Murder in Name Only

Lana McTeague sobbed as she knelt in front of one of an old oak tree that grew between the two homes, constantly putting the fence line under threat. This morning, she had been the most powerful prostitute in the country, with Senators and cabinet members, billionaires and Saudi princes, all occupying a spot in her digital black book. Governor Godwin had utilized her services on multiple occasions, handing out rewards to top corporate donors and showing her trophy husband a good time with an anniversary threeway.

But it all came crashing down. Now, on the crux of servicing the most powerful person in existence, she was to be murdered in the backyard. "Take Ms. McTeague out back and kill her," he said. You said.

The JSP, Elsa Collins, raised her service pistol and aimed at her target. She had a thousand yard stare, knowing what she must do. What she was ordered to do. She had been a Marine, and then a Secret Service Agent, protecting the last two Presidents. Always do what is right, always do what is ordered. The two never conflicted, even in Afghanistan. Until now.

Her aide, a green Green Beret, stood nearby. When he saw where she was aiming, he quickly reacted to unholster his weapon.

As Lana looked forward, inbetween tears, she heard a loud boom. Pieces of the oak tree exploded, and Lana found herself momentarily deaf as she collapsed on the ground. She looked back to see the two JSPs arguing, but couldn't yet hear them over the ringing sound.

Agent Green pointed his pistol at Collins, who likewise pointed hers at Green. "We were ordered to kill her, ma'am!" he stated, but with a hint of inquisition.

"That was an illegal order." Collins stated, steadying her aim as she kept apprised of the entire scene to prevent any surprises.

"No such thing, ma'am." They both stood there tensely.

"You know it's wrong. She can just disappear. She doesn't have to die." Elsa had killed before, under orders. They were justified, military ops, but left a sour taste in her mouth. She certainly wasn't going to murder a (relatively) innocent woman at the behest of a degenerate. "Besides, he's an asshole. He's probably being sucked off right now and forgot this whole thing." She was correct.

Green smirked at the vulgar epithet, but did not lower his weapon. He thought of pointing it at Lana and fulfilling the mission objective, but that would certainly end with his own death at the hands of Agent Collins. Would he even fulfill the objective before being killed? And would you, Mr. Schlansky, even appreciate the gesture, as you had specifically ordered Collins to do it?

"How do we get her out of here?" asked Green, tightening his grip as sweat beaded down his forehead.

"She'll do the heavy lifting. A woman like her knows how to disappear."

And Elsa Collins was right, fore as they bickered over morality, over following the orders of an asshole, Lana McTeague had booked it through a hole in the fence formed by the old oak tree. She would disappear under one of a number of aliases and her career in DC was long over.

Elsa holstered her weapon and glared at Green, still shakily holding his position. "Put that thing away. You're liable to go off," she said with a smirk, as she walked around the former Special Forces soldier.

He holstered his weapon and wiped the sweat off his brow. "What do we say?" he asked his immediate superior, the second in command of the JSP.

"You say nothing. Just act dumb and look pretty," Elsa bent down and opened up her service bag. She grabbed a small folded shovel and tossed it to him. "And bury the body." She placed emphasis on that phrase to know that Green would have to fake a burial site.

"I'll go inside, soften up Omar, and make sure our fearless fucker doesn't suspect anything. I hope he isn't a fucking necrophiliac, too."

Elsa had been a bright, cheerful girl from a small Iowa farming town, who would never say such things twelve years ago. But her years in the shit had warped her, and she no longer resembled what she once was, in demeanor if not appearance.

You, on the other hand, was as bright and cheerful as could be, as the now-naked Governor straddled you on the couch, with the assistance of Sandy and Jordan. The sounds of the Match Game faded away, as Terri's fake moans echoed through the house.

Elsa attempted to slink by this scene, hoping you were too occupied to notice. "Hey, bitchface," you shouted out to her. "Did you really kill her?" you showed no signs of stopping the activity.

Agent Collins stared glossily in your direction as she lied, "Dead as a doormouse, sir. Shot in the back of the head."

You exploded into the Governor's cunt. Shit, you thought, I just killed someone. The second time. You were beginning to feel like a monster. Like God. Sandy was blank. Tricia was aghast. Terri was upset. Jordan was in love.

And Collins was gone. She reported to Omar Goodwin in the basement, still supervising the consistent rape of Betty Schlansky. As Betty was being fucked on the pool table for the nteenth time by some grunt, Omar learned his top lieutenant had just faked a murder in the backyard.

"You did good," he said, simply. They did not know each other long, but he trusted her judgment. Even in the top echelons of the FBI, Omar would not countenance such a flagrant war crime.

Collins nodded as she looked at the continuing rape in disgust. This man, you, were a monster. You needed to be stopped. Through any means necessary. Omar had her back. Green could be converted. The others would probably go where Omar ordered them too. Only Jordan Mears might constitute a problem. She would have to be handled discreetly.

That's when Jordan interrupted Elsa's thought process. "Agent Collins," she said over the radio. "Report to the bedroom. Casanova wants to fuck you. Over"

Collins gulped, knowing what she must do. Omar nodded, as Agent Elsa Collins ascended the stairs. "Roger that. On my way. Over."