Prologue
A cold steel table stood under a pale fluorescent light. Cement plated all four walls, leaving no room for warmth and comfort. The only light that came through was from the window installed on the back wall. Curtained with barbed-wire and decorated with cob-webs, the window was the only attraction in the room. The only time the room was opened was when a task needed to be dealt with. And on a warm summer morning, such an occasion took place.
The light flickered, the dust stirred, and the hinges squeaked as a steel door jerked open. A man dressed in a black suit walked in. He straightened his jacket and flicked the powder off his shoulders. He placed a battered folder onto the table. In fondness, he passed a hand over it before leaving the room and shutting the door.
When at last the dust and debris settled, and there was a moment for the air to breathe, a deep growl of stone against stone echoed in the room, disturbing the quietness again. To the left side, another door, one would not expect to be there in an otherwise unremarkable wall, entered a woman. She was dressed in a tailored black suit and her hair was purposely trimmed to hide her profile. She tucked the folder under her arm and vanished behind the hidden door from which she entered, which was pulled shut immediately after her.
The girl walked briskly down a long foyer that led her into a room filled with ten people. Automatic weapons hung from the walls and large metal cases tiled the floor. Some of the cases were empty while others were packed with explosives and other lethal instruments. Four men guarded the two windows, two guarded the main entrance, and the rest were scattered around the room in their designated stations. The girl made a sharp turn, reaching her destination.
“Sir,” the girl said in her crisp, robotic voice. She whipped out the folder and handed it to the person in front of her.
A rotund man, suited with a heavyweight vest and cargo pants, grabbed the folder and dropped it on his desk. He took a long drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out under his combat boot. He opened the folder, releasing a cloud of fine dust.
The man looked up at the girl and then back down at the folder. He sighed loudly and sifted through several pages carelessly. He blew through loose lips, and looked up at the girl.
In a rough, scratchy voice, he spoke. “He looks overqualified.” The man mumbled some dissatisfaction. But realising he was running out of time, he had no other choice but to accept the application.
“Sir, I have researched this person,” the girl began nervously, “I’m just a little wary about parts of his profile. He has a history of severe mental illness.”
“All the better.” The man sniffed, wiped his nose, and then ushered the woman to leave. “Jennifer, your job is over for now. You don’t have to worry about it. If anything is to go out of control, it’s in our hands now, not yours. Go, get a drink and relax, you deserve it.”
Jennifer bowed from the neck and retreated from the room. The man watched her go before motioning one of his men to shut the door. Once done, the man turned the folder to the other men.
“This is Raiden Morita. He is employed at this hospital in Tokyo, Japan. He’s twenty-eight and lives alone. The rest of his family moved to America and hardly keep in contact with him. Jennifer’s been studying him for the last six months. And I have a good feeling that he’ll get the job done.”
Each man lined up behind the other and observed the documents carefully. There on the steel table was a candid photograph of a young man. His jet black hair was cut tightly around his ears and his bangs were textured and gelled to one side. His dark, alluring eyes and strong jawline gave him a sense of authority.
“What do you think, gentlemen?” the man asked.
“He looks a little too smart,” one man remarked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Looks like he could kick somebody’s ass,” another commented through a nervous smirk.
“We do need a change in the work environment instead of bringing all these vanilla beans in there,” the last man stated, flicking the toothpick he had between his teeth onto the floor. “Looks good, sir. I’ll get him this evening.”
“Good. And please, don’t be stupid like last time.”
The second man scoffed. “Right. You give us Bruce Lee looking dude and expect us to do better? Fine, whatever. We’ll do our best.”
With that, the men nodded respectfully to the man in the chair and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Once it was quiet again, the man turned the photograph around and passed his fingers lightly over the next victim’s face. He hummed to himself and smiled. Reaching over to a hand bell at the corner of his desk, he rang it twice.
Within less than a minute, Jennifer obediently entered the room. “Sir?”
“If it’s no problem for you, I know I just told you to take the day off, but do me a favour, my love, find a woman that’ll suit our Mr. Morita. I want everything ready when he gets here.”
“Yes, sir. I already thought of one.”
The man tilted his head, impressed. “Really?”
“Yes. Ava Mills.”
