<em>Ancestors, grant your wayward daughter strength!</em><br/><br/>Can I do this, the stupid barbie doll asks. The downside of working for a<em>gwailo tong</em>, aside from the way so many of the soldiers have no fucking respect or class, is constantly having one's worthiness questioned by those who can't do half of what one's humble years of bitter work have granted. When, that is, they aren't checking out my ass and thinking about all those stupid porno fantasies about Asian chicks and kinky weirdness.<br/><br/>Lucky for her, I'm a professional, and I've seen the Heavy Hitter when he's in a mood. Fucking scary bastard. So she's probably too freaked out to keep it together.<br/><br/><strong>"I'm on it,"</strong>I say, my tone cold and firm, and hang up on her before this turns into some stupid game of twenty dumbass questions. Not like I have anything better (or better paying) to do right at the moment. Although being sent like some errand girl to toss a private dick's office and torch it might otherwise be insulting...<br/><br/>What's the point? Arson is soldier work. I'm a thief. So yeah, this smells like a bad idea from a mile away. Possibly a set up. Or a double cross. Or...maybe the Heavy Hitter really is that dumb.<br/><br/>I shrug into my jacket and grab the working bag, then let myself out onto the fire escape and head up to the roof. Time to get in a little exercise!