as if you had to knocked me off! Everyone above level five knows about this. What other reason is there for shipping weapons to theses old spy bases? And I saw some of them on my floor. Rifles and rocket-launchers are kinda tell-away. "

"They are all crazed gunmen!"

"And who isn't? I mean, Saxton Hale would not be the fifth richest guy in the world if he didn't make a killing on his stuff." It seemed that Sarah's low position and lack of promotions was arguably undeserved." I saw the pics, some of these psychopaths are downright hot."

Her companion stared at her friend with a newfound horror. Was she talking about Team Fortress? The piss smelling, insults shouting, crooked teeth, huge jaws and even bigger hands pack of madmen? Not to mention all of them at least twenty years older than her, save for one twenty-something who behaved like a kindergartner. Who in their right mind would find these men attractive? She felt need to correct her colleague. "First of all, Mr. Hale is fourth wealthiest men now, second he also sells hats, clothes and portable baccarat detectors." She saw the blonde rolling her eyes and clenched her fists. "Third, for your information, I have watched the lot for two and a half year now and there isn't anything charming or at least tolerable about them!"

"Well," her friend stirred from her chair "speaking of crazed gunwomen, I can't go with you, after all. Sorry." The woman averted her gaze. "I'm choosing the dress today."

Moving at a snail pace, she clenched her ticket and wished everything would end soon. When she thought it wasn't possible to be any worse, she heard somebody shouting.

She truly shouldn't have came.

"Yo, Miss Pauling!"

He would not get here. The street was packed, nobody can do as much as move a finger. He couldn't get here, he was just some very obnoxious person somewhere in the street, separated from her by a crowd of manly men waiting for a gun show.

"Miss P., whatcha doing in such a place alone? You need somebody, eh? I mean me, yes? Yes? Yes? Yes?"

"Good evening, Scout."

And there he was, standing just next to her. The crowd moved faster and she was pulled into the building. However, she didn't lose the boy.

"So you like gun shows, yeah? Girl, I love them. Really devoted to whole gun thing, but you know this already, don't ya? But never thought I 'll meet ya here, gal! Where are we going to sit?"

"I am not sitting with you, Scout. Actually, I'm waiting for someone"

"Your friend? I mean, it must be your friend. You can tell her I'm your boyfriend, okay? Don't have to mention we know each other from work, all this secrecy and hush hush."

She would strangle him any minute now and she wouldn't even need his training bra.

"You don't mind if I find us a sit. Also buy you a drink, Miss P. I mean I owe you for that time with a bomb and such." He added much more quietly.

"You don't need to that Scout, it's a part of my work to keep all of you in line."

"Nononono, don't cha try to downplay whatcha did, Miss P.! I know you did it this 'cos you like me so much, I know ya can't help it, but you know you could use a drink, you look kind of drained, but you are a killer girl as always, I mean. "

Maybe sitting with Scout is better than sitting alone actually.

"I don't think…"

"Oh come on, Miss P. Nobody's coming"

She felt a big lump of ice in her stomach. How could he tell? She gulped and tried to say something, when she felt someone touching her shoulder.

"I doubt that Miss is interested in your sorry advances, pal." She tensed s bit when a slim stranger wearing almond suit embraced her shoulder.

"And who are you, bustin' into when I 'm charming a lady, man?"

"Well, for starters, I'm the one she was waiting for. Isn't it?" He smiled at her.

She gave him a glance to make a quick assessment. She was looking at a sharp, handsome man. Dark haired and tanned, he reminded her of Gregory Peck. And like Peck, he was at least decade older than her. So she had to choose between him and Scout.

"Oh, yes, of course. I was starting to think you won't turn up."

Not a tough choice.

"I bet you don't even know her, jerk! Leave Miss Pauling alone!"

"Oh, and you being soo close to her, know only her second name?"

"Then what is her name, faggot, eh?"

"If she didn't think you need to know, how could I tell you?" Smirked the stranger. "Let's go, Camille." He whispered into her ear.

She flinched, and walked hand in hand with him. She turned over her shoulder and mumbled a good bye to the boy.

He led her through the crowd to one of the reserved tables. So he WAS actually coming with someone. The man looked over his shoulder to see her frown. "Don't worry, it seems my bloke won't turn up after all. I just don't want to sit alone at an empty table for everyone to stare at, simple as that." He moved back one of the chairs for her.

"How do you know my name? I am fairly sure we didn't meet." She said eyeing him carefully. She did remember seeing him somewhere, something didn't feel right. Did she know his voice or was it his face? Or maybe it was the general air of confidence and optimism surrounding the man that reminded her of someone?

"You were at one of my sister's, I mean Annie's big fancy parties. I really have amazing memory when it comes o faces and names, Camille. I'm sorry I approached you like that, but I was happy to see somebody familiar in this middle of nowhere."

It all made sense. Annie did have an older brother and she organized parties, but what was his name again? Desmond? Stephen? Jonathan? Elvin?

"How come are you here? You work for one of the firearms companies?" She asked, hoping that it will come up during conversation.

"Oh, no. I just moved here. You see, I am dabbling with predatory dental surgery. " He gleamed with pride.

It definitely wasn't Elvin.

"You mean you take care of the predator's teeth?"

"Only the most lethal ones. I used to work with big cats and gorillas mostly but I wanted to branch out a little and see what could be done with reptiles. So I heard that here, in Teufort, you dealt with alligators' infestation by filling Saxon Hale's swimming pools with them."

"Yes. Mr. Hale was very fond of the idea."

"Yea, he liked it so much he actually wanted to keep all of the little pests in his house. Unfortunately, the longer little bugger stayed under his roof, the less deadly they became. Namely, they had their skulls crashed and teeth bashed out. So, I thought: there's a man who needs my skills and has money to burn, so I contacted him and jackpot: I am hired by Mr Hale as his predatory dental surgeon. I also take care of his teeth, as there isn't much difference anyway."

"How on earth did you make him let you heal his teeth?"

It began with H, she was sure. Hugh?

"Well, when I said that no grown man should be afraid of the dentist, it pretty much went downhill from that." He chuckled.

Henry, it must be Henry.

"And tell me, how was it to put your hands in the mouth of the most dangerous man on this planet?" She asked with a gleam in her eye.

"Very heartwarming. He screamed like a little girl."

The couple at the next table looked disapprovingly at their loud neighbors. What were they laughing at for the past five minutes?

As the laughter went down, she rubbed against corner of her eyelids. It seemed that this particular evening won't go to waste after all.

"And what do you do for a living , Camille? I suppose you landed yourself somewhere good."

Her smile died on her lips." I work for the TF Industries. I am something of a personal assistant , but it is usually more than that." She sighted.

"And let me guess, your boss is some old geezer that makes passes at you." He smirked.

"My boss is a heinous, callous bitch that doesn't believe anyone apart from her is entitled to have their own opinion." She scoffed.

"Well then she surely is, as I never heard you swearing like that. But enough about work, let's talk about guns."

If only she could check if his name was Henry.

"Mister Henry Dawlight? There is a phone call for you."

Bull's-eye.

He smiled to her apologetically. "I'll be right back. Get you a drink on the way."

As he left, she couldn't help beaming. Maybe she wasn't doomed to spend her rest of her life handling those eighteen killers. Maybe there was actually someone else.

Author's note:

Okay, this is my first piece of fiction ever, so be gentle as drunken grizzlies on acid holding circular- blade saws, riding on sharks powered by piranhas with dark salmon's injustice hats (of coarse). Trying hard as I might, I'm sure there must be something wrong with spelling, or that it is perfectly predictable, or punctuations marks or something else that literature invented to kick people, who want to write something, in the butt. Also, if somebody likes canon (as much as we can talk about canon in here, I mean half of the things are actually made up by fandom and then incorporated into game), then follow it. There will be plenty.