Rule number one; Do what you love and love what you do.

"Fuck!"

The bullet hisses as it flies past my face, the object skimming my cheekbone, my eyes widen and a chorus of mumbled swears leave my lips, but I push the near-miss to the side. Breathing in harshly from exertion, sweat beading along my hairline.

I shoot a glance over my shoulder, fingers flexing around my weapon as another shot goes off, bullet aimed for me. Hissing, I throw myself to the floor, knees groaning in pained objection as I land behind the stone pillar, the object blocking me from sight. I quickly fix myself into a crouch.

My chest moves with every breath, heart pounding in my ears as silence reigns supreme.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

My eyes squeeze tightly, the cut above my brow stings at the movement, blood blooming.

Wincing, my eyes snap open, glaring at my glossy reflection in the tiled wall across from me. The blood smear stark against the cream tiles, the only sign of grime on the polished hue.

The scuffle of feet ensues, and I take the moment to glance around the side of the stone, dark eyes analysing, searching.

The cold handle of my daggers warm under my grip, my fingers flexing around the twin weapons. I breath out roughly, feeling the blood from the cut slip down my cheekbone. I wipe it away with the back of my hand as my eyes flicker to the right, narrowing.

A bullet fires past my hiding spot, indenting itself in the tiled wall behind me. I flatten myself against the pillar as the wall behind my explodes with more bullets, fragments of the ceramic scatter to the wind, shards dropping to the ground in dagger like points, the tinkling sound grating on my senses.

Deep breath in.

My head falls back into the pillar behind me for all of a second, the harsh ridges of the carving digging into my shoulder blades like claws as I slowly breathe out. I rest a hand below me, fingers flexing on the floor as I slowly twist in my crouch.

I push myself from the floor, running through the museum.

My body weaves between the circular pillars and marble statues, a parade of bullets trailing me. I dance between the obstacles, skidding to a stop behind a large sculpture, hand skimming the rough marble, leaving blood behind.

I glance down at the blood coating my hands and the scattering of wounds on my knuckles before glancing up at the glass panel I was shoved through, cringing at the knowledge I'll have to pick the glass from the wounds when I'm done.

Note to self, just because a glass panel looks thick, that does not mean it is and you will not bounce off it when shoved.

Tendrils of white-blonde hair escape from my ponytail, landing delicately against my cheeks. I push a piece behind my ear as I glance around the side of the statue.

Eyes watch me back, their painted irises unmoving as my own skim past their framed homes.

Shocked.

Scared.

Sensual.

The artists of the paintings flit through my mind as I look at them, my appreciation for the craft growing. If it were any other day, I would stop and admire them further.

Perhaps a tour after I've washed the blood off.

I dismiss the thought just as something flashes in my peripheral.

Pivoting on my heel, daggers in both hands clutched tightly, I push myself into the embrace of the statue I hide under, peaking around the skilfully crafted edges.

No other movement is made, but I don't relax. Calming my breathing to listen to the sounds around me.

Glancing up, I catch the soulless eyes of Venus De Milo. The armless sculpture unknowingly helping me in my mission.

Women supporting women.

My dark eyes scan the marble before peeking around the other side of her at the mess of blood, glass, and art. A sigh huffs through my nose, the museum director is going to hate me.

Moving to the other side of the statue, I peek around that side, but whoever was there doesn't show.

The plan was relatively easy. Find and apprehend the two most wanted criminals, the Sable twins – best known for their work in heist jobs, connection to the mafia and other well known crime families. The buying and selling of goods was their main source of income - whether that be humans or objects.

So far, nothing remotely exciting has happened - it makes me regret choosing them.

I turn from behind the sculpture, moving silently to another section – the new atmosphere darker. Not just the lights but the paintings as well.

A man stalks through the art, his shoulders stretching the suit jacket across broad solid shoulders. His stocky figure causing grotesque shadows to stretch along the floor.

I watch him as I silently walk closer, my twin daggers warm in my hand. I look down at the two shiny silver weapons and weigh them in each palm, my eyes flicking between the two.

One for each twin, I'm sure you could find something poetic in that.

The building is silent enough that you can hear the rustle of a bird's feathers. So silent that the slight squeak of my boot against the floor is like a gunshot.

The man brings his weapon up, the silver glinting in the moonlight. I give him no time to fire before my foot connects with his wrist, the weapon clattering over my head.

The man doesn't hesitate before he is charging towards me, no weapon needed when he's made up of brute strength. His arms wrap around my waist, pushing me backwards, one of my daggers falling to the floor.

I bring my elbow up, smashing it into his jaw before twisting free. I lift my leg, shoving the heel of my foot into his chest as he teeters backwards, his own weight his downfall.

I straighten and fling the dagger in my hand.

It whispers through the air, imbedding itself in the man's wrist. The sharpest point shining with his blood as it pierces clean through.

He roars, eyes lethal as he rushes for me. I turn my head, seeing the glint from the corner of my eye before I dive to the side, skidding on my hip as I reach for the guy's gun. Swinging his way and pulling the trigger three times.

One buries itself in his head. The second his chest.

The third spins into the open mouth of a screaming painting.

"Shit." I whisper, pushing myself up. Not looking at the damage caused to a no-doubt priceless piece of art.

I reach the man's body quickly, crouching and pulling my weapon from his wrist.

His ruby red blood flows out of the bullet hole in his skull. The liquid forming a halo around his head.

It's almost artistic, how fitting.

My lips quirk as I turn from the artwork and clean my weapon off on my thigh before reharnessing the dagger. . Looking around for its twin, I groan quietly when I don't see it straight away.

I look at the dead guy, grimacing slightly before pulling his body up to meet mine.

There the shiny weapon lays, on the floor in a pool of gathering blood.

I grab the weapon, letting the man fall back into spot and use his suit jacket to clean the blade as best I can before slipping both into the harness at my thigh.

I reach back, grabbing my phone and take a photo of the man. Looking at it, I tilt my head and hum.

"You looked better in your mug shot." I pat his solid chest and get up, slipping my phone back in my pocket.

A whine shatters the silence. My eyes snap to the door closing. I look at the sign above the door, nose scrunching at the male figure engraved on gold plated metal.

Really? The toilet?

I tighten my grip on the unfamiliar gun, finger hovering over the trigger as I watch for movement.

When none comes, I blow out an exasperated breath.

Going to make me do all the work.

I move my eyes towards the door, my feet floating silently along the polished floor. Moonlight shines through the high crystal windows, my hair glowing in the dimness. A beautiful wraith in a century old museum.

My steps are silent, a deadly aura rolling off me as I plant my back against the wall. Flexing my fingers on the gun in my grip.

A watch the seam between the door and the floor, noticing a slight shadow moving on the tile. At least I know for certain there is someone on the other side.

I use the gun to make the swinging door open and step inside, dark eyes glittering.

A scratch sounds above me and I dive for the floor as a body leaps to the ground.

The lithe woman rolls and stops in front of me, her green eyes wild. Black hair short and hitting her shoulders in one straight slice.

I raise the gun, a bullet releasing from the chamber, but she moves, nimble on her feet. A hole appearing in the hollow wooden door.

I roll, pushing myself up and twisting in time to catch the porcelain lid she slams towards me.

Her foot connects with my stomach, my back slamming into the wall by the sink. The gun drops from my hand, clanging against the bathroom tiles. Plaster rains down on me, blocking my vision for the seconds it takes me to clear it.

I chuckle, "Hello, Audrey."

Audrey Sable.

The woman holds the lid above me, bringing it towards my head.

International heist and jewellery thief.

I grip the toilet lid, twisting my body to the side and using the momentum to rip it from her hold.

Third from the top of The Divisions most wanted list.

She staggers, blood dripping from her lips as she spits at me. "So, The Division finally caught up."

Dangerous, proceed with caution.

I slam it back into her unprotected stomach, a groan emitting from her small mouth. "I don't work for The Division."

To be apprehended,

I smirk down at her as she glares up and lift the lid, smashing it into her back at the same time my knee connects with her face.

Dead or Alive.

Her head twists to the side, a crack echoing in the space.

She drops to the floor, her head at a weird angle. I drop the lid on top of her and dust off my arms, breathing slightly heavier.

Dust marks my black bodysuit, the long sleeves ripped up to my elbows.

"This was fucking expensive." I growl at the woman, still on the ground.

I groan at the small cut below my elbow, rolling my eyes at the scar to add to the others.

I turn to the mirror, just noticing the crack branching across it like lightning.

I fix my hair, pulling my ponytail tighter before reaching back for my phone.

I take a photo of the girl, saving it.

Stepping over the dead woman's body, I push the bathroom door open.

I look both ways as I step out, whistling under my breath as I find the lobby to the Museum once more.

Bags and tools sit at the feet of a priceless painting, the canvas lifting at the edge.

I walk over, my finger stroking the frame of the painting and grimace at the knowledge of the art being stolen - almost.

Turns out I came across the twins in the middle of a heist.

I turn from the painting, ignoring the rest of the damage to the museum, the splatters of blood and chunks of sculpture before walking for the front desk. I walk behind it, bending to see my reflection in the monitor before reaching into my back pocket and slipping the tube of lipstick free.

I swipe a coat of red over my lips before turning and looking straight at the camera pointed my way, letting my lips lift in a smirk before I blow a kiss at the audience.

Turning, my hair whips around me before I walk for the entrance.

I push the doors open, skipping down the rest of the stairs to my bike before hopping on it.

My leather-clad thighs tighten on the seat as it purrs to life in the quiet night. The helmet fits snugly under one of my arms while the other categorises my weapons, making sure I didn't lose my blades. The feel of them at my hips a comforting weight. A living, breathing armoury.

I flick my hair off my shoulder, placing the helmet on my head before starting the bike and racing off, feeling the cool night air pierce through the tears in my clothing as I enter the city I haven't lived in for over a year. 

• Question Of The Chapter •

Who is your favourite celebrity and why?