Prologue
With heavy panting and gasping for air from running men wearing suits, they lost track of the man and began to call the others with their radio attached to their left shoulder.
Every single unit has been dispatched all across Los Angeles to find this man, yet he was hiding beneath their noses; amongst the chaos, he took the advantage of going to an abandoned yet nostalgic shabby house where the men in suits overlooked it.
He rested on an almost broken chair, carefully sitting down, and apologized for the inconvenience of entering the household.
“So this is my end; how can a high school student—no, an agent of Jones Production, secretly called Jones Secret Service—escape this?” Sighing deeply, he teared up a bit, only to know he was the only one left in the agency due to the path he took.
His friends were long gone due to an outbreak of terrorist attacks, and even though they were on par with the skilled military personnel, they still died.
“Ah, I wish I could go back to my school life.”
He stared at the ceiling for a few moments and laughed, because it is impossible to turn back time.
“I guess this is where I die. I hope my son can tell his friends that I was a great father.”
He grabbed something from his pocket, and it was a small storage pill. The “Death Pill,” a tablet developed by Taylor Research Productions, was intended only to be used by Jones Secret Service agents in case they were unable to escape or, in an emergency, could not provide any information to the enemy.
“Goodbye, Son; I’ll be meeting my friends and your mother in Heaven, or Hell.”
Swallowing the pill immediately, he died in less than a second. His lifeless body, sitting with arms dropped and eyes open, stopped working, but there was a smile before consuming, making it for him a happy yet tragic ending.
His son, who was living somewhere far away where his father was working, heard the news of him passing from a reconnaissance. He stayed calm, kept his composure, and thanked the messenger for informing him.
He closed the door as soon as he left, bursting into tears and dropping himself onto the ground with hands and knees supporting him, letting it fall, only to know he was the only person living in their household.
“Mom, Dad, I hope you enjoy a new life.” Sniveling and sobbing while wiping his tears, he couldn’t stop crying. He let it be until the next day.
The classroom was full of lively students, everyone chatting until the popular student walked in with eyes reddened and dried. Everyone gathered around him with eyes of worry and words of encouragement and comfort because everyone heard the news of his father’s passing.
With tears streaming down his face, he pressed his hand to his heart and clenched it, thanking everyone. They comforted him, and his friends supported him while he was in school—no, everyone was there for him.
They’re curious about his father, and he decided to tell it to everyone because, before his father’s mission, he wanted his legacy to remain by telling his stories that he told his son when he was little that fascinated him and made him remember every single detail.
“Son, ever since you were a little child, everyone has come to see you on Sundays because they could not believe your mother and I would become parents. They told you their stories, but I think it is time for you to hear mine. Our life was full of surprises, and once I tell you everything, tell everyone about me so they will know who I am from the beginning.”
Recalling his father’s statements, who was he? Why are my father and mother so well respected by everyone? Why is it that my mother and father’s contributions are always featured in magazines and articles? Why do they always check me out at Taylor’s Hospital, and who are they?
The thought slipped from his mind with a sentence: “Let them know our legacy.”
He smiled and turned to face his friends as he proudly started to tell the story of his father, Erwin Francis, and his meeting with Crystal Rosario, his mother.
