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Azazel

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September 22nd, 2019


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Gender: Female
Status: Single
Age: 25
Country: United Kingdom

Signup Date:
February 17, 2019


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08/04/2019 05:30 PM 

When you play with Russians

Business Aviation was the only way Frankie could fly. She had a range of fake passports from where she had to change personas so many times in the past because of the trouble she naturally caused. Because of this, a normal terminal was off limits. As if she was a King Pin for an infamous drug cartel, Frankie needed to bypass security at all costs. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Golden locks and piercing blue orbs; she was a desirable woman for anyone who had working eyesight. It wasn’t a surprise that she was dabbling around with those most humans would avoid. She enjoyed the thrill which came from potentially lethal situations. The adrenaline she got from danger was like no other.


Boarding the Gulfstream which remained stationary whilst everyone climbed the luxury stairs, Frankie made her way inside the cabin in her ivory two-piece suit. Pencil skirt hugged her figure, climbing her tanned calves slightly as she sat herself down on the soft leather recliner, quietly placing the briefcase on the mahogany table in front of her before crossing one of her legs over the other.

 

Russians were naturally sceptical of everyone. Owning the largest territory on earth, it wasn’t surprising that they had a lack of trust in the blonde. Anyone who did trust her had previously died a slow and painful death. Not that they knew that. She was just there to do business. A beautiful woman who had an intelligent head on her shoulders. The dream for any Russian sociopath who wanted to play things away from the book. Off record agreements worked for Frankie best too.

She pushed the thin-framed reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose, heeled foot bouncing against the air as she suppressed her impatience. She didn’t like waiting for anything. She was impulsive by nature so would often take what she wanted by any means of force. But dealing with the Russian military was a different level of risk for her; playing out each of the three gentleman’s deaths in her head. It was the only thing getting her through the wait as the aircraft began to taxi and ultimately take off. 

 

42,000 feet. They made her wait until the biz-jet was at 42,000 feet until they opened their mouth and spoke their cryptic language which she had purposely learned for this. Her easily mis-lead personality is what brought the angel to this formal meeting in the first place. Displeased facials as her nailed tapped against the armrest of the aircraft interior.

 

“Ona odna.” One of the young men muttered to his accomplice. All three men were suited and booted. They all matched the lavish lifestyle of corporate jets, swiss timekeepers and dodgy business deals. They all had eyes which could break hearts; crystal-like and full of curiosity over the Angel who watched them with suppressed caution. Two sat in front of her on the opposite leather whilst one of the men had wandered to the bar and kitchen area behind her. The tension was uneasy; everyone on standby to cut a bitch. 

Rolling her eyes at the brazen man’s comment, Frankie leant forward and grasped the briefcase she placed down, unclipping the locks on the leather until she could open the case with ease. Pulling back one of the sides, she revealed the contents. How she had managed to get her dirty hands on $500,000, no one would know. She had a way with words. She got what she wanted.

 

“Good, you’re not just a pretty face..” The other man in a contrasting navy suit said in a thick Russian accent. He smirked – a smirk she’d often show before she caused drama. But before she had a chance to catch on to it, the man stood up, pulled a Glock 19 and forced the trigger down, shooting straight at the angel. She usually had good reflexes. But she wasn’t expecting this. 

 

A piercing squeal came from Frankie’s pink lips as she lunged forwards, falling forward and off of the seat in which it’s ivory leather now had a bullet hole and a splatter of dark crimson blood on it. He was at close range, but the handgun was clearly modified – and rightly so. Doing such a thing needed research. Shooting an angel with an ordinary gun was laughable. It would have done nothing. But this did something. Something out of the ordinary. As Frankie clutched at her abdomen, soon saturating her ivory suit with blood, the air turned thin, breathing becoming distorted and harder for her. 

 

“We got the bitch!” The Russian men laughed as they stood and jeered as Frankie fell limp. But not lifeless. In fact, her veins began to illuminate. Each artery became a bright blue in colour, shooting through her entire body and into her wings. 

 

“We’ve made an angel fall!” The third man laughed as he watched her wings become visible to the human eye. Like tree roots, her entire body glowed thanks to the toxic concoction that the bullet had been laced with. It was clear this had been a set up. After all, what could be better than capturing a real angel? 

But whilst the quick celebrations were taking place, all of the men slowly became drowsy, until they also lost consciousness. As fantastic as it was to have such a powerful gun, they were quick to forget they were on an airbourne jet. The bullet had penetrated much more than Frankie and the seat. It had burrowed its way through the floor of the cabin, and through the reinforced aluminium; tearing a hole in the aircraft. Cabin pressure quickly dropped, and it didn’t take long for the lack of oxygen to eat at the men’s brains until they were certainly the same way as Frankie was meant to be. Oxygen masks dropped to unresponsive bodies and loud and concerning beeping was audible from the cockpit as the plane began to decline height and speed. The pilots struggled to keep the aircraft climbing and even with two of them, both Captains eventually fell over the controls as they also passed out.  Spiralling out of control, the aircraft fell through the air, dropping several hundred feet each few seconds. 

Until eventually, the aircraft came into contact with the ocean, such a substantial fall automatically causing an explosion as the pressure within the fuel tank became too much. The jet took a considerable amount of damage on its way down, losing most of it’s interior as the bullet hole ended up growing to a gaping hole in the side of the cabin. The seating, the appliances and most things which could be moved had all been sucked out into the atmosphere. Including Frankie. 

 

“I seychas…” A voice mused with a menacing laugh; deep and delirious.  “Ty upal.” 

 

Wings flapped; almost in slow motion as Frankie watched the wreckage from afar, mimicking a Russian accent as she mocked the men who had been so stupid in trying to overcome a celestial. Hovering above the ocean, the blonde ignored the bloodstain which came from a wound which had already healed; grinning psychotically at the site of destruction.

 

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