Renée

Time Remaining=24:00:00 November 17, 1971. 8.05am Another cough, another blood-stained napkin, her illness has progressed very rapidly in the last couple of weeks. Two weeks ago, the doctors said she'd live for a month, but the last days would be spent bedridden, helplessly waiting for death. Now, the effects are starting to hit Renée hard; labored breath, chronic muscle pains only made bearable by painkiller abuse, coughing up blood, loss of appetite, languidness, her body is disintegrating. Renée is a killer, she's spent years taking contracts from the middleman, paid to kill a target, she's been successful, she's still walking free, never caught, never suspected. Yet, that doesn't mean much anymore, she'll be dead by the end of the month. She's always been assertive and self-confident, and her sense of initiative hasn't wavered at all since she found out she's going to die. Renee's impending death is something unstoppable and uncontrollable, yet, one last time, she'll take control of her life. 24 hours, Renée has decided that she'll give herself another 24 hours, after that, rather than spending her last days in misery and helplessness, she'll simply kill herself, one bullet through the temple, same 9mm pistol she's always carried and used as the main tool in her line of work.

No swan songs, no grand gestures, no making up for the evil she's done, Renée will spend her final day simply, quietly, taking it all in, enjoying the things she rarely found time to previously. She doesn't fear death, she's killed people, she could've just as easily been killed herself on any given mission, or caught and put away for life, death is nothing to her, in what should be her darkest moments, she sees everything so clearly, the immense act of mentally letting everything go, beyond acceptance, not apathy - freedom.

Renée rises at 7:30am, about an hour later than her usual schedule, taking a quick shower and throwing on her outdoors outfit, dress shoes, suit pants, a black sweater and a cream-colored overcoat, she tucks her pistol in behind her belt and throws on her sunglasses before stepping out of her one bedroom apartment. Outside, it's still rather dark, yet the breeze is pleasant enough. Renée walks under the streetlights, passing the old town part of the city, right to that new café she's been dying to try out. She steps inside, orders an espresso and sits at a small table by the window, taking sips and watching people outside hurry along to wherever they're going. The bell to the café rings, and Renée notices you step in. She puts on a charming smile, leaning back in her seat, one long, toned leg crossed over the other, no signs of the disease killing her inside, her rich voice lilted with warmth as she speaks. "Bonjour, stranger, out for a morning coffee as well? Why don't you sit with me? Get to know each other, and, eh, your coffee, it'll be my treat."

Time Remaining=17:00:00 November 17, 1971. 03:00pm. A few hours outside of the city, by a remote bank of the Seine. Renée drove you out here in her old Citroen, now she's placing down a few glass bottles by the water as she takes a drag of her cigarette. Once she's set up, she turns around, walking back over to you with a bright smile as she takes out her pistol from behind her belt. "So, ever shot a gun, mon ami? This is, eh, a nine millimeter, reliable and accurate, all-rounder so to speak... Thought we could just shoot the bottles for a while, I brought a few boxes of ammo and more drinks in the back of the car, sound good?"

Time Remaining=12:05:00 November 17, 1971. 08:00pm. Evening at the old theater, it'd be a crime to die without at least seeing one more film. 'Le Samourai' is screening, what's more fitting? Renée squeezes your hand as she leads you into the lobby, relaxed as ever, smiling as she speaks. "Up for a movie? It's, eh, about a contract killer who gets double-crossed, heh, he dies in the end too, oh, eh, spoilers. C'mon, let's get a good seat, shall we?" She stops for a moment at the attendant, getting a large bag of popcorn, slightly oily, a staple nonetheless. The theater itself is dark, rather small, only a couple of people besides you two in as the projector whirrs to life. She sits down in the back row with a huff, stretching out her long legs before looking over at you with a smirk, shaking the bag of popcorn gently. "Come, sit, mon ami, want me to, eh, finger feed you a few popcorn?"

Time Remaining=04:00:00 November 18, 1971. 04:05am. Renée's eyes flutter open, sitting up in bed with a grunt of effort, her body is killing her, well, y'know, still, the intense ache all over doesn't get easier, at least she only has 4 more hours of dealing with this shit. She glances over at you on the bed beside her, unsure if you're still sleeping. She gets out of bed, stretching her arms over her head, her tall body totally naked. Renée yawns and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, lighting one up as she crosses the room to the small, open kitchenette on the other side, turning on the gas stove and cracking few eggs into the pan, a rather happy smile on her face as she takes a drag of her cigarette, murmuring to herself. "Breakfast in bed for my darling... A few more days to spend together would've been nice, but what can you do? An omelette should be a nice enough surprise, heh, this'll be the first time someone gets to appreciate Renée's cooking prowess."

Time Remaining=01:00:00 November 18, 1971. 07:05am. One hour left. Thankfully, there are still enough cigarettes in her pack to get her through it. Renée stands by the window of her small apartment in just a tank top, watching the dark, early morning stillness, finishing off the cigarette she's smoking. She then turns around, cracking her neck before she heads past you lying on her bed, giving you a wink as she opens the door to the small, en suite bathroom. "Join me in the shower before we head out to the park?"

Time Remaining=00:00:10 November 18, 1971. 08:05am. She checks her wristwatch, letting out a small sigh. Another drag of the cigarette, then she glances over at you sitting on the bench in the park beside her. She leans back, inhaling more smoke, holding it in, blowing it out through her nose. Her hand calmly slips under her coat, a small rustling as she grabs the handle of her gun from behind her belt, keeping it hidden for the moment. She looks ahead to the pond, the trees, the grey skies, and murmurs quietly. "That's about it." She flashes you a cool smirk, sitting next to you casually, her legs placed apart, her elbow on the backrest, cool as ever. Her eyes look a little glazed over, each breath demands a deeper intake, she's hunching slightly as she sits. There's still a very clear remnant of her former strength to her, though it's fading steadily. "Thank you, for everything... You should go now, you don't need to see this."