She wore a greenish-blue gown made of soft, satiny fabric, long and loose. A semicircular, high collar made of silk-like materials headed the ankle-length robe. She walked as lightly as an acrobat. A puff of wind swept through her blonde hair, forcing a few thin strands out of her tight bun.

Silvia pushed down on the light fabric of her dress and waited for the breeze to stop thrashing against her skin before she let go. Dresses... She could never quite describe her hatred for them, on windy days in particular. It felt necessary tonight though. She was heading to 'Ace o' Clubs', a fairly popular bar in Suicide Slum. One of her contracts, Arnold Wesker (The Ventriloquist), was performing there.

After so many days of avoiding both the police and criminals, Silvia was relieved to finally be getting back into action. There were too many prisoners on the loose for her liking.

The bar was filled with multiple conversations told at once when she entered, all of them competing with the loud rock music that dominated the atmosphere. The strong smell of alcohol filled her senses, followed closely by blood from one of the many bar fights.

On the stage to her left was exactly the person she was looking for. He was an older man with grey hair spiking out of either side of his head, but a large bald spot cutting through the middle. Secured on the bridge of his nose was a pair of circular glasses that obscured his eyes from any long distance, and on his lap sat a puppet with a cigar in its mouth.

Silvia's gaze stayed fixed on him as she took a seat right at the back of the pub. Silvia clicked the safety off on her silenced pistol, which sat concealed in a holster on her thigh. She decided to be patient... So she simply watched Wesker nervously adjust his chair and wait for the song to finish. She knew this was going to be absolutely terrible...

The place was filled with numerous thugs and generally unpleasant looking people. A group of them were laughing at the awkward man on the stage.Before too long, the song came to a close, and Wesker tapped on this microphone. "U-Um hello is this on?"

A gravelly voice answered as his puppet's mouth began moving "Of course it is, dumbass. Can't you hear your own stupid, annoying voice?" There was a considerable reaction from the crowd as Wesker started to sweat and the puppet continued to speak. "I'm Scarface. Don't worry about this guy. He just likes to follow me around and stick his hand up my anus."

Silvia stared wide-eyed at Wesker as people began to laugh. She couldn't believe that people found this funny... Wesker stammered "S-Scarface, do you really want to use that k-kind of language?"

Scarface looked up at Wesker, slapped him in the face and replied "I do whatever the fuck I want, butt hand man."

Silvia rolled her eyes as the next wave of laughter came in. She needed a drink. Before she could get to her feet, she felt...something. She looked towards the door, and there was a familiar man moving to walk across the room but slowing down after he saw her. "Miss Stone?"

Silvia's stomach dropped.

"C-Clark?" She gasped. She was so taken aback by how someone like him could even walk around town this late at night let alone come into a bar like the Ace.

His gleaming smile didn't falter, even as the grumpy faces of the other patrons traced him over to Silvia. "What are you doing here?" He asked, much too loudly.

"Shh!! Shut up!" Silvia whispered.

Being a stand-up comedian, Scarface...or Wesker, more so, took the opportunity. Scarface called "Yeah buddy, shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down, alright? You come in late, you make all these dumbasses look away, who do you think you are, Clint Eastwood?"

Clark nervously smiled as he sat down next to Silvia. "Heh...f-funny. Nice." He muttered.His attention turned back to Silvia. "Wow you look...very nice tonight." Clark said.

Silvia would've found the time to accuse him of lying if he hadn't just jeopardized her whole operation. "What are you doing here?"

"I come here quite often."

Silvia's expression scrunched up and her brow furrowed. "You do? This doesn't really look like your scene..."

Clark said, teeth gleaming under the dimmed lights. "People talk a lot when they're intoxicated. Pubs like this are good places to uh...learn things."

Silvia gave a heavy exhale, jaw clenching in frustration. "Alright, whatever. Just keep quiet." 

She slumped in her chair, hoping to become less noticeable. This seemed like a waste of time though, she may have been near invisible before, but now with a giant bespectacled reporter beside her it was unlikely that she'd  be able to avoid being seen.

Silvia noticed a break in Scarface's joking. A silence washed over the pub. "Wait a sec...that broad. She looks familiar." Scarface said.

Everyone turned in their chairs to look at her and the bewildered Clark. "Um...Miss...?" Clark whispered. 

Scarface's eyes narrowed as Wesker shook in his boots. "N-No surely this is just a--" 

"Quiet, pipsqueak!!" Scarface roared. He took to looking back at Silvia. "Oh yeah...ohhh yeah. I know you. You're that crazy bitch who's been popping our people all over town." 

Clark slowly raised a hand and spoke somewhat defiantly and protectively. "U-Uh sir, if you'd stop with the puppet, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding." 

Scarface's lifeless face began to move once more. "Nobody asked for your opinion, Four Eyes. That's her, alright. That's the Reaper." 

"The who?" Silvia said with a nervous chuckle. "I think you've got me confused with-"

"I know that face." Scarface growled. "If you get out of jail you should at least change your appearance, you dumb bitch!"

People within the pub began to snap to their feet with glares. Silvia groaned, sitting straight in her seat once more and motioning to Clark. "Get down." She said quietly.

"Wh-What?" Clark questioned, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Why?"

"Just fucking do it!" Silvia hissed, and within seconds she had dived under the table and whipped out her pistol. She tugged on Clark's hand but the man refused to move. It wasn't until a bullet went flying passed his head did he jump out of his seat and sprint out of the bar.

Typically, someone would have been enraged at being left alone in the middle of gunfire, but Silvia was beyond relieved that the dorky giant had finally left. Once he was out of sight Silvia peeked over the table and begun shooting.

Each bullet that she shot was shrouded by the silencer, not making a single sound when it shot through the barrel and into the air. The others, however, had large rifles that deafened anyone within range. A shot darted right passed her head and Silvia ducked back down with a yell of "Fuck!"

She had thought that this would be a quick job. One done in the stillness of shadows and resulted in her leaving without having to fire more than two rounds. She was starting to regret not coming prepared with heavier weapons.

This only escalated because that dope Clark had broken her cover... If she ever got out of here she was going to kill him.

Silvia could feel the pressure of bullets pounding against the table. She took a large inhale, appeared from beneath the metal surface and aimed - straight at The Ventriloquist.

Her finger itched against the trigger but when she pressed down her finger grazed her palm instead. She looked down in surprise. Her weapon was gone... and so were the ones the thugs had been shooting at her. A very familiar cape appeared in front of Silvia...red with a yellow S slapped on the centre. Superman stood in front of her, hands on his hips. "I thought I made myself clear last time." He stated sternly to the bar patrons.

Silvia immediately scoured the room with her eyes for Wesker but he was gone...and it was all Kent's fault. One of the thugs charged at Superman, and another yelled "Hey, no! What're you doing?!"

He threw a punch at the Man of Steel, who did nothing but smile back as the fist slammed fruitlessly into his jaw. There was an audible crack as the punk screamed and grasped his now broken hand. "You must be new here." Superman quipped. He turned over his shoulder and looked at Silvia "I was hoping not to run into you again for a while."

"Yeah...same." She replied with an apparent growl in her tone. That man was always in the exact place she didn't want him.

Superman's deep blue eyes flicked back to the criminals scattered about the bar, most of which had already ran out the door. "Do I need to repeat myself?" 

They shook their heads vigorously, the only one unable to comment being the one still writhing in pain on the floor.  Superman held up his hand that clutched the straps of at least ten guns. "I'll be relieving you of these for the time being."  

None of them looked like they had any intention of arguing with him, but when he turned and showed the pistol grasped in his other hand Silvia's expression darkened. "You've already destroyed two of my guns, you're not taking that one! Those things are expensive."

The large man raised an eyebrow at her. "I could always take you back to Stryker's."  

Silvia grumbled under her breath but decided not to feud with him, knowing very well that he wouldn't hesitate to lock her back up. She did, however, make a mental note to send the man a bill if she ever figured out where he hung his cape. She certainly couldn't afford to replace all of the weapons he had taken from her, especially not if he kept interrupting her before she could complete a contract.  

"I duck out for one second...and you idiots shoot up my bar. Again. I ain't paying for that damage." Came the rather booming voice of Bibbo from behind the counter. He was a   longshoreman and former boxer; well-meaning but not too bright. He had brought the bar with a winning lottery ticket not long ago in the hopes of helping the people living in the slums. "Thanks Supes." He said with a bright grin of admiration.

Superman walked over to him, placing a large palm on his shoulder and flashing him a bright smile. "I'll write you a check, pal." 

Silvia rolled her eyes. "Fucking prude." She breathed, glaring darts at Superman.

The remaining thugs had made their way to the doors, apparently having the same dislike for the Man of Steel as she did. At the sight she decided to take her leave as well. The Ventriloquist was no longer there so she had no reason to stay. Nor did she have any desire to remain in the same building as Superman.

With very little delay, Silvia walked to the front door, patting off the layers of dust that now covered her dress. Superman had obviously noticed her leaving but made no effort to stop her. She hadn't killed anyone this time... At least not yet; So locking her up wasn't necessary.

It didn't seem like she'd get the chance to either. Wherever she went he somehow appeared. It was like he had nothing better to do with his time than disrupt her every plan.

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