"Protect this at all cost. That’s all."
Alexandra strode across the drab, deserted car park. It has only been ten minutes and already her right hand was aching, straining from carrying a ridiculously heavy suitcase she was assigned to protect.
Fortunately, the vehicle provided - a blue Aston Martin DB9 - was located just across the short alley. She popped the suitcase into the boot and slid into the plush leather seat.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Alexandra prodded the glass starter button. The starter motor whizzed for a moment or two before the 6-litre V12 bursts to life with a roar across the empty cavern. As the engine settled down to idle, however, it’s eerily quiet, the silence further accentuated by the dark, open space.
Alexandra engaged Drive and guided the car out of the parking lot. The Aston crawled up the dark ramp and onto the crisp, metropolitan streets of New York. Just ahead, the traffic lights turned red, and the car grinded to a halt.
-
High up above, a malicious sniper scanned the city. As he looked across the morning gridlock, he saw a blue object. It’s his target – the blue Aston.
Very quickly, he radioed his other comrades.
“It’s her! Get into your positions!”
He then took a diazepam to soothe his nerves, and aimed.
-
In the leather-lined cabin of the DB9, Alexandra spotted the snipers.
What the hell?
She gripped the steering wheel tightly and revved the engine, impatiently waiting for the lights to go green. When they finally did a moment later Alexandra flicked the right gearbox paddle to engage first gear and stomped on the accelerator pedal. The Aston surged forward just as the sniper fired. The bullet missed the car by mere inches and planted itself harmlessly into the road surface.
The blue projectile sped past unsuspecting motorists, darting in and out of lanes. Then, with a lift off the accelerator, a dab on the brakes and a twist of the steering wheel, followed by an armful of opposite lock, it drifted seamlessly round a corner, narrowly missing a frightened cyclist who eventually lost control and fell. More gunshots followed, with one blasting the left wing mirror straight off its mounts.
Jack’s so gonna kill me.
-
At the other end of the street, a black Audi RS4 was hurtling in the opposite direction, occupied by three masked men. The driver was speaking on the phone, blatantly ignoring the ban on mobile phones while driving. Then, he spotted the DB9, swerved into the oncoming lane and gunned the throttle.
“I see her,” he spoke to the phone.
A mysterious voice crackled from the other end.
“Good. You know what to do.”
-
Across the morning fog, Alexandra noticed something. A tinge of bluish-white light cut through the mist. It got brighter each second, surrounded by a distinct, high-pitched wail. She pulled the DB9 to a stop, and pauses for a brief moment.
The light, as it turned out, was from the high-tech xenon headlamps of the very menacing-looking Audi. And it was heading straight towards Alexandra. Fast.
Alexandra slotted the car into reverse and accelerates, just in time before the Audi nudges the Aston’s delicate nose. The two were now front-to-front, travelling on the wrong side of traffic.
Without warning, one of the masked men leaned out of the front passenger side window of the RS4. He looked at Alexandra with his small but malevolent eyes and aimed a machine gun at her.
In a quick reflex, Alexandra ducked. The deadly pellets pierced the windscreen, narrowly missing her head. She swivelled the steering wheel hard to the left and jammed the brakes with the force so hard her heel snapped.
Shit.
The big Aston pirouetted round in a pukka J-turn. And in a flash of swirling smoke, Alexandra was gone.
-
The brief moment of safety soon shattered, however – a gridlock soon appeared in front of Alexandra. Faced with the rapidly-gaining Audi, and left with no other choice, she swerved onto the sidewalk. Terrified pedestrians scrambled to avoid the feral beast that was charging towards them. The Audi did the same as the Aston, this time clipping a lamppost, strewing various parts of its expensive bodywork all over the pathway.
The Aston made a right turn into a junction and jumped back onto the road, followed closely by the Audi. The roar of the two cars reverberated off the skyscrapers.
Then, seemingly miles away, the lights turned yellow.
The two were now side by side. Alexandra nailed every last inch of the throttle. The driver of the Audi responded, seizing the advantage back again. As yellow gave way to red, Alexandra gave one long, final stare at the masked man.
At the last minute she slammed on the brakes, causing the DB9 to skid to a halt.
The masked man tried to avoid the emerging traffic, but it was too late.
The black sedan ploughed into a Chevy Suburban, flew over it, spun in the air, fell onto the ground hard and rolled a few times, before finally landing shiny-side-down. As the carnage unraveled, Alexandra smirked.
Brave, but stupid.
She guided the Aston around, and sped off.
-
Down at another deserted parking lot, Alexandra pointed the battered DB9 down a steep ramp. It came to a stop at a parking space beside Alexandra’s own Mercedes CLS.
Alexandra hobbled out of the driving seat. She flipped out her Motorola RAZR to call but stumbled and fell. She pulls herself up again, tossed her now-useless stilettos into the boot of the CLS and pulled out a brand new box of Jimmy Choos saved for this very occasion.
Even tomboys need a little pampering.
She then straightened her dress and hair, reapplied her makeup and pulled out the huge suitcase from the DB9. Was it worth it, she thought, in the end? All the car chases, the damages to the DB9 and, of course, the broken shoes, just to return this troublesome suitcase to its rightful owner?
She pauses for a moment, and then shrugs nonchalantly.
And what, drive an Aston? Of course.
Jack - her boss - and a man in his 50’s were waiting for her when she arrived.
“Ah, Alex, you’re here,” grumbled Jack. He clearly wasn’t enjoying the cold morning. “I want you to meet Mr. Robinson. Mr. Robinson, meet Alexandra Shepherd.”
“Nice meeting you, Alexandra,” said Mr. Robinson with his crisp British accent. “I appreciate it very much for delivering the suitcase to me. Let’s discuss it at my office upstairs, shall we?”
“Sure,” quipped Alexandra. She tossed the keys of the Aston to Jack and whispered to him.
“See you later.”
Jack smiled back. As the two walked off into the lobby, he went straight to his Aston.
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The car that awaited him was dented, scratched and bullet-hole-ridden. Jack felt his blood boil.
Alex, I’m so gonna kill you.
And look who rushes to pose first thing in the morning…
The gloss white chill pill.
Uniformed organisations lining up, waiting for the principal’s arrival. And what a wait that was…
"Blasted kids. They’re down there, enjoying the show, while I’m up here and can’t see crap. And my salary’s late. Again."
Mr Elvin (far right): Look at the tent - it’s been constructed using the basic principles of differentiation…
What a place to chill out - the Quartermaster room.
Now’s the chance to self-test for height perception disorder.
Pn. Che Pah, giving her last (and possibly longest) speech as principal of the school.
Pn. Che Pah cuts her giganormous birthday cake (she turns 56 tomorrow).
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…"
The principal receives a gift from the Prefectorial Board.
Thilip proves that he still has the ability to frighten little children.
The turnout today was simply astronomical. 
A "lion" jumps over another in a supreme display of skill and bravery.
The lion dancers took the opportunity to litter the school grounds with confetti…
Pn. Che Pah leaves after receiving a gift from the dancers.
Nicholas Cheng pulls off an awesome performance as a virtuoso violinist.
Any hot-blooded heterosexual male would salivate after seeing these trio of dancers perform. Sadly, the dancing itself wasn’t quite so good for some people.
This is the school choir. And they’re singing something I can’t quite put my finger on. Was OK-ish, though.
The traditional Chinese dance.
Razman serenading the teachers.
Breakdancers, er, break it down.
"Pn. Che Pah, we miss you. And your speeches too."
The crew (or at least part of it) that contributed to the success of the event. Congratulations, guys!
The final journey out of Samad.
