BLIND SPOT
One…two…three… she fired towards the space in the dark alley. She adjusted her position on the cold rooftop floor, between the guard shack and the railings, her rifle still aligned with the edge of the concrete wall. The wind moved stealthily across the rooftop, occasionally raising some debris. Still, her eyes never left the target and his two lackeys as they stepped into the building.
One of the lackeys stayed behind, his eyes scanned the street perhaps looking for the shooter. Every few seconds, his hand brushed near his waist where his weapon was hidden.
S-02 fired again, the sound echoing twice as much.
He froze, then cursed under his breath. He reached for his weapon and moved to the alley to investigate. A few minutes later, he lay in a pool of his own blood.
“One down… target's location in building unknown,” she whispered into the communication device in her ear.
The line hummed softly, “Sixth floor,” a robotic voice came from the device.
She nodded and began dismantling the rifle, scattering its parts across the roof so that no one could reuse it.
This target was far from ordinary. He was a highly skilled top assassin for one of the top government officials. This hotel building was his, so she needed to act fast. She exhaled softly but quickly held her breath as faint footsteps approached from the stairs. She pressed her ears against the concrete to listen.
“Almost here…," she whispered to the device.
Immediately, he arrived in her line of sight, short, muscular with a stiff face. She deliberately stood up, shifting her shoulder just enough to be seen. Though her movements were small, they did not escape his sharp eyes. His head snapped towards her instantly, and the silenced gun in his hand rose towards her. In an instant, the shot pierced her side.
S-02 jerked backwards, red liquid spilling across her sleeve, the hidden blood pouch beneath the bulletproof layer burst open. She faked a muffled scream, her body dropping to the ground in a convincing fall. From a distance, it looked like a clean kill.
“ Laser detected. Three… Five…. Nine…” a voice from the ear device began listing the positions of the snipers surrounding the rooftop.
Soon, red dots began crawling across her body like insects. She kept perfectly still, calculating their positions while plotting her next move.
“Find me a blind spot,” she murmured under her breath.
The reply was a beep sound, and silence followed almost immediately. Her connection to the base was gone.
Her eyes narrowed, but she did not flinch. Sometimes the connection to the base could be completely unreliable. Through half-closed eyes she watched the target approaching cautiously. His steps were slow and calculated, not wanting to miss a single detail. Her gaze moved carefully across him, taking in his bare skin, which was exposed beneath a simple sweater and jeans. ‘Perfect,’ she thought. Within a second, her hand shot forward, she fired a single shot straight into the soft point beneath his shoulder. She fired again, on the other shoulder.
“You… you…,” he repeated as he fell on his face, too weak to move.
She crawled out, slipping into the large barrel in front. Immediately, gunfire erupted across the rooftop. The sound of bullets hammered the metal walls while the red laser continued to search for tiny openings in the container.
She curled inside the container, breathing evenly while the noise echoed around her. The barrel would not last long and more of his people were on their way to the rooftop. She slipped out a nose mask from her pocket, put it on, then kicked the barrel into motion. Outside, the gunfire continued more relentlessly and impatiently.
The barrel rolled to a stop near the edge, S-02 quietly slipped a hand out and, with her strength, yanked out the air vent. She lay as low as possible on the ground and carefully slipped inside before closing it. The shooters kept firing at the container, unaware their target had already vanished.
She crept through the ceiling until she came across the familiar vent she had used earlier, leading to the cleaning room. As she jumped into the room, her eyes met a female janitor. Before she could scream, S-02 sprayed a powder in the air. The janitor coughed and gradually lost consciousness.
She took an extra pair of janitor clothes that were behind a locker and changed into them, putting her hair in a face cap. She set the body suit she wore on fire, letting it burn completely to ashes. The fire began to spread through the room and she coughed.
“Fire…fire, someone is inside,” she said through muffled screams. Her eyes were wide with fear as she ran out, adding to the already existing chaos from the shots outside.
…
She went to a corner outside, changing quickly into a plain lavender-coloured long-sleeve shirt tucked into a skirt. ‘Time to be Etta’ she smirked. She rolled her black hair into a bun at the back of her head, and her glasses sat pretty on her nose bridge. She changed her nose mask to a new one and sprayed perfume to mask the smell of smoke completely.
She walked a little far from the hotel, stopping by the traffic lights. She appeared relaxed, her eyes fixed as she typed on the phone.
A black SUV stopped at the red light. Without much thinking, she opened the car and entered. The scent of sandalwood hit her nostrils. She sucked in a breath as she also caught the scent of leather.
“Helix Detective Agency," she said, faking a cough as she ignored the expensive scent. Her eyes were buried in her phone.
" Miss, you're in the wrong car,” the driver said.
Etta raised her head slowly, “Sorry?" she pretended, observing her surroundings. She could definitely not get a taxi at this hour. The base had forgotten to send a car to pick her up like they always did. For a minute, she thought of getting off but decided against it.
" Can I get a ride, then?” she asked, not lifting her eyes from the phone.
“ Miss, you…,” he tried to answer.
“Let her stay," a deep male voice interrupted from Etta’s side.
She lifted her gaze to the presence beside her. Her eyes met his light brown ones, her favourite colour. She stared at him unblinking as she traced his features —black hair, high-bridged nose, thin lips and a jawline that looked like it could cut through anything. Without a doubt, he was the most handsome man she had ever met.
The traffic lights switched to green, reminding her to tear her eyes away from him. Without warning the car got on the road again.
“Do you randomly get into cars?” the man beside her said.
His voice was deep yet soft like those fleece blankets she got recently. His gaze was so intense that she blushed slightly.
“What's going on in that little head of yours?" he asked, amused.
Etta scratched her neck awkwardly, faking a cough. " Nothing.”
" And Pinocchio has a short nose," he smirked.
She glared at him but he grinned lightly. He picked up a blanket from his side and handed it to her.
" Seems like you caught a cold," he said.
“I’m fine," she replied, ignoring the blanket.
“I see," he said. “I'm Caleb."
Suddenly the car swerved to the right. She slid right into his body, lifting her head, their eyes met for the second time today. ‘God who looks this good,’ she thought, visibly gulping. She drew in his scent, something about it made her feel relaxed — like home.
" Stop looking at me like a kid eyeing a piece of candy," he teased.
“ You're one enticing piece," she replied, rolling her eyes as she realised their position.
“I'm curious," he said dangerously low as he reached to hold her chin. “What would you like to do about it?”
“Trust me," she whispered. “You would not want to know.”
He drew her closer to him, his gaze locked on her eyes. She fluttered her lashes, tilting her head to the side.
“You were in the fire ?" he asked, releasing her slightly.
She nodded but did not say more, taking her chance to slide back to the other side.
“Silver," she replied, extending her hands for a handshake.
“Friends?" he chuckled.
“You gave me a free ride," she replied. " I owe you one.”
He pointed to the mask on her face but she shook her head.
" There's a next time,” she said in an almost inaudible voice, muffled because of the mask. “Trust me, I'm prettier than you think.”
He nodded in return, his eyes lingering on her body a little before trailing back to the laptop on his lap.
She continued to steal glances at him for the rest of the journey while pretending to be on her phone.
"Miss, we have arrived,” said the driver from the front.
...
Etta stood in front of a tall glass building. Helix Detective Agency, written in black block letters above the entrance. The organisation was a well-known private investigation firm that specialised mostly in gathering information, conducting surveillance and finding evidence for individuals or corporations. Most clients come to investigate legal disputes, corporate fraud, or even missing-person cases.
Inside, the employees were busy, the city has been filled with crimes lately. It is no wonder everyone was mandated to pull an all-nighter.
A man in a black jean jacket, held the door open for a short woman carrying a stack of case files. Two interns stood at a corner discussing something on a tablet. The rest were either on their systems or walking from one office to another.
Her eyes were focused on whatever was in front of her, but her mind did not drift from the thought of the man she had just met. He looked so perfect. His brown eyes reminded her of her preference for her coffee. Light brown and hot like him.
“Good morning, ma," the receptionist greeted, interrupting her train of thought.
Etta nodded, flashing her employee card. The receptionist also nodded and continued to tap on the laptop in front of her. She walked ahead to a door that read STAFF ONLY. She tapped her ID card against the scanner making the door open to a staircase. She ascended the steps quickly and quietly pushed open the glass doors to the senior employee floor.
Another receptionist sat behind a curved desk answering a phone call while typing something into a computer. This brightly lit floor held glass offices, each with a sliding door and a desk inside. Behind some of the glass offices, investigators leaned over desks studying photographs, reports, and surveillance images.
She crossed the hallway quietly except for the soft clinking of her heels. A few employees glanced at her in her direction before quickly looking away, assuming she was just one of the agency’s most specialised operatives on a higher floor than theirs. She walked towards an elevator reserved only for special operatives. Upon reaching, she pressed her thumb against the small scanner beside the panel. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside. The control panel had no buttons. She placed her right palm flat against the metal panel and another scanner activated immediately. Then the elevator began to descend.
When the doors opened again, the atmosphere had changed completely. Dim lights now stretched across the corridor with tiny cameras watching every corner. On the walls were steel doors leading to offices marked with encrypted identification codes. A few agents moved quietly, carrying black folders. This was the part of the agency hidden from the public. The only people who knew about it were the higher-ups in the country, people actively involved in the underground and the agents themselves.
For seven years, she had been working effectively as an agent after five years of brutal training. Year after year, she completed countless missions successfully. Not once did she fail, moving her from the E- division, the lowest, to the S-division, the highest, where she had been the only one to ever reach. She became S-02 because there had once been an S-01 who betrayed the agency and was eliminated.
As she stepped out of the elevator, she moved down the corridor until she reached a black door at the far end with nothing on it.
She knocked once, then entered. As always, it was empty; the only thing present was another door with DIRECTOR ACCESS boldly written on it. She stopped in front of the door, but before she could knock,
“S-02,” the director’s voice called calmly from the speaker above.
“Mission complete,” she said.
After a long pause, the voice said, “Confirmed.” But the door did not open. It never did, no one ever saw the director face-to-face.
“I’ve completed my 999th mission. The 1000th is to personally meet you,” she said.
The statement hung in the air. There was a moment of awkward silence, then,
“Not yet”, the director answered. “Your record shows just 997."
S-02’s expression hardened slightly. “I keep track of them."
“ The records don't lie either, S-02” the director answered.
“What's next?" she asked coldly.
A part of the wall slid open like a drawer and a thin black folder slid out.
“One for now,” the director said, still calm.
She took it, and the drawer closed immediately, returning the wall to normal.
“ This target is special,” the director continued.
She opened the file. She studied the photograph on the first page. She turned the page — Mr Robert Boche, forty-one years old, divorced. The next few pages contained his contact information, family members, financial reports, security, company activities and lifestyle. She made a mental note to study him later. A quick glance at this file was enough for her to know this was one of her most dangerous targets. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why me?” she dared to ask.
“Because it has to be clean and neat,” the director said, his tone sharp.
With that, she closed the file. “When?”
Her question was met with silence. The meeting was over. That was enough to tell her this had to be done within a week. She turned and walked back to the elevator.
....
An hour later, she was on another elevator to her apartment. The house looked old and unsuspecting from the outside. But, the owners made sure to maintain the interior, thanks to the high maintenance fee. It was not in the heart of the city; the surroundings were quiet, but Etta preferred it that way.
The elevator finally reached her floor. It opened. The air smelt faintly of dust and watercolour.
“You're back,” her middle-aged neighbour, Mr Ambrose, said, smiling at her. He sat in a wheelchair in front of his own apartment door in their shared veranda. A blanket was draped over his knees.
Etta smiled faintly at him and nodded.
He studied her face for a moment. “You look tired, ” he said, voice laced with worry.
“I’m fine,” she smiled, moving to examine the drawing board.
On a small table beside him lay several unfinished sketches of buildings, trees, and distant mountains.
“You’ve improved,” she said, smiling, her fingers tracing the strokes. “ Let me."
She took a pencil and began to add some strokes to the landscape drawing making it look more realistic. She picked up the paintbrush and skillfully painted some more areas, deliberately deepening some of the shades. Within a few minutes, a more beautiful painting emerged.
" Wow!” he clapped, his face lit up in excitement, “ Who taught you to paint so well?”
He had always asked this question but each time, her head was blank. She just stared at the floor.
“I don't know," she hesitated. “It just comes to me "
“When can we paint together again ?” he asked this time, noticing her discomfort.
“Maybe, next week," she said, giving a polite nod.
Inside, the apartment was dim but she didn't bother to turn on the lights. She wasn't one to really like bright places. She plopped on the couch almost sitting on the remote for the T.V. She switched it on.
Her stomach growled as though the remote had switched it on too. She ran a hand through her hair. She hadn't eaten since last night because she wanted to stay light for today.
Still exhausted, she stood up, turning the volume up. She made her way to the kitchen. What do we have in here? She thought, opening the fridge. She found bread, thankfully it hadn't gone stale. Some eggs, butter and a forgotten avocado. The food was ready, she smiled.
Tomorrow night’s Élan de Soie celebrates with her director, Mr Robert Boche, on his forty-second birthday with a theme - Noire Élégance…
She stopped halfway through drinking water. She made her way to the sitting room again. The screen showed a polished news anchor standing in front of a hotel backdrop.
“Le Majestic Pavillon,” Etta repeated the name of the hotel where the event was being held.
“Several high-profile CEOs and business leaders are expected to attend this year's mask party, including Xavier Duvall, who rarely makes public appearances.”
“Interesting," she chuckled. Xavier Duvall. The name rang a bell. She picked up her phone to search. Her eyes grew wide. It was the man she met earlier. He not only had a handsome face, but he also had everything most people desired. Money, Power Influence, name it. No partner. She smirked. People like him couldn't have one partner. She noticed a man standing close to him in one of the pictures. Caleb Newman, his personal assistant.
Etta laughed, amused. He had given her his assistant’s name. Interesting. Really interesting. She thought.
Her eyes trailed back to the T.V again as she leaned on the head of the couch.
“The party begins at 10. p.m, see you there," the reporter ended.
The news changed to some other events.
She muted the television and moved to her work desk. As she turned on her laptop, she took his file, given to her earlier, and typed a code from it into the database. The screen went blank for a minute then it came on. She began scrolling, records of women trafficking, rape, bribery trails, and offshore accounts. Then her eyes narrowed. Several witnesses had disappeared and the cases were closed up. Three journalists linked to investigations committed suicide.
Etta huffed. He had used the agency to help deal with these people. And now someone is using the agency to wipe him off. The gala would be a perfect place to take him down.
She picked up her phone and dialled a number.
