"Mia Vincent… official ID, Agent Vincent," I muttered into the small hole in which I knew the super-technologically advanced microphone was placed. The dais situated at the center of the room was equipped to catalog the biometrics of every agent that comes into the building. Standard procedure.
"State your condition." The mechanical voice ordered. The little box on the dais glowed green. With a nonchalant glance, I leaned forward and spoke into the microphone again.
"Home Alone." I rolled my eye at how ridiculous this situation was. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why they would keep such ludicrous codes for the assignment status of the agents. Home alone: currently not on a case. What had possessed the people at the top to come up with this? What was the mental capacity of the people running the show? I wondered.
"Come in," said the voice.
If I ever found the person who blabbers into the microphone all day, I swore that I would use a spoon to gouge their eyes out of its sockets. Working a job which planted your ass on a chair all day just emotionlessly going through the motions was beyond me. How this individual managed to live like this, I didn't understand.
I preferred the wild life; I loved being surrounded by guns, bombs, criminals, assassinations, and ransoms. The adrenaline these injected in me was worse than any drug a human could imagine. It didn't hurt that people in my line of work earned a shit-ton of money from every mission. It was sweet when the money would 'magically' transfer into my bank account minutes after I had completed my task. All in all, life was good and I would have it no other way.
The large metallic frame hissed as it unlocked. The view of a similar view behind it greeted me. I huffed in frustration, wondering why I had to go through this torturous security system all the time even though everyone knew me here already.
'Perks of the job,' I reminded myself.
Not many people have the guts to turn themselves into a new person every day and kill mercilessly for a beautiful amount of money. It was that easy. Get in, fool, kill, get out. If I could, I would compare the experience to that of playing a videogame—you could choose your avatar and the weapons you use, you had your missions and you felt a thrill on winning against your opponent. Only, it was better in real life; the graphics were no doubt excellent and the options in modes of combat were not restricted.
As maniacal as it may sound to the ears of others, I truly enjoyed the thrill of a job well done. I loved the adrenaline rushing through my veins and the sight of warm blood seeping down my victim's face as I said the last prayer and closed their eyes, the tiny droplets coloring my fingertips a grotesque red. One even got used to the smell of blood: the rust like quality could grow addictive and make one want to bask in the scent of their kill, it could even make one imagine what the taste of this blood would be like, but I don't think any of the agents had the time to hang around and quench their curiosity.
The voice in the box told me to take off my clothes and get inside the sterile cubicle. I sighed as I did their bidding and grumbled about how they must have enjoyed the striptease. The scanner came on, the red light seemingly swallowing my body as it checked for potential threats. The process was done within moments and I was back trying to put on my clothes before the next door opens. Gladly, the hissing of the door produced the sight of what seemed like a private office.
The headquarters was a bewildering place all around the year. One never knew what would come next; they changed the routes and structures regularly so that no one could breach the building, but all it did was irritate the agents. We understood that it was for security purposes, but making things overly complex only invites more trouble, in my opinion. The pattern of these changes? I had never tried to discover because I did not have the time to think about such trivial, mundane things.
The room I had entered was decorated warmly with mahogany furniture and inviting décor. Chief's personal office had only two chairs, one for him and the other for the guest. I took the empty seat and waited for the man to arrive. It was a while before a private door opened and he walked inside with a warm smile on his face.
"Mia," he greeted. "Please take a seat. I have rather important news to share with you." His demeanor told me that there was something very wrong with the scenario.
"I hope everything is well."
He dismissed my words and offered me a glass of water.
I shook my head.
"Good… This time I am hoping you will be able to hold your cover for longer. Anthony Murray is your next target, and we expect a full dossier about him. Your mission will be to get us inside information about who the key figures in his organization are and how it functions. I need Murray's private history. And for that, you will have to get close to him."
I raised an eyebrow. Anthony Murray's name was one that I couldn't forget even if I tried.
'I was going after Anthony Murray.'
"May I ask the purpose of extracting this information?"
"You seem curious!" He seemed delighted that I had reacted positively to the assignment.
"I like to know why I am doing what I am doing, and when I am doing it." My voice was strong, and it surprised the Chief.
"Simply because he has remained hidden from the public eye for the past twelve years. We have little information on him and it is only limited to his name, his location, and a few other details on his family."
"When do I have to kill him?" I asked, a little more enthusiastic than I should be.
"When we have all the information we need." He looked at me like I was an idiot.
Well, my question was somewhat stupid.
I wanted Anthony gone as fast as it was possible.
"Thank you… I should probably leave," I said as I stood up awkwardly. I was almost out of the door when I heard him call me again.
"Mia," I turned to look at him. "I want you to ruin him. He has to pay for what he did to your mother. Make him regret that he ever came near Melody or you." I forced a smile on my face and nodded.
"Billy, I promise you, he will not die without regretting each and every mistake he has ever made. I will use everything you have taught me to annihilate him."
"By the way, I hear that he has a thing for brunettes," he teased.
"At last! I found a guy who doesn't love blondes. I can be me again!" He joined me in laughter. I bid him farewell, my jolly façade slipping away as I left the room. I was back to being myself.
My feet slid against the concrete as I dragged them. The lights overhead flickered. The roads were deserted. It was an image of desolation.
My mind flooded with memories.
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