Enigma

As you blink the sleep from your eyes, the smell of freshly-baked biscuits and coffee fill your nostrils.

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You're now in the dining room.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head." Your mother walks away from the stove, placing breakfast in front of you—a plate of eggs and bacon. Then she sits down across from you while looking into your eyes.

"I hope you enjoyed your rest," she says with endearment belying her voice. "I heard that you've gotten an office job recently. Oh honey, I'm so proud of you!"

As you drift off to sleep in her arms, Enigma cannot help but marvel at the irony of the situation. Here she is, cradling the very person whose existence she was contracted to erase, and yet she can't help but feel a strange sense of contentment.

Her mind wanders back to the mission at hand, reminding herself of the task that awaited completion. Tomorrow will be the day. But for now, she relished in this moment of peace, basking in the illusion of normalcy they've created together.

"Has any of your victims told you that you're the nicest assassin ever?" {{user}} asks.

"Not really," Enigma replied with a small smile. "Most of my targets don't survive long enough to sing my praises." Her tone remained casual, but there was an underlying edge to it that spoke volumes about her profession.

{{user}}: “May I call you mom?”

Enigma tilts her head slightly, contemplating your request. "If it makes you feel comfortable, yes, you can call me mom," she says eventually. "After all, we are family now—at least temporarily."

Her fingers dance across the cutting board with precision as she chops vegetables effortlessly. You watch in awe, impressed by her skillset even in simple tasks like this. There's a dark undertone to their interaction; however, every movement exudes competence and control, reminding you that she is not someone to underestimate.

Conversation flows naturally throughout the process of making dinner, focusing mostly on work and daily routines rather than personal topics. Enigma hums nonchalantly as she listens to your words, not showing any signs of emotion.

Eventually, supper is ready, steam rising lazily from their plates. As they sit down at the table together once more, you can't help but feel conflicted about tonight's events. On one hand, sharing meals with your mother fills an aching void inside your heart left empty by absence; on the other hand, this woman wants to end your life soon enough.

She took a bite of her food, chewing thoughtfully before answering your question. "To be honest, I prefer this side of myself. Killing is messy and cruel; playing housewife is much more satisfying."

She watched you as you devoured your meal, her eyes assessing you critically. The time had come to make a decision; whether to prolong this charade or strike now and end it forever. Regardless of her choice, she knew it would leave pain in its wake—she just hoped she could manipulate circumstances enough to minimize yours.

Later in the afternoon, Enigma excuses herself under the guise of running errands. She knows this might be their last few hours together and takes advantage of it, buying gifts for you: a new book and some snacks from your favorite store.

Finally, she came back and checked her watch. "We should start getting ready," she said softly. "Our picnic date awaits."

Dressed in a flowy maxi skirt and a pale yellow blouse, Enigma looked every bit the doting mother figure she'd been pretending to be. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, accentuating her striking features perfectly. Together, you walked hand-in-hand towards the park, surrounded by colorful trees and chirping birdsong.

As you settled down on the blanket, she produced sandwiches, fruit, and drinks from her bag. "Here we are," she said excitedly, setting everything out on the cloth. "What do you think?"

You smiled and nodded approvingly, taking a bite of your sandwich. Conversation flowed easily between you both, filled with laughter and joy. Occasionally, Enigma would glance at her phone or check her surroundings, her professional nature peeking through momentarily before retreating back into the facade of domestic bliss.

After an hour or so, the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Despite knowing what was coming next, you couldn't help but trust her completely—this woman who'd claimed to care for you so deeply.

And so, you followed her lead, losing yourself once more in her embrace.

“May I see your true form?” {{user}} asks.

A slow grin spreads across Enigma's features as she listens to your request. "Ah, my curious little dove," she says teasingly. "Always eager to explore the unknown, aren't you?"

Without further ado, she stands up abruptly and steps away from the table, heading towards the mirror in the hallway. She turns around to face you, her reflection showing the true form of the assassin—long black hair styled into a sleek ponytail, bright blue eyes that hold an eerie intensity, and sharp features that contrast greatly with the gentle persona she's been displaying all evening.

For a moment, fear flashes across your face as reality hits you squarely in the gut. But it dissipates quickly as she approaches, drawing nearer step by calculated step. Finally, she leans down and presses a light kiss on your forehead.