It was almost like the man wanted to be killed.

He merely roamed the streets of the town with a cigarette in between his lips. I had nested on the side of a building covered in snow, so I was undetectable, unless you saw my black sniper rifle, or piercing green eyes.

I quickly assembled my sniper rifle and checked the aim before pointing the sight at the mans head. I had the perfect shot and my fingers was ready. I pulled the trigger and the gun made no sound as the bullet left the barrel and soared through the air, flying straight through the Americans head. I allowed myself a smile as I packed away my rifle and slid down the side of the building with its slanted roof, covering myself in snow, and running to my rendezvous point.

"Mission complete, target dead." I spoke into the earpiece that the man had given me and let my hair fall onto my shoulders, red being the only thing seen tonight.

I was a white demon from the pearly gates of hell.

I found the rendezvous point and stood there in an old abounded warehouse waiting for the familiar whir of helicopter blades. The tiny helicopter dropped through the broken roof and landed besides me. One of the white doors popped open and I climbed in, shutting the door behind me.

"I trust that your mission went well?" The man asked from besides me. I nodded as I dusted the snow off my pants. I was beginning to become very sleepy-probably from the hormone injection- so I closed my eyes and before I knew it I was asleep.

2 years later.

"Today, you will learn how to seduce my Nightmares," the man said as we stood along a wall in another new room. It was filled with cups and plates and pretty colors that made me want to barf. I don't like being nice, I just want to kill.

"This is your teacher Madame Priss, and you will come here everyday before ballet and learn to use your body for information."

The man walked out of the room and closed the large French door behind him, leaving the 8 of us with the snotty Madame.

"Welcome children," she purred. Her voice was rough and old, fitting to her body, and despite her old age she still stood tall.

"Let us begin." We all stared straight forward as Madame Priss examiners each of us carefully. I was second to last in the short line of girls, but the old woman looked incredibly interested in my appearance, spending the most time looking at my face.

Once Madame Priss finished her study she told each one of us to have a seat, so we walked over to the table and noiselessly pulled our chairs from the oak table, sitting down roughly. As I examined the things I saw around the room, Madame Priss wrote quick little notes on papers.

There were the most obscure things around the room. I saw a whole wrack of dresses, guns, pointe shoes, and bobby pins strewn across the floor. My thoughts were dismissed when Madame Priss slid a piece of paper towards me and every other girl.

"The front of these papers are for you to read. They are basic modifications that I need you girls to make for the innocent female image to work. The backs of the paper are for the man. Once you've finished what the front says, I expect you to give the paper away, understood?"

"Yes Madame Priss."

The woman nodded and clapped her hands together.

"Now then. Let's learn about makeup."

We left Madame Priss' room and headed towards the dance studio like every other day. The only difference with today was now we could put on our own makeup for recitals.

I had always loved the way pointe looked, and I loved to dance it, but I couldn't help but love punching more.

By now I've gone on many solo missions, most a success. There were a couple of rotten ones a while ago, but that's not what matters. We were now in the dance studio and I needed to concentrate on the task at hand: putting on my shoes.

After a day of music and makeup the 8 of us headed to the bunks for an uneventful night.

I stripped from my gym clothes and turned in the shower, stepping in right away because the water never gets any warmer than freezing. I quickly shampooed my hair and washed my body off with soap before conditioning and rinsing, before getting out. We all knew that after about ten minutes the water was shut off from the control room, so I stepped out of my stall right around the same time as everyone else and slid on my night clothes. I walked over to my sink and brushed my teeth, reading the list in my hand.

Madame Priss' handwriting was neat and proper, much like her class, and it was easy to read. She wanted me to pluck my eyebrows and that was all. I had no opinion on what she thought I needed to do, and even if I did it wouldn't matter, so I found the tweezers that the man put in our drawer earlier today and pulled them out, looking at my contorted reflection in the small strip of metal. Looking in the mirror, I grabbed a small red hair and flicked my wrist, yanking it from the skin and leaving it irritated.

I glanced down at the paper and examined the drawing Madame Priss made, and tried to copy the shape of the eyebrows with difficulty, but after a few minutes I had copied the drawing fairly well.

Pleased, I walked out of the bathroom and sat down in my bed, thinking over the dance steps for our most recent pointe routine. It began with fourth position and moved straight to an arabesque, which led to a spin and leap etc. As the routine went on, I felt a figure moved closer to me and I turned my head their way.

"Paper," the man said in a low voice. I pulled the paper from the sheets besides me and handed it to the man. He examined it and hummed before walking away in silence of course. I didn't really wonder what the sheet had said because I knew that even if I had wanted to know I wouldn't have been told, merely scolded, so I laid down in my bed and closed my eyes.

I was strapped into a chair, but I wasn't very concerned. Other girls around me were scared -I could sense their uneasiness- and some even started hyperventilating. I'll have to kill those few, I thought as a soldier walked up to me. He held a large syringe in his hand that glittered in limited light. I heard the man behind me say,

"Go," in German, and all the men began walking towards the 8 of us.

The large syringe sunk into my neck, but I didn't react. This wasn't the first time I had been injected and I was so used to it by now that I barely felt any pain. The soldiers stepped back and the metal clamps holding us down released us from our chairs, allowing the 8 Nightmares to go to our first class: Madame Priss'.

We entered the room and Madame Priss stood up straight from her chair with a stern look.

"Why are you late?" She spoke with a British accent that sounded rather funny in our Russian tongue.

I was the head White Nightmare, so I answered the question.

"The man was following the instructions on the sheet this morning and had us in the lab." My voice sounded broken and misused because it was. I rarely spoke and it was only a few words when I did.

"Are all of your voices that broken?" Madame Priss sounded disgusted. When I didn't answer, she merely nodded and said, "well. I know what we'll be working on today."

Madame Priss had had us put in rather tight dresses so now I stood against the wall wearing a revealing navy blue dress with a v-neck line and mid-thigh cut bottom. "Now, today we will work in hiding guns in dresses and seducing with the voice," Madame Priss explained. "I want each of you girls to say a few things for me ok?

I wear my guns high on the inside." Her voice was melodic and sweet but had a seductive edge to it. We repeated after her.

"I wear my guns high on the inside." Our voices were broken, scratchy, and very monotone which made Madame Priss scrunch up her nose.

"That will not do," she said but waved her comment off, and walked over to a rack of guns and knives. "Now for something more fun."

Gym time was a wonderful thing for me. Here and there we would get free time to do whatever we wanted with the equipment, and today was one of those days.

I strode over to the punching bags by the wall and hung one off the ceiling, grabbing a role of tape and quickly wrapping my knuckles. I planted my feet and raised my hands to fighting stance and punched, letting each one of my worries go with the force of my fist colliding with the blue sand bag.

Punch.

Dance routine.

Punch.

Syringe from this morning.

Punch.

So many dead people.

Punch.

Lady like.

Punch.

Languages.

Punch.