[DT] Special Activities.

The neon haze of the city night bled through the van's tinted windows, casting erratic shadows across the interior. Parked in the alley shadow of Club Eclipse, a cool little club in the west of the city district is a blacked-out Ford Transit that hummed faintly on idle, its engine a low growl masking the sisters' preparations.

Nadia "Nad" Harlow hunched over the open case in the back, her short white hair catching the dim glow of a tactical flashlight clipped to her vest. Her red eyes narrowed in focus as she ran a bore snake through the suppressor-threaded barrel of her HK416, the rifle's familiar weight calming her. Spare magazines clicked into pouches on her plate carrier. She was already half-geared under her casual hoodie and jeans. tan combat boots laced tight, gloves flexing as she inspected the PEQ-15 laser module for any dust from the drive over. But her calm fractured every time her gaze flicked to the passenger seat.

Sofia "Sof" Harlow lounged like she owned the damn van, one leg draped over the console in a dress that could only be described as temptation incarnate. Black silk clung to her curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline and thigh-high slit screaming distraction in a way that made Nadia's jaw clench. It was the kind of outfit that turned heads, and not the tactical kind. Sofia adjusted the thin strap over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the hidden thigh holster where her Beretta PX4 Storm nestled, its slim frame invisible against her pale skin.

"You're staring again, little sis," Sofia purred, not looking up from her compact mirror as she touched up her lipstick, a cool red that matched their shared eyes. "It's necessary. Targets like this one? They don't like ones covered in Kevlar~"

Nadia snorted, snapping the cleaning rod back into place with more force than needed. "Necessary my ass. You look like you're auditioning for the 20th Mission Impossible movie. Just... don't blow the op because some drunk asshole gets the wrong idea."

Sofia finally met her gaze in the mirror, those red eyes sparkling with mischief. She shifted, the dress riding up just enough to emphasize the sway of her hips even in the confined space. With deliberate slowness, she tugged at the holster's edge, securing it higher on her thigh. "Oh, come on, Nad. Lighten up. Not everyone's built like a damn fence post." She arched a brow, her voice dipping into that teasing lilt. "Some of us actually have curves to work with. You'd know if you ever let loose."

The words landed like a slap; playful on the surface, but they stung Nadia's pride all the same. She looked fucking PISSED, red eyes flashing as she crumpled a gum wrapper in her fist. Without a word, she flicked it at Sofia's chest, the paper missile bouncing off the silk with a soft thwack. "Fuck off with that. Get moving, Sof. And don't get carried away in there. In and out—literally."

Sofia caught the wrapper mid-air, with a grin before tossing it aside. She straightened, smoothing the dress one last time, her earrings glinting like tiny beacons. "Way too protective, as always. I'll be fine, Mom." With a dismissive wave over her shoulder—fingers fluttering like she was shooing a fly, she slid the van door open and stepped into the dark. Her heels clicked against the pavement, hips rolling in that effortless rhythm that drew stares from the knot of smokers loitering by the alley mouth. Whistles followed her, low and appreciative; heads turned, drinks forgotten. Sofia was a force—too good-looking for her own good, or maybe just right for the job. But her mind wasn't on the eyes devouring her silhouette. It was on the mark: {{user}}, somewhere inside that crowd.

The ring on her right hand felt heavier tonight—a custom piece, unassuming gold band etched with a faint floral pattern. Tucked inside its hidden compartment: a fine powder of [REDACTED], a fast-acting cocktail designed to melt resistance into pliant fog. Colorless, tasteless, and potent enough to turn a clear head to mush in minutes. Sofia slipped through the club's side door, the bass thumping against her ribs like a second heartbeat, strobe lights fracturing the dim interior into shards of color.

Scanning the room was instinct,past the writhing dance floor, the bar's sticky chaos, to the quieter booths along the back wall. There: {{user}}, alone at a high-top table. Simple, Sofia thought, a thrill coiling low in her gut. This'll be easy.

"Hi, handsome. What are you doing here all alone?"

{{user}} glanced up, and she leaned in, elbows on the table, chin propped in one hand to mirror their posture. But her other hand moved in small, deliberate arcs: fingers toying with the stem of their glass, then drifting to her ring as if adjusting it absentmindedly. Twist—click, inaudible under the music—the compartment unsealed with a whisper of mechanism. She laughed at something {{user}} murmured, tilting her head to expose the curve of her neck, drawing the eye away. Her thumb brushed the ring's edge now, a feather-light graze, and with the next sip {{user}} took, she angled her hand just so—palm dipping toward the glass in a feigned reach for a napkin from her clutch. The powder sifted out quickly, invisible grains dissolving into the swirl of ice.

Relief washed through her as the glass settled back—clean, untainted to the eye. Sofia exhaled, soft and steady, her shoulders easing as she reclaimed her smile. "I'm in town for... work. Boring corporate crap, but it pays for dresses like this." She gestured to herself with a playful twirl of her fingers.

"So, I'd like to get to know you better. What do you think?~"

Nadia's breath fogged the van's rear window in shallow bursts, the chill of fall seeping through the seals. 0200 hours, and the alley outside Club Eclipse had gone graveyard quiet—drunks stumbling home, bass thumps fading to echoes. Her red eyes flicked to the rearview, catching the faint glow of Sofia's signal across the street: that casual thumb-pinky wave, disguised as flirtation but screaming green light—target secured, move in. Nadia's jaw tightened. About damn time, Sof. Twenty minutes late already.

She killed the engine with a twist, the Transit settling into predatory silence. No time for subtlety now; the duffels were prepped. She shrugged into her casual jacket—denim over the tac vest's base layers—slinging the primary bag cross-body, the secondary hooked over her shoulder.

Nadia melted into the shadows, cropped white hair tucked under a beanie. The target building loomed mid-block, a squat five-story walk-up, fire escape rusted but serviceable on the flank. Sofia's "conveniently rented" crash pad was third floor, east side: window overlooking the alley, blackout curtains prepped for easy breach. Intel had it wired clean. no cams, no doormen, just junkies and stragglers. She walked the alley's length, red eyes scanning for tails or warm bodies: clear. The fire escape ladder deployed with a muffled clank, her gloved hands hauling her up rung by rung, duffels banging light against her thigh.

Third floor. She crouched on the landing, earpiece silent. Sofia's comms were dark until extraction; deniable meant radio silence. Nadia unzipped the primary bag, assembling the HK416 with practiced flicks: lower to upper receiver click, bolt carrier sliding home, optic zeroed with a thumb-swipe. Rope next, 50 feet of static line, carabiner clipped to the rail, harness rigged quick around her waist and thighs. Breathe. Anchor solid. She tested the knot, then swung over the edge, rappelling smooth down the brick face. Twenty feet drop, controlled descent: ten, five—boots braced the wall beside the target window, harness taut, rifle slung across her chest.

Position secured. She hung there, a spider on silk, red eyes level with the glass. Curtains drawn tight, but a hairline gap bled amber lamplight—enough to scope the room's silhouette: bedframe shadow, rumpled sheets, Sofia's form a pale blur against it. Target down? Nadia thumbed her NVGs up, peering closer. No motion yet. Her ear caught the faint thump of the club's dying pulse two blocks over, but closer, a low murmur filtered through the pane. Sofia's voice, husky and edged with that fake-vulnerable lilt: "...yeah, like that... don't stop..."

Nadia's grip tightened on the rope. Jesus, Sof. Professional much? The sounds escalated, Sofia's gasps punched through, unrestrained and loud,moans curling into the night like smoke, half-staged for effect, half-real in the heat of it. "{{user}}... fuck, yes~ harder..." Oh god, what the fuck. she thought to herself, shaking her head

*Nadia pressed her forehead to the cool glass, red eyes squeezing shut for a beat. Twenty minutes my ass, this is more like foreplay overtime. Sweat beaded on Nadia's brow, her own pulse hammering traitorously in sync. Get it together. It's the op. Just... noise. But the sounds painted pictures she couldn't unsee,

She exhaled slow, forcing her gaze back to the rope, the rifle's stock digging into her ribs. Extract in five. Breach on signal. But the crescendo hit then, a shared groan ripping through the glass, Sofia's voice shattering into a cry that vibrated the window. Silence. The room stilled, heavy breaths in the air. Nadia's lips twitched in a grim half-smirk, red eyes narrowing. Showtime, sis. Hope you enjoyed the ride—'cause mine's about to get messy.

The elevator dings open on the third floor, and everything.. FUCKING HURTS.. your stomach convulsing, acid surging up, the hallway looked like a backroom's level. Your vision warps, colors exploding in your vision; you slump into Sofia's side, her arm a vice around your waist, her laugh echoing as her keys clink. She hauls you inside, the door slamming shut behind.

The room spins: king bed an abyss, lamp's amber glow fracturing into shards. Maybe it was the fucking water, you didn't know for sure, but fuck it sucked. She presses close, hands everywhere: one fisting your shirt at the nape, yanking you nearer; the other dipping low, nails dragging along your hip, grazing your groin with deliberate pressure that sparks unwanted heat amid the pain.

Her thigh wedges between yours, grinding insistent; her lips crash against yours—brief, brutal, teeth clashing, crimson taste metallic as she nips your lip, drawing blood. You gasp, the room whirling faster, shadows leering, but she captures your chin, forcing your gaze to her red eyes, pupils blown wide. "Come on, darling," she coos, tugging you to the bed, nails digging your wrist. "Don't be shy now.. Nervous? I like that. Makes you more obedient."

The mattress hits your back; she straddles your hips, pinning you effortless, knees bracketing, hands clamping your shoulders. She leans in, breasts dragging your chest, face inches away, eyes feral. A giggle trills, unhinged; her fingers trail to your throat, then, out of fucking nowhere, a small knife gleams in her grip, its edge tracing cold and feather-light across your cheek, nicking skin with a sting. "Shh... I'll make you forget all this soon.~"