Immortals of Eden: Rogue

By J. Q. LINCOLN

A mythological sci-fi thriller set in the late 21st century, Theo Tabor struggles with the meaning of existence—until he vanishes from civilization to find a greater purpose. Recruited into an elusive organization to hone his abilities and become the assassin he was meant to be, Theo must endure far more than he could ever imagine to find the only person he's ever truly cared for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543900927

Book preview

Rogues

Prologue

A middle-aged heavy-set man anxiously fidgeted with the pages of a book, as he read in his office. The man let out a long heavy sigh and slowly lowered his book to rest on the edge of his tinted glass desk. He pushed his forefinger and thumb into his eyes and rubbed them hard.  Suddenly, he tossed the book down on his desk and reached for the phone. His sweaty fingers slipped off the buttons, as he frantically attempted to enter the numbers.

Damn it! he exclaimed angrily, after a few fleeting attempts, and then slammed the receiver down and let out an irritated grumble.

Sons of bitches, making me wait at a time like this. I swear if those idiots aren’t here within the next five minutes –! the man shouted, as he arduously stood up from his desk.

He steadily made his way over to an open window overlooking a vast city and an involuntary sigh escaped his lungs. Suddenly, a knock sounded on his door and the man jumped.

Yes, come in! he ordered firmly, with a hint of irritation, as he collected himself and closed the window.

Three tall, gaunt, men walked in and formed a line parallel to his desk. Their attire was nearly identical and their stature followed suit.

Good evening, Mr. Sherman. We apologize for our tardiness, matters beyond our – began the man in the middle, but Mr. Sherman threw his hand up to demand silence.

Are all my affairs in order? Did you see to my family? Mr. Sherman demanded, as he turned to face them.

Your wife was placed on a plane, to England, this morning, as requested sir, but your daughter– the man furthest to the right reported, but Mr. Sherman interrupted him with an expression sheer distaste.

What about her? Mr. Sherman shot back, She’s not still here is she!? he demanded impatiently.

Yes sir, replied the man on the left. I tried to make her leave the premises, at the very least, but she swore that it was more important to finish up the reports for this quarter and deliver them to you personally. The man humbly kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke, and kept completely still, as if Mr. Sherman would lash out at any moment.

Damn it! he replied furiously, I have only myself to blame for her work ethic, that girl is a machine, he remarked wistfully, almost with a sense of pride.

What would you like us to do, sir? The man in the middle spoke up.

Nothing, he answered coldly. She can handle herself. After she hears the news, I’m positive she’ll be fine. I’m more of a boss than a father in her eyes anyway. She’ll be back to work again on Monday, mark my words. He spoke factually, as if his relationship – or lack thereof – with his daughter was of no real consequence.

Of course, sir, the man in the middle replied, lowering his gaze to the floor. Is there anything else you’d like for us to do before we depart? he asked humbly.

I don’t think so, but I do have something I wish to say to you three before you leave me. Mr. Sherman responded calmly.

He sat back down at his desk, closed his eyes and gave them a meek smile.

As you know, this will undoubtedly be the last time you see me, alive anyhow, he remarked calmly, and then cleared his throat before he continued.

You’ve all been extraordinarily resourceful since the day I brought you in. Each of you has been surprisingly helpful to my family over the last several years, Mr. Sherman said, as he opened his eyes slowly. Men, as you all know, I have only my wife, my daughter, and this bank, he went on. He pressed his hand into his desk as he expressed a particular fondness when mentioning his business. but you three have shown more loyalty to me than almost anyone in the world and, in that respect, I look at you three like the sons I never had. Your efforts have NEVER gone unnoticed, he explained somberly.

Mr. Sherman – The man on the right started to interject but again Mr. Sherman quietly raised his hand, requesting his silence.

Half of my liquid assets will be split among you three. I’ve already made the arrangements with the lawyers to have this taken care of tomorrow, so modesty and humility won’t make me change my mind. You should have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your lives. Of course, I expect you will take care of your true families in the meantime, he explained quietly, as they stood stone-faced, at attention.

The three men nodded their heads in unison and remained silent, but there was a severe discomfort shared between the three of them. This was not a voluntary separation, for any of them.

It’s almost time. You three should be on your way, Mr. Sherman said helplessly.

The man in the middle broke his composure and took a step toward Mr. Sherman’s desk.

Walter, it has been an honor to work for you. We only hope that this plan you’ve been devising for the last decade will come to fruition, as you hope. I think I speak for all of us when I say, you deserve to rest easy, sir, he said sincerely and the men on his sides nodded their approval.

Thank you, Colt, he replied earnestly.

Mr. Sherman nodded to the man on the right And you, Steven, then turned his head to the man on the left and you, Geoffrey. You’ve truly been like sons to me. Please, my last request, watch after Danielle when I’m gone. Make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble, he concluded grimly.

Colt stepped back and looked at his colleagues. They both nodded and Colt bowed his head.

We will do our best, Mr. Sherman, he replied calmly, after he regained his disposition. Good bye, sir, he concluded callously, with a firm nod.

The men turned on their heels and quietly marched out of the office.

Mr. Sherman got up from his desk and slowly walked over to a mini fridge, secretly tucked away behind a painting on the wall. He pulled out a bottle of brandy and a chilled glass, and then steadily returned to his desk. Mr. Sherman poured himself a drink, then sat down and took a few shaky sips. Sweat beaded up on his forehead from the remainder of the body heat sweltering throughout the room and he undid his tie, to relieve some of his own body heat.

Walter stood up awkwardly, as he adjusted his weight around, and strode toward one of the massive windows, which made up an entire wall of his office. He stared listlessly at the city for a moment, then propped open the window and inhaled the night air, as deeply as he could. He knew it would be one of his last.

Mr. Sherman exhaled, quickly drained the contents from his glass, walked back over to his large, high-backed, leather chair and sat down hard, with an exasperated heavy sigh. He then grabbed a small notepad which sat close to him and grabbed a pen from the plaque on his desk. Mr. Sherman swiftly wrote:

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero

He let out a faint chortle at his mantra that had defined his entire life and tossed his pen down on the pad. The pen rolled off the notepad and onto the desk.

Suddenly, he heard a faint shearing noise, from behind him, and his face instantly drained of all color.

Oh God, he whispered fearfully, as he turned his head slowly to the right.

He let out a groan as a two-inch horizontal gash appeared directly in the center of his chest. He gasped for air as it quickly turned into a gaping hole before his eyes. Mouth agape, he shakily stared at the wound in his chest and abruptly sputtered blood all down his front. His bright red, freshly oxidized blood began to drip idly down onto his dress shirt from the wound.

Mr. Sherman exhaled his final breath and slumped over onto his desk. As his heart pumped its contents onto the surface of his desk, his blood seeped into the notepad and mixed with the ink, distorting the text until it became illegible. Mr. Walter P. Sherman’s message was lost, forever.

Chapter 1

Widow-maker

In the beginning, I was certain of only one thing. I was chosen. Not by fate or destiny. Not by any god or deity. I was chosen by a man, to be used as a weapon. I was meant to be a tool. A pawn in a never-ending game, nothing more than a means to an end. There were never any doubts about this. I never had any delusions of grandeur. All I ever truly sought was knowledge, merely to make myself better.

At first, I saw what I did to be like any other job in the world. I had to be trained, I had bosses, and I got paid. This job was really more of life-long, utterly permanent, career. To be honest, it took me awhile after initiation, but I inevitably realized what I had become and what I had gained from all my time training stemmed from so much more than a mere position of employment. I was a collaboration of geniuses and madmen, designed to adapt and overcome any situation.

One of my first assignments was a businessman, at work, in his office, in the middle of San Francisco. I had specific instructions to remain unseen and unheard, by anyone. For most people, this would seem impossible, especially given the size of the building I faced.

I carefully studied my destination from across the street. Size was of no matter to me, I merely needed to find an adequate entry point. It was a great test of my abilities, especially considering I’d only recently graduated from my training. To be given a mission, populated with unwary citizens almost completely oblivious to their own surroundings, sounded like fun. I thought to myself, as I stared at the massive building, What a great opportunity this would be to prove myself. If I executed this target without flaw, I would be inducted into the ranks of Shade. I was elated by the fact that I was given a chance to become an elite member of my organization.

I saw only one logical entrance – an open window, near the roof. After I analyzed the rate at which I would have to climb in order to get to the open window, I pulled the hood on my jacket over my head, then quickly dashed across the densely occupied city street and made my way around the left side of the enormous building.

After about fifteen feet up from the ground, the building was basically nothing but tinted glass windows. I knew the climb could get complicated, if my reflexes weren’t quick enough.

It was essential to become invisible before I scaled the building, or I risked being exposed. I closed my eyes and, after a few seconds, I felt my body become lighter, then opened my eyes, to see nothing of myself. I double-checked all my equipment, to ensure it was transparent, then immediately began my rapid ascension of the building.

I jumped straight up, passed the brick and cement foundation, then latched onto the windows with my palms. As I slammed both of my palms into the glass, it slightly fractured where my hands and body impacted, but didn’t completely break. Once I was satisfied I stuck like glue to the glass, I reached my right hand up and it stuck effortlessly to the surface. I waited only a moment, then began my ascension up the glass, rapidly, like a gecko.

My ascent was smooth. Once I reached the open window, I flew through the threshold and landed silently, on plush white carpet. I gazed up from my crouched position to find a woman furiously typing on her glass desk. I’m not sure what her occupation was, but clearly she was good at it if she had an office with a window that opened, especially that high up in the building.

As I silently stepped around her desk, her head whipped around toward me. It seemed as if she noticed me out of the corner of her eye. She made an odd expression, as she warily glanced in my direction. For a moment, I could have sworn she looked right at me. I quickly realized she was merely looking through me and I relaxed slightly. She shrugged and went back to furiously typing. Without her notice, I opened her door and crept into the hallway. It made me a little nervous that she saw me for that moment. The fact that she even thought she had seen something, at all, was terrifying. That’s one of the first signs of amazing potential. Thankfully, she appeared to be a simple pencil pusher. A number cruncher. Nothing more than a mere drone. Certainly not something to fret over.

I shook the thought from my mind and continued down the hall. It was late in the evening, so there were fewer people than normal daytime hours, but they were still shuffling around making copies and pacing the floors like any daytime worker.

My destination was the top floor and there was no roof access without breaking locks or doors. Fracturing windows was one thing, some kind of cover-up could be orchestrated to make it look like an accident, it was more likely to simply be overlooked with a building of that size, but breaking and entering into a doorway from the outside is almost impossible to mask, unless given the appropriate tools, which I was not provided, nor permitted, to use for this particular contract. It came down to one of two options:  elevator or stairs.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to attempt to come in the front entrance at street level, which I was told would be highly unlikely, unless I shadowed somebody so closely I could mask my heat signature. I was informed, in my briefing, that the building had infrared cameras at every entrance. It was a corporate bank office, but nothing about it was ordinary. This particular building was home to executives and held highly sensitive information regarding international accounts. Once inside, however, security was lax.

I found no visibly marked door for the stairs, so I decided to go for the elevator that was in plain sight. Unfortunately, it sat on the opposite side of the vast room. I ducked in and out of cubicles and offices, swiftly making my way to the elevator, ensuring I remained unheard and unseen. Once I reached the elevator, I had to wait patiently until someone happened to use it. There weren’t enough people around, so an elevator randomly stopping on the floor, with no passengers, wouldn’t go unnoticed, and I didn’t want to risk raising any attention while I was still trying to find my target. Luck was a lady for me, it seemed, because not thirty seconds after I positioned myself in front of the elevator the woman that I had stumbled upon, typing in her office, came strolling around the corner of the cubicles and gently pushed the up arrow on the glass elevator call panel. After a few moments the elevator doors opened and greeted us with a friendly chime.

As we got on the elevator together, I considered the strange coincidence with her open window and now the elevator. I could have kissed her. She was making this almost too easy and had absolutely no idea what she would inevitably be an accomplice to.

The doors shut and I crouched in the corner while she stood in front of the button panel. She tapped the one for the top floor and the doors closed. A soft female voice called out once the doors slid shut.

Voice recognition required for the executive level. Please state your name for voice recognition analysis, it requested politely. The young woman cleared her throat before she replied.

Danielle Sherman, she said softly.

Access granted. Thank you, Ms. Sherman, it replied.

The first thing I noticed, as the elevator began to ascend, was the smell of her perfume. It was intoxicating. It was subtle enough that it was pleasant and alluring, but simultaneously overwhelming. Then I thought, maybe it was just her.

As the elevator ascended the few remaining floors, toward the top, I noticed her face in the reflection of the mirrored glass in the doors. She looked weary. This woman was young and beautiful, but clearly exhausted. Even though her eyes were heavy from exhaustion and her dark brown hair was falling out of its tightly woven bun, she was still radiant. I couldn’t believe I didn’t notice it in her office, but I suppose I was in too much of a rush to get away from her, because I knew, somewhere deep down, she had gotten a glimpse of me.

The young woman gazed upward, into the mirror, and her expression changed to the same one she had in her office. My stomach dropped. I knew she had seen something of my reflection in the mirror. She whipped around and looked down, directly where I was crouched, then up to the ceiling. The woman let out a heavy sigh, as a look of disappointment washed over her face and she spoke softly in my direction.

I’ve seen you twice tonight, she said quietly as she turned to face the elevator doors, and either I’m losing my mind or someone is actually following me, she remarked suspiciously, then immediately followed with a heavy sigh.

I held my breath and concentrated as hard as I could to retain my invisibility and keep my breathing quiet. She let out an adorable little snort, sighed heavily once again, and dropped her gaze toward the elevator floor, as the elevator happily chimed at our arrival to the top floor.

I’m losing my mind. I really should take a vacation. A hint of despair could be heard in her soft voice.

She placed her hand over her face, as the doors opened, and turned left, as she walked out of the elevator. Oddly enough my destination was the same direction. Somehow, I knew she was going to the same place I was headed, clearly, with that stack of papers under her arm. I followed her closely and made a fleeting decision to try to make a difference in the world, in my own way.

There was no one else in the hallway and the floor was utterly silent. I knew I wasn’t supposed to allow anyone to see me, but somehow I felt as if she wasn’t going to tell anyone about me. I placed all my weapons and my other worldly possessions behind a large black granite column. Just before she reached the door I called out to her.

Excuse me, Miss? I said softly.

She gasped, dropped all her papers and quickly turned on the spot. We made eye contact briefly before she dropped to the floor and began fidgeting with her paperwork. I could tell I had frightened her, so I approached her slowly.

You scared the hell out of me! She admitted anxiously.

I knelt down to the floor and helped her pick up the chaotic mess I had created. She must have suspected that I was a suit that worked on this floor, which was not altogether surprising given the quality of my attire.

My coat, like the rest of my clothing, was black so, of course, my outfit matched. It was cut longer, similar to a trench coat, and was made of a very light fabric tailored to appear like an average jacket; mine was special in that it had a deep hood and was lined from top to bottom with a specially-designed, light-weight, bulletproof, metal plating. I thought my lack of dress shoes, a neck tie, or possibly my age might have given me away, but apparently I frightened her so badly, she didn’t notice. I stood up and handed her the last piece of paper, then looked directly into her eyes.

You’re better than this, I said firmly.

Her mouth gaped slightly and her eyes poured out confusion.

You have so much potential that you don’t even realize, I added with a reassuring gaze.

I – I don’t– she began to stammer, as I reached out for her hand when she hesitated and helped her up from the floor.

You don’t need to understand right now. I have a feeling you will eventually, but for the time being just remember what I said, I replied quickly.

She searched my eyes for truth, but, I could see I was a complete mystery to her.

"You may be called on to do something great one day. I would hate to see you miss that opportunity because you thought this was your calling," I motioned around to the office.

I had an overwhelming feeling, the moment I looked into her eyes, she was somehow special. I have a feeling we may meet again someday, I concluded quietly, as I let go of her hand.

I quickly turned away from her to retreat down the hallway, hoping that she wouldn’t realize I wasn’t an employee there. I said way too much and lingered in the open far too long. As I neared the corner, she managed to get out, W-Wait! Who are you!?

Before I turned the corner, I looked back over my shoulder and paused for a moment. I turned my gaze away from her and back toward my equipment, hidden behind the granite column. Without looking at her, I let out a small sigh.

Someone who was once like you, I replied just loud enough for her to hear me.

I pulled my hood back up over my head and walked out of her line of sight. I closed my eyes and felt weightlessness overtake me, for a moment, as I became transparent. After I silently walked back to the granite column and collected my things, I strapped both of my swords on my back then quickly stuffed the rest of my equipment back inside my jacket. As I came around the corner, I saw the woman, with her back against the wall, quietly crying on the floor.

To be honest, I was furious with myself. I was never allowed to speak to anyone, unless it was to gather information.

As I approached, her crying suddenly ceased. Thankfully, she was unable to see me as I steadily crept passed her.

Ugh, I’m so pathetic, she muttered as she wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I should have asked if I could go with him… Hi, my name is Danielle. Can I please come with you to escape this hell hole, believe me, anywhere is better than here!" She smacked herself in the forehead. God, I’m such a hopeless moron! Why didn’t I say something!? Anything! She remarked angrily, as she got up from the floor.

She marched back down the hallway toward the elevator cursing at herself the entire way. I flustered her so severely, she forgot to deliver her papers, which meant she would be coming back. I needed to get moving before she realized that she hadn’t fulfilled her task.

After I reached my destination – two massive granite double doors – I pressed my ear against one of the doors and heard faint voices. Those voices made it apparent to me the endeavor at hand wasn’t going to be as quick as I had hoped. I risked everything by simply strolling in there, but I wasn’t left with many options. So, I carefully and slowly cracked open one of the intensely heavy doors, which read Walter D. Sherman, Owner & C.E.O. on the front, then slipped into the room and immediately saw the backs of three men. Fortunately, they faced the desk at the back of the room, blocking the view of my target. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but I knew seated behind that desk was my target.

After I quietly shut the door behind me, I slowly moved off to the side of the group, tucked my hood into my collar, then crept up an adjacent wall and clung, upside-down, to the ceiling. I slid, upside down, with my stomach pressed against the granite ceiling, as I positioned myself directly above the group of suits, in front of the desk. They took their time discussing whatever irrelevant nonsense they carried on about and I observed my surroundings.

Antique rock-and-roll memorabilia covered nearly every inch of his office walls. A giant portrait of Elvis and nearly a dozen others littered the office. Other than that, the office was very modern, but also very empty. The only seat in the room was the one my target sat in. No shelving, tables or any decor of any kind, other than the atrocious pictures. I found that rather odd. Especially considering he was the chief executive officer of this company.

This was one target I was given very little information about, only a few key details about his location and a name. Most of the time a reason was given why a request for an assassination had been implemented, but on certain occasions we were informed of only basic necessities. We were told it was for the sake of plausible deniability, but I found that hard to believe considering exposure nearly always meant death. It’s not as though interrogation would prove effective. Regardless of the excuse they gave us for their reasoning, I never questioned the mission briefings, there was no point. I assumed if they wanted us to know, they would tell us. How naive I was.

Sweat beaded up on my forehead and rolled onto my scalp. Not from exertion, but from the heat sweltering in the room. Only a few minutes passed after my arrival, and the temperature had become unbearable.

We will do our best, Mr. Sherman, said the man in the middle. Good bye, sir, he concluded, with a nod.

He waved them off without another word and the three men, one by one, marched out of the room.

My target arose from his seat and went over to a hidden refrigerator, tucked away behind a painting on the wall. He began to pour himself a drink as he sat at his desk. The alcohol was so pungent I could smell it from the ceiling.

After a few seconds, he awkwardly stood up as he adjusted his weight around and ambled over to one of the massive windows that made up an entire wall of his office. After he opened one, he stared into the illuminated night of downtown San Francisco. As he did so, I waited in silence for him to take down the last swig of his high ball glass and observe his last moments of life.

After what felt like hours, he finally drained the contents of his glass, walked back over to his large, high-backed leather chair and sat down hard with an exasperated heavy sigh.

It was time. I severed my bond with the ceiling, flipped over in midair and silently landed behind him, with my knees bent and one palm to the floor.

With my right hand, I reached over my shoulder and released my blade from its sheath. I stayed low to the ground and slowly crept toward the back of the soon-to-be late Walter D. Sherman. I quickly removed the remainder of my blade from its sheath and goosebumps arose on the back of my neck, as the sound reached my ears. Adrenaline rushed into my system, every time I heard it.

As soon as the faint shearing sound came from my blade, Mr. Sherman’s ears perked up and he turned his head slightly.

Oh God, he whispered shakily, but I thought nothing of it.

I plunged my sword into the back of the chair and pierced through his chest, then tightly gripped the hilt, twisted to the right, and quickly wrenched my blade out of his sternum. Mr. Sherman let out a slight gurgle, as the blood from his newly pierced heart pumped into his esophagus and he gradually slumped over his desk. I stood up, flicked the blood off of my blade and steadily placed my sword in its sheath.

Chapter 2

Recruitment of Shadows

For moment, I hesitated in my departure and glanced over at the material possessions on the desk of the late Walter D. Sherman. A singular picture, of what must have been his family, was isolated from the few material possessions on its surface. For a brief moment I felt a hint of remorse for what I’d done, but it passed as quickly as it came.

I brought my gaze back to the lifeless corpse I had punctured a hole through only moments ago. There was no point in looking at the family I had just torn apart. I lost track of time and reality as I stared at him. Distant memories overtook my senses.

The voice of my main instructor, master swordsman Takeshi Masamune, rang through my mind –

Do not let personal feelings come between you and the elimination of The Accused. You alone have been chosen for the task, therefore, you must execute without mercy.

The Accused was the label for our targets. In my opinion, The Shadow Society had an affinity for the melodramatic. They tried to implement this feeling of self-righteousness that I always considered to be a massive waste of time. I never had the feeling I was any better than any civilian walking the streets. From the poverty-ridden vagabond begging for spare change in crime-infested streets, to the white collar suburbanite drone with a full-time job, two and half kids, a white picket fence and a dog. Reaching all the way up the socio-economic ladder to the cold-hearted elitist capitalists who implement the rules and regulations to keep the masses in check. In my eyes, we were all part of the same mass human virus which infected the planet, steadily choking the life from every species which resided upon it.

Admittedly, every single member of the Shadow Society possessed knowledge which the vast majority of the human beings on the planet did not. Merely the fact that I was capable of silently dispatching that entire aforementioned family, and their dog, in their suburban home in less time than it takes for little Billy to take out the trash, made me feel no better about my existence than Billy’s father who spends his time in his office, belligerently drunk, because his wife gained fifty pounds after their second child was born and never lost the weight. Screw them all … and their little dog, too. No one is perfect.

In the end, as far as morals were concerned, it made little to no difference to me, because I didn’t even think twice when I was approached by the person who recruited me.

I was twenty-one years old and enjoyed my utterly solitary and reclusive lifestyle on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon. I arrived home from work, one fateful autumn morning, at around 3 a.m. After I walked inside, I dropped my keys into a bowl, atop an entry table, by the front door. As I drudged into my kitchen, I let out an involuntary heavy sigh as my front door slammed shut on its own. The automatic lights didn’t come on, and a disgruntled sigh escaped my lungs. An abrupt and irrational sense of gut wrenching fear suddenly washed over my entire body, which momentarily paralyzed me. Something felt wrong.

Only a moment passed and an orange light flared up toward the center of my kitchen. My eyes honed in on the bright circular orange glow of a steadily burning cigar, encased in the silhouette of a hooded figure. In that moment, I was able to make out a gaunt stubble-covered face. The man exhaled and what little I saw of his face vanished behind the cloud of smoke.

Sit, he demanded in a deep growl.

There was a moment of strained silence.

Who are you? I replied apprehensively.

That wasn’t a request lad. Sit. Down. Now, he ordered impatiently and I noticed a slight Irish accent.

I reluctantly made my way over to the nearest chair, across the table from where he sat. The moment I was within reach, I gripped the top of the wooden back, pulled it toward my stomach and paused briefly before I sat down.

It was difficult to breathe. My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. Adrenaline surged throughout my body.

Relax, he said calmly and took a long drag from his cigar.

It was difficult to relax in almost complete darkness, with a nearly invisible intruder sitting only a few feet from me. He impatiently exhaled smoke toward me, so I gathered all the courage I could and made my way around the chair, then steadily sat down.

Whether you realize it or not, we’ve been watching you for some time now, Mr. Tabor, he proclaimed, as I sat back in my chair.

I remained quiet. Given the circumstances, his statement was only logical.

You have been recognized by my organization as being a worthy candidate for a position amongst our ranks, he explained quietly.

From what we’ve gathered, you possess a keen intellect, an observant nature, a strong will, the ability to adapt to virtually any situation, and most importantly of all you’re able to perceive reality beyond what most people can see, let alone comprehend, he continued, but paused for a moment to take a long drag from his cigar.

After he paused, I realized I was sweating profusely. It seemed like this man had been watching me for years. Anxiety overwhelmed me and he only made it worse by drawing out his silence.

I gripped the edge of the table with both hands and steadily inhaled, then exhaled quickly. The man remained eerily quiet, as I attempted to calm myself.

I understand you’re anxious, but you need to listen to me very carefully, he instructed gruffly, then continued without waiting for a response.

We perform tasks which some people may find, he paused for a few moments to find the right words, distasteful, some might even say illegal. We do so discreetly and silently, from the shadows, he explained somberly.

He paused again, to take another long drag from his cigar, as if he was waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

You kill people, I muttered involuntarily.

He exhaled smoke and let out a deep raspy chuckle.

You’re a quick one, he replied patronizingly.

So, what, you’re here to recruit me? I conjectured.

The man didn’t reply.

I mean, if you were here to kill me, I would be dead already, right? W-why else would you show yourself? I spoke hurriedly, almost frantic with anticipation.

He drew off the cigar and the faint glow illuminated an insidious sideways smirk.

I took a deep breath, sat back and let out a heavy sigh. It was utterly silent for a moment then the burning tip of the cigar crackled, as he inhaled. Another smug grin was illuminated for a brief moment then vanished behind a cloud of smoke.

You would have been dead long before you reached your front door, he finally replied with a complacent tone, as he exhaled smoke toward me.

Observant and intuitive, which, of course, is why I’m here. So, my question to you, albeit obvious at this point, is simple, he proclaimed casually and steadily leaned across the table toward me.

Care to join? he whispered and I could almost feel his gaze pierce through the darkness, straight into my eyes as I desperately searched the shadows for an explanation to what was truly occurring in my kitchen.

I couldn’t believe it. My initial thought after he asked me was the fact that I was nobody. I felt that I’d accomplished nothing of any great importance in my life. As a youth if I tried to control or manipulate something into my favor, it could only be done quietly and with subtlety. Failure to do so, as a young child, taught me to blend in during high school and how to bite my tongue when I entered into the working world. Most of my personal interests had to be methodical and premeditated, otherwise I would find some form of karmic backfire. How the hell had these people found me at all? I’d gone to great lengths to remain unnoticed. When did they notice me? What had I done in my menial life to draw any sort of attention