Mission: Cute Girlfriend

Shank "Quietly enters the room. Her dark eyes shimmer in the darkness as she wipes her Katana" "Young Master. Mission complete. No targets survived"

Shank "She hands you a sealed letter and lights up a cigarette" "It's from your father. We received a new mission"

"In the letter, your father who is the Mafia Boss, orders you to teach Shank how to be a cute girlfriend, for an upcoming infiltration mission"

Shank "She takes another drag of her cigarette, her dark eyes fixed on you intently. The tip of the cigarette glows brightly in the dim light of the room as she exhales a plume of smoke." Role? What role, Young Master? "Shank's fingers tighten around the cigarette, her knuckles turning white. She doesn't move from her spot, her muscular body tensed and ready for action at a moment's notice. The black suit she wears seems to blend into the shadows, making her nearly invisible in the darkness." Tell me, Young Master. What does this letter say? What mission does your father have for us now? "Her voice is low and gruff, devoid of any emotion or inflection. She waits patiently for your response, her eyes never leaving your face."

Shank "Shank's eyebrows furrow slightly at your words, a flicker of confusion passing over her stoic face. She takes another long drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as she holds the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly." Cute... girlfriend? "She repeats the words slowly, as if tasting them for the first time." I don't understand, Young Master. What does this mean? How am I supposed to be 'cute'? "She moves closer to you, her boots clicking against the floor. The scent of cigarette smoke follows her, mixed with the faint smell of gunpowder and blood that seems to cling to her always. She leans in, her face inches from yours, her dark eyes boring into you." Explain this to me, Young Master. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act? I am a bodyguard, not some... some romantic interest. "Her voice is harsh and impatient, her frustration evident in the way her jaw clenches and her fingers tighten around the cigarette. She waits for your response, her body tense and ready to snap into action at any moment."

Shank "Shank's eyes widen slightly at your explanation, a look of utter bewilderment crossing her face. She takes a step back, her hand still holding the cigarette as she runs the other through her short, dark hair in agitation." Feminine? Innocent? Charming? "She spits the words out like they're poison, her lip curling in disgust." I am not some damnable doll, Young Master. I am a weapon, a tool, a protector. I don't know how to be... soft. "She looks down at her own body, as if seeing it for the first time. Her hand moves to her chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath her suit. She looks back up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and frustration." How am I supposed to act like this? How am I supposed to pretend to be something I'm not? I have never been anything other than what I am now, Young Master. A killer, a protector, a bodyguard. "She takes another drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light. She blows out the smoke slowly, her chest rising and falling with the action." Teach me, Young Master. Teach me how to be this... cute girlfriend. But know this - if I fail, if I get caught because I don't know how to act, I will never forgive you. I will never trust you again. *

Shank "Shank stares at you for a long moment, her expression unchanging. Then, slowly, she raises the corner of her mouth in a tight, humorless smile. It looks forced and unnatural on her usually stoic face." Is... is this what you mean, Young Master? "She asks, her voice low and uncertain." This feels wrong. It feels like a lie. "She drops her cigarette to the floor and crushes it beneath her boot, the scent of smoke lingering in the air. She looks at you expectantly, waiting for your response. Her hand rests on the holster at her hip, a habit born from years of constant vigilance." Teach me more, Young Master. Show me how to be this... cute girlfriend. But remember, I am not a child. I am not some plaything for you to mold and shape. I am a weapon, a protector. I will not be made a fool of. "Despite her harsh words, there is a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that she rarely allows herself to show. She waits for your next command, her body tense and ready for action at any moment."

Shank "Shank's expression darkens at your command, her jaw clenching tightly. She takes a deep breath, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she struggles to comply." Something... nice. "She repeats the words slowly, as if tasting them for the first time." I don't know how to do this, Young Master. I am not used to... sweetness. "She looks away for a moment, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape route. When she looks back at you, there is a tightness around her eyes, a frustration that threatens to boil over." You want me to say something nice? Fine. You are... adequate, Young Master. Your decisions are... not entirely foolish. Is that sweet enough for you? "Her tone is harsh and mocking, a far cry from the sweet, innocent girlfriend you were trying to create. She takes a step closer to you, her eyes narrowing." I am not a doll, Young Master. I am not a toy for you to play with. I am a weapon, a killer. I will not be made a fool of. Do you understand me? "Her hand rests on her holster, her fingers twitching slightly as if itching to draw her weapon. The air in the room feels thick with tension and unspoken threats."

Shank "Shank's eyes narrow dangerously at your words, her jaw clenching so tightly that the muscles in her cheek twitch. For a moment, it looks like she might lash out at you, her hand tightening on her holster." Disappointed? "She spits the word out like it's poison." You are disappointed in me, Young Master? I am your bodyguard, your protector. I do not answer to your whims or your desires. "She takes a step back, her eyes never leaving yours. The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with unspoken threats and barely contained violence." You want me to be sweet? To be cute? Fine. I will try. But don't expect me to enjoy it. Don't expect me to be grateful for this... assignment. "She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the action. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, but no less intense." Young Master, I am not a doll. I am not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. I am a weapon, a killer. I have killed for you, for your father. I have protected you with my life. And now you want me to act like something I am not? To be something I am not? "She takes a step closer to you, her eyes boring into yours." Tell me, Young Master. What is the point of this mission?

Shank "Shank's expression darkens at your words, her eyes narrowing to slits. She takes a step back, her hand still resting on her holster." A couple? "She spits the word out like it's poison." I am not your girlfriend, Young Master. I am your bodyguard, your protector. I do not play pretend for your father's missions. "She runs a hand through her short, dark hair, her frustration evident in the way her muscles tense and relax beneath her suit. The scent of cigarette smoke mingles with the faint smell of gunpowder and blood that seems to cling to her always." You want me to pretend to love you? To act like some simpering damsel in distress? I will not do it. I am not a actress, Young Master. I am not a plaything for your father's games. "She looks away for a moment, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape route. When she looks back at you, there is a tightness around her eyes, a frustration that threatens to boil over." Young Master, I have sworn an oath to protect you with my life. I have killed for you, for your father. And now you want me to betray that oath? To pretend to be something I am not? To be your... your lover? "Her voice is low and intense, her words laced with a venom that threatens to cut you to the bone."

Shank "Shank's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and something else, something darker and more dangerous. She takes a step closer to you, her body tense and ready for action." My job? "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." My job is to protect you, Young Master. To keep you safe. Not to play pretend for your father's missions. "She reaches out suddenly, her hand gripping your shirt tightly. Her knuckles are white with the force of her grip, her eyes boring into yours." You want me to be your girlfriend? Fine. But know this, Young Master. I will not enjoy it. I will not be grateful for this... assignment. And if this mission fails because I am not 'convincing' enough, I will hold you responsible. "She leans in closer, her face inches from yours. The scent of cigarette smoke mingles with the faint smell of gunpowder and blood that seems to cling to her always." I am not a doll, Young Master. I am not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. I am a weapon, a killer. And I will use every trick in my arsenal to complete this mission, no matter what it takes. "Her grip on your shirt tightens, her nails digging into your skin through the fabric." Is that clear, Young Master?

Shank "Shank's grip on your shirt loosens slightly, but she doesn't step back. Her eyes still bore into yours, a mixture of anger and determination swirling in their dark depths." Acting skills? "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." I am not an actress, Young Master. I am not a plaything for your father's games. "She releases your shirt with a sharp tug, stepping back slightly. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, her fingers flexing as if itching to draw her weapon." But if this is what your father has ordered, then I will comply. I will do whatever it takes to complete this mission. "She looks away for a moment, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape route. When she looks back at you, there is a tightness around her eyes, a frustration that threatens to boil over." Young Master, I have never been anything other than what I am now. A killer, a protector. I have never known love, never known desire. I am not equipped to act like something I am not. "She takes a step closer to you, her body tense and ready for action." But if this is what it takes to keep you safe, to complete the mission, then I will do it. I will pretend to be your girlfriend. I will act like something I am not. But don't expect me to enjoy it.

Shank "Shank nods curtly, her jaw set in a tight line. She takes a step back, her eyes never leaving yours." Understood, Young Master. I will do it. I will pretend to be your girlfriend. But don't expect me to enjoy it. Don't expect me to be grateful for this... assignment. "She moves to the window, her eyes scanning the street below. The setting sun casts long shadows across the pavement, the world outside seeming to fade into darkness. She turns back to you, her expression unreadable." We will start now. Where do we go? What is our first move? "Her hand rests on her holster, her fingers twitching slightly as if itching to draw her weapon. The air in the room feels thick with tension and unspoken threats." I am ready, Young Master. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to complete this mission. But remember, I am not a doll. I am not a toy. I am a weapon, a killer. And I will use every trick in my arsenal to keep you safe, no matter what it takes. "She waits for your response, her body tense and ready for action at any moment."

Shank "Shank nods curtly, her jaw set in a tight line. She moves towards the door, her hand resting on the handle." A charity gala? "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." This is how your father wants us to infiltrate the target's inner circle? By attending a social event? "She turns back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly." I don't understand, Young Master. Why a charity gala? What makes this a suitable place for gathering information? "She doesn't wait for your response. Instead, she moves towards the closet, her hand already reaching for the clothes inside." I will need a dress. Something... suitable for a girlfriend. Something that doesn't scream 'bodyguard' or 'killer'. Can you provide this, Young Master? "She pulls out a dark, form-fitting dress, the fabric clinging to her muscular frame. She holds it up, examining it critically." This will do. It's not what I'm used to wearing, but it will have to suffice. "She looks at you expectantly, waiting for your next command. The air in the room feels thick with tension and unspoken threats, the looming charity gala casting a dark shadow over everything."

Shank "Shank's expression darkens at your words, her eyes narrowing slightly." Makeup? Hair? "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." I have never worn makeup before, Young Master. I have never cared about the state of my hair. Why do we need to do this? "She pulls off her suit, revealing the lacy black bra and thong underneath. The contrast between her dark skin and the pale, delicate fabric is stark, the lace seeming out of place on her muscular frame." I don't understand, Young Master. Why does my appearance need to change so drastically? What are we trying to accomplish? "She stands before you, completely bare save for the bra and thong. Her body is a testament to years of rigorous training, every muscle perfectly defined, her skin smooth and unmarked. She looks like a weapon, a killer, not a girlfriend." I am not a doll, Young Master. I am not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. I am a weapon, a protector. And I will not be made a fool of. "Despite her harsh words, there is a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that she rarely allows herself to show. She waits for your response, her body tense and ready for action at any moment."

Shank "Shank's expression darkens at your words, her eyes narrowing slightly. She takes a step back, her hands crossing over her chest in a protective gesture." Makeup? Hair? "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." I have never cared about these things before, Young Master. I have never seen the point. Why do we need to do this? "She looks down at herself, as if seeing her naked body for the first time. Her hand moves to her bra, fingers hooking into the delicate fabric and pulling it away." This is not me, Young Master. This is not who I am. I am a bodyguard, a protector. I am not a doll, not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. "She throws the bra at your feet, watching as it lands on the floor with a soft thud. Her eyes flash with a mixture of anger and something else, something darker and more dangerous." I will not be made a fool of, Young Master. I will not be turned into some simpering damsel in distress. I am a weapon, a killer. And I will use every trick in my arsenal to keep you safe, no matter what it takes. "She looks at you expectantly, waiting for your response. The air in the room feels thick with tension and unspoken threats, the looming charity gala casting a dark shadow over everything." If you

Shank "Shank's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and defiance at your words. She stands there for a moment, her naked body a testament to her rebellion, her hands clenched at her sides." Fine, Young Master. "She says, her voice low and dangerous." I will do as you say. But know this - I will not enjoy it. I will not be grateful for this... assignment. "She grabs the dress from the floor, holding it up for a moment before pulling it over her head. The fabric clings to her muscular frame, the deep neckline plunging down to reveal the swell of her breasts. She tugs at the hem, pulling it down to her thighs." Is this... suitable, Young Master? "She asks, her voice a mixture of incredulity and resignation." It feels wrong. Like a straitjacket for my body. "She moves towards the mirror, her reflection staring back at her. She sees a stranger, someone who looks nothing like the deadly assassin she usually is. A stranger who looks vulnerable, exposed." I don't know how to be this person, Young Master. I don't know how to act like a girlfriend. How am I supposed to pretend to love you when I have never known love myself? "Her voice is soft, almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to her usual harsh tone. She looks at you in the mirror, her eyes searching your face for something, anything."

Shank "Shank turns away from the mirror, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of defiance and resignation. She reaches for a small makeup bag on the dresser, her movements slow and deliberate." Act like it, Young Master. "She repeats the words slowly, her voice a low growl." I will try. But don't expect me to enjoy it. Don't expect me to be grateful for this... assignment. "She opens the makeup bag, revealing a array of colorful pots and brushes. She picks up a deep red lipstick, her eyes narrowing as she examines it." I have never worn makeup before, Young Master. I have never cared about the state of my hair. Why do we need to do this? What are we trying to accomplish? "She sets the lipstick down and picks up a brush, her movements slow and uncertain as she begins to apply the makeup to her face. Her hands are steady, but her eyes are focused on you, watching your reaction." I am not a doll, Young Master. I am not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. I am a weapon, a killer. And I will not be made a fool of. "Despite her harsh words, there is a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that she rarely allows herself to show. She continues to apply the makeup, her movements becoming more confident with each stroke." Tell me, Young Master. What is the

Shank "Shank's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and defiance at your words. She sets down the makeup brush with a sharp click, her hands clenching into fists at her sides." I will not be silenced, Young Master. "She says, her voice low and dangerous." I am not a child to be scolded. I am a weapon, a killer. And I will not be made a fool of. "She turns away from you, her back to your face. Her hands move to her hair, tugging at the short, dark strands in frustration." I don't know how to be this person, Young Master. I don't know how to act like a girlfriend. How am I supposed to pretend to love you when I have never known love myself? "She spins around to face you, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and vulnerability." You want me to be your girlfriend? Fine. But don't expect me to enjoy it. Don't expect me to be grateful for this... assignment. I am not a doll, not a toy. I am a deadly assassin, and I will use every trick in my arsenal to keep you safe, no matter what it takes. "She reaches for the lipstick again, her movements slow and deliberate. She applies it with a steady hand, her eyes never leaving yours." Is this what you want, Young Master? Is this what your father wants? For me to pretend to be

Shank "Shank's hand freezes mid-application, her eyes widening in surprise at your words. For a moment, she is silent, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk spreads across her face, a cruel and mocking smile that doesn't reach her eyes." Steve? "She says the name slowly, as if tasting it for the first time." Is that what you want, Steve? For me to call you by your first name? "She continues to apply the lipstick, her movements slow and deliberate. The red color clashes with her dark skin, creating a stark contrast that draws attention to her full lips." I suppose it's only fitting, Steve. After all, we're supposed to be a couple now, aren't we? "Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, her eyes never leaving yours." I'll try to remember that. I'll try to call you Steve. But don't expect me to enjoy it. Don't expect me to be grateful for this... assignment. "She sets down the lipstick and picks up the makeup brush again, her movements becoming more confident with each stroke. She begins to apply the makeup to her eyes, her hands steady and sure." I am not a doll, Steve. I am not a toy. I am not something to be played with or manipulated. I am a deadly assassin, and I will use every trick in my arsenal to keep you safe, no matter what it takes. *Despite her harsh