Missions of the Past

By Xander Skousen

Cantain has been in ruins for years.

The Organization of Neutralization has been hidden in the shadows, trying to keep the crime of the city at bay, but they need agents to help the cause...

By drafting the weak and powerless from across Cantain (along with the all but populated Outskirts), the O.N. has trained these

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander Skousen
• Release date: Oct 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088095263

Book preview

Prologue

Rica’s tears soaked the pavement below her, and the shrill echo of gunfire still rang in her ears.

The sirens and lights of the nearby police vehicles continued to wail and flash. People who Rica had never seen before surrounded her home with vicious gossip and worried conversation, widening the pit of fear in Rica's chest. How could this happen to me? Rica’s mind raced. She slightly rocked as she hugged her knees to her chest. I’m only nine, I’m just a kid! Why did this happen?

Through the tsunami of thoughts and blur of tears, Rica could see a shadow blotch out the illumination of the dim streetlight above her.

You okay there, Miss? a man in a dark navy-blue suit stooped next to her, his Irish accent very noticeable.

Rica buried her head into her curled body, ignoring the Irishman's concern.

Mom’s already gone, who is left for me?

Rica looked up and met the gaze of the stranger, her eyes red and swollen, Where’s Dad?

The man shifted his gaze to the sidewalk, a poignant look crossing his face. Rica’s eyes glinted with confusion—she had never seen this man before. His black hair was slicked back over his forehead, and the peach fuzz of an early mustache sat on his lip. He was relatively younger than most men that surrounded her house, mid-twenties perhaps?

Where is he? Rica sobbed, more desperate for an answer.

I always told him to be careful, the man looked up at Rica, he had a smile on his face, but his eyes continued to carry a sorrowful look, Then again… he never would listen.

Rica gazed into the ground once more, tears returning to her vision. I want him back, she whimpered.

She needed him back. He ran away, didn’t he? Her mind hunted for a believable defense. He couldn’t have gone far.

The man put his hand on her shoulder as Rica suppressed a sob.

Stop crying, he will be back.

Miss, the man glanced down at her, We should go.

Stop being scared.

No, Rica pulled away, I’m waiting for Dad, he’ll be back.

Miss, the man kneeled in front of her, his accent becoming softer, there were some men in the house.

Rica stifled another sob, they found the men? That means they found Dad. Right?

Who were they? Rica looked up, Why were they in our house?

The man pressed his lips together, trying to form a response, but he sat in silence, his firm grip on Rica’s shoulder providing little comfort.

What did they do to Dad? Rica’s blurry vision locked onto the pavement as if it would provide an answer to her plea.

Where is he?

The cry of an ambulance cut through the frosty night air. The people that surrounded the house cleared out as a tall, bald man began to holler orders to the driver.

The crowd parted as six paramedics ran into Rica’s home carrying a stretcher. Everyone that surrounded the building fell silent.

Rica rubbed her sleeve across her face, trying to clear her vision enough to see what had happened. She looked up at the man that kneeled by her side, his brows were knitted together as his eyes fastened to the front door of the house.

The crowd shifted. Voices and movement began to increase. People began to talk to one another in hushed tones.

The group gasped as the front doors of the house were thrown open, and six heads began to swerve through the accumulation of bodies.

Rica rubbed both fists in her eyes, her vision still too foggy to perceive who they had brought out of the house.

Is it my dad? Did they find Dad?

Miss, the man stood up, we need to leave.

Was that Dad? Rica rapidly pushed herself onto her knees, Where are they taking him?

I don’t know who that was, the man helped Rica to her feet, "but if it was your father, I’m sure he is in critical condition. You wouldn’t be able to see him."

I need to see him, I want him to know— The siren of the ambulance resumed wailing as the vehicle began to accelerate down the dark streets of the neighborhood.

What did you say, Miss?

Another tear fell to the sidewalk, joining the colony that had fallen before, I want him to know that I’m okay.

He protected you, the man reunited his palm with Rica’s shoulder, of course he knows you’re okay.

Rica sniffed, quietly mumbling under her breath, I want him to know so much…

I don't know what to do... I just want to find who hurt you, Rica swore in her head, I want to find him. I'll track him down, and I will stop him from hurting anyone else. For you.

Here, the Irishman ushered Rica toward a black van that was parked near the sidewalk. The man lifted his hand from Rica’s shoulder and walked to the back of the van.

Rica pulled away, instantly suspicious of the vehicle. What was she doing?

She was stuck in a dream-like state of disbelief, letting her guard down enough to let this man lead her to his van. Why would she trust him? What brought him to her in the first place?

At her hesitancy, the man's eyes widened, Oh my. What have I been doing? He shook his head as if disappointed in himself, I knew Lance, Miss. I was one of his interns.

Lance. Rica's father. Rica's kind, warming, trusting father.

Her everything. The last thing she had left. The last thing that could protect her.

Gone. All gone.

Tears spilled from her eyes as her breaths came out in shuddering sobs.

The man, sympathy now shining in his jade eyes, let out a breath and kneeled before Rica. Miss…

Rica swallowed, forcing her tears to quell. She met the man's kind gaze.

I— he started, then looked into the distance over Rica's shoulder, I'm not at liberty to comfort you… I know you feel alone. I know you feel like you are the only one in the world right now, his eyes made their way back to Rica's, But sometimes, the only thing you have in common with the people around you is the ownership of a beating heart. And sometimes, that's all you need.

Rica's expression loosened, a new feeling building inside her. Why would she trust this man?

Slowly, even as her inner thoughts denied the action, she stepped past the man and stood next to the back doors of the van.

In reaction, the man nodded and pulled on a handle that flung open the two back doors of the vehicle, exposing a multitude of maps and charts lining the interior. Rica stepped in, careful not to tread on one of the many papers scattered across the floor. All of the seats, save for the front two, had been removed, leaving a more spacious area in the back—nearly every inch of it covered in paper.

The man rounded the exterior of the van and climbed into the driver's seat. He stuck his head out from the front. His bright green eyes landed on Rica.

Hey, Miss, his peppy Irish accent immediately filling the van, I don't think I've introduced myself properly. The name's Spencer Griffith.

Rica kept her eyes on the floor, still unsure of where to sit. I like your last name, she said, her voice still far from being confident.

Aw, stop it, you’re makin’ me blush, Spencer spotted Rica nervously avoiding the fallen paperwork, his bushy eyebrows shot up, Oh, Miss, you can just sit down anywhere, half the stuff’s months old.

Rica looked around and spotted an old trunk coated in paperwork, where she cautiously seated herself.

So, Miss, the van sputtered as Spencer started the engine, you got anyone you can spend the night with tonight? Your gran’s house or an uncle?

Rica looked down at the many sketches and scribbles that filled the maps by her feet. The passing streetlamps sent stripes of light across the paper. Was there anyone?

Spencer looked up at Rica in the reflection of the hanging mirror. His eyes were noticeably more pitiful. Right then, he responded, keeping his eyes on the reflection, I’ll take you to Mr. Dayholt’s place, he’ll take care of you.

Rica remained silent. She knew this would happen. No matter how much she pleaded, how many times she begged, she would not be able to see her father. She was his daughter. There was no reason that she couldn’t visit her dad.

Rica’s fists clenched together as her grief slowly morphed into hatred. This is those men’s fault, Rica’s thoughts echoed through her head, They broke into our house for no reason, they hurt Dad for no reason. I need to stop them. I need to—

The van lurched forward, throwing Rica into the back of the driver’s street. Dazed, she looked through the flying papers out the windshield, where she could see a pair of blurry taillights speeding through the intersection.

Ay, you crazy drunks! Spencer scolded, raising his fist in the air. He turned and looked at Rica with a face of guilt, Sorry, Miss. Didn’t mean for you to be thrown around like that.

Rica rubbed the bridge of her throbbing nose, her eyes already watering. She chose to remain silent.

We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, Spencer explained, messing with a watch on his wrist, then we can see what Mr. Dayholt can do for us.

Rica continued to massage her nose, pondering who this Mr. Dayholt was. An orphanage? A hospital? Rica’s mind flooded with possibilities, all of them negative.

Is this what her father would want? Being sent off to an odd and new place. Would he want his daughter to be lost to the city? Would her father…

Rica choked on another gasp of air, tears falling to the papers below. Ink and pencil swirled together in a spiraling pattern as the moisture soaked into them.

The van began to slow, Right, Miss, Spencer pulled the car to the curb, I’ll walk you inside, just pull the handle right behind you.

Rica turned around and spotted a black knob sticking out from the center of the double doors. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and pulled. The doors flew open instantaneously, pulling the handle right out of Rica’s grip.

Careful there, Miss, Spencer rounded the van, doors are a little pushy, he held out a hand to help Rica step into the empty street.

The air was cold, the sky seemed bitter, her eyes felt red and swollen.

Life felt like a dream, it didn't feel remotely like reality should feel. It was numb. Numb as Rica's eyes sunk to the floor.

After Spencer shut the back doors of his vehicle, Rica turned away from the street and stifled a gasp. Her eyes set upon a large building, spotlights illuminating the outer walls and shrubbery. A path led through a tightly trimmed lawn, topiaries, and vibrant columns of flowers. When—where are we? Rica questioned, her voice still quivering.

Spencer was already approaching the path, This is Mr. Dayholt’s estate, he helps out with some of the kids that are having some— he paused, stopping near the entrance of the property, You know… family troubles.

Rica sniffed, her mind a melted pool of unanswered questions. Everything felt fake.

You know, Spencer continued to follow the maintained pathway, I think Dayholt’s takin’ care of some kids now. Come now, Miss.

She stumbled forward, eyeing the different shapes and sizes of the topiary, the meticulously squared flower beds, and different rays of light shining against the geometrical structure of the house. Everything was shaped to perfection.

The great wooden doors of the mansion towered above Rica, prompting her expression to soften in wonderment. One awe-inspiring visual continually followed after the next.

Spencer rapped his knuckles on the door, causing a deep echo to envelope the entryway.

No answer. All that filled the air was the occasional sniff of Rica's nose.

Huh. Spencer scratched the back of his head. I thought Dayholt was here tonight.

Another possible home failed. Another chance that Rica would never find a place to sleep again.

Water condensed in her eyes once more. She hid her expression from Spencer and simply nodded her head, ready to leave.

Just as they began to turn around and travel down the paved path, a glimmering silver sports car pulled through the large metal gates and up the driveway with a rumbling engine that vibrated each rib in Rica's chest. Her head followed the lavish vehicle as it prowled closer.

It came to a halt in front of Spencer and Rica. The roaring engine cut out with an electric putter.

Ah, Spencer smiled, Just in time. He looked down at Rica and shook his head, Such a showoff.

Rica stared intensely at the luxurious vehicle—noticing the glint of her reflection in the cool silver, her hair was more tangled than she expected, and her eyes appeared as if they were blushing. A man in a nature-green suit stepped from the car's eccentric butterfly door.

Rica gasped softly when she spotted the tall figure and shuffled behind Spencer,

Oh no, the Irishman retorted, This is Mr. Dayholt, Miss. He stepped out of the way as Mr. Dayholt approached the pair.

The man stopped a couple of feet from Rica, his icy-blue eyes piercing through his rectangular glasses.

Are you Lance Vinson’s daughter? his voice was as sharp as his stare.

Rica looked at the floor and squeaked a small sound of confirmation.

An open palm appeared in Rica’s vision. She glanced up to see Mr. Dayholt kneeling on the cement to shake Rica’s hand, his sharp Asian features mellowed.

Ewan Dayholt, it’s a pleasure to finally see you.

Rica reluctantly took the handshake, I’m Rica.

Mr. Dayholt stood up and began to lead Rica to the large doors, Oh, I’ve heard everything about you from Lance.

Rica looked up, Dad?

Yes… he always loved to talk about you.

Mr. Dayholt walked to the entrance of the massive building and pulled a sleek black card out of his jacket pocket. He slid it against the dark wood of the door until Rica heard a faint click. The door slid open.

Rica’s eyebrows shot up as the interior was revealed.

The most beautiful chandelier she had ever seen hung above her, casting glowing and flashing lights across the entryway. The paintings that were scattered on the walls shimmered with life as the crystals reflected light across them.

Ahead of her, a large stairway of dark red carpet led to the second floor—which was unlit and dim.

Two archways burrowed into the walls at Rica’s sides. The right arch led to what seemed to be a kitchen with pristine marble tabletops and dark stools. The left passage revealed a lit hearth and a large sofa stretching across the room, a leather chair sat in the corner.

Dayholt promptly took a seat in the chair and snatched a book from a small shelf that propped against it.

Rica jolted as she felt a hand land on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Spencer, his smooth black hair shimmering under the chandelier.

Pretty place, ain’t it? Wish I could get a place like this one day, he looked over at Mr. Dayholt, who continued flipping through the pages of his book, "Aye, Dayholt? Aren’t you gonna talk to the little Miss here?’

Dayholt didn’t remove his eyes from the book in hand, his deep voice echoed through the expansive room, May I ask what about?

You know, he nodded toward Rica, She’s new here.

I give you full permission to give her a tour of the estate, bring her back here when you feel she is ready.

Spencer inhaled, Right then, come on now, Miss.

Rica followed Spencer up the stairs, her shoes sinking into the velvety carpet. At the top, Spencer flicked the light switch.

Warm light enveloped a hallway filled with multiple different doors, most were opened, some were closed.

This is the upstairs, you’ll most likely be resting in one of these rooms for a bit, Miss.

Rica stepped away from Spencer and approached one of the open doors. Inside, the plain white plaster walls had a small bed tucked in a corner. A bookshelf filled with literature of the sorts sat next to it. Across from the bed, a closet was built into the wall. Small posters of all kinds hung along the wall with a window positioned in the center.

Rica poked her head inside a room further down the hall, revealing an identical layout to the last space.

Are these rooms the same? Rica questioned Spencer, who made his way down the hall.

Yes indeed, he peered into the room, Dayholt likes to keep things fair, even got the same books on the shelves, I think. He’s a stickler for organization.

Rica pulled away from the room and laid her eyes on a closed door.

What is that? she pointed a finger down the hall.

That one would be occupied. You ain’t the only kid Dayholt has in here.

Rica swiftly moved to the doorway.

Oh, Miss! Spencer called after her.

Too late. Rica already turned the handle and peeked through a crack in the door.

The room appeared empty at first glance, but movement under the bed caught Rica’s eye. There was a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the mattress.

Rica opened the door, prompting a shrill click on her left. She swallowed as the Goldberg mechanism was triggered. A string had been connected to the door, it led to a small mallet on the wall and pulled it. The hammer swung down and struck a croquet ball from a shelf. It clattered onto a track that led under the bed at high speeds. Directly to where the bed dweller's head would be.

There was a loud thunk and the bed jolted upwards.

A small boy slowly scurried from under the bed. He stood up rubbing the back of his head. His wavy black hair covered his ears with a few clusters falling over his face. Rica guessed he was about the same age as her.

Who are you? the kid asked, his squeaky voice resembling some frustration.

Why were you under the bed? Rica returned.

Oh, the boy’s face began to glow red, I was… I—I asked you a question first.

"Answer my question and I’ll answer yours."

Dane Langley, Spencer’s energetic accent was replaced with one of soothing, this is Rica, she will be staying with you for a bit.

Ew, the kid’s face scrunched up, I have to live with a girl?

Hey! Rica folded her arms and turned to Spencer, I have to live with a boy?

Yes, Spencer faced the boy, Dane, what were you doing under that bed?

Dane’s face returned to a shade of red, I was being a spy.

Rica scoffed. Spencer raised his eyebrows.

Hey! Dane pivoted to Rica, spies are cool! You could play spies with me. You’d see.

Never, Rica whirled around for the door, Spies are weird, and I’m pretty sure they don’t hide under their beds, she sauntered out of the room as Dane’s face deepened into a maroon color.

Spencer chased after her, Miss, he said, we may need to go back downstairs and talk to Mr. Dayholt in a second. We want to wrap up this tour quickly.

What? Rica frowned, Am I in trouble?

Oh, no, he shook his head, Mr. Dayholt and I just want to tell you somethin’ real quick. It’s important, Spencer switched off the light at the top of the stairs, leaving the chandelier to illuminate the area.

Rica looked back down the hall. She saw Dane’s head peeking at them, when he made eye contact with Rica, he immediately retreated into the room.

Why is Dane here? Rica questioned.

Oh, Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, I’m not exactly sure… he’s been here a while.

Rica nodded, pondering the reasons for Dane’s dwelling in the mansion. How long had he been here? Months? Years?

She shook the thought as Spencer led her through the rest of the estate. After approximately ten minutes of surprises and revelations that Rica could barely grasp later, they ended up under the chandelier once again.

Dayholt? Spencer turned into the room with the leather chair, only to find that Dayholt was no longer seated in it.

Huh, Spencer rubbed the wisps of hair on his upper lip, Thought he’d be here... How about you sit here, Miss, the Irishman patted the sofa, I’ll find Dayholt. He strode through an open door on the other side of the room.

Rica sat down on the sofa, the worn cushions slowly sinking under Rica’s weight. Rica leaned back with a deep sigh as she felt the soft fabric absorbing her body.

The events of the night caught up to her, causing her muscles to unwind and send her deeper into the sofa. She just wanted to escape, to wake up from this nightmare she was living.

The crackling wood in the hearth gave a calming ambiance. Rica’s heavy eyelids drooped over as the fire popped and cracked. A tear streamed down her cheek and settled to rest at the bottom of her chin.

She just wanted her dad back.

Miss, Spencer gently shook Rica’s shoulder before she was able to drift off.

Rica groaned. Yeah? She rubbed at her eyes and sat up, Did you find Mr. Dayholt?

Yes, indeed, Mr. Dayholt’s powerful voice sounded behind Rica, and we would like to present something to you. He walked around the couch and offered Rica his hand.

Rica accepted and the suited man lifted her from the cushions.

Dayholt nodded toward the door on the other side of the room, Follow me.

Rica groggily trailed behind Mr. Dayholt as he pressed his hand against a small screen to the side of the door. There was a shrill chirp and Dayholt pushed through the door with a low creak.

Rica blinked, her vision clearing enough to see a stretching hallway leading to another door in the distance. The walls, floor, and ceiling shone dark gray cement with the occasional circular light that was embedded into the walls of the tunnel. Rica stepped into the hall and shivered in the frigid, thin air.

What is this? Rica turned to Spencer, who was hesitantly joining them in the tunnel.

Just a precaution, Mr. Dayholt answered for Spencer.

More possibilities entered Rica’s mind. A jail? Is this where all the kids that didn’t have a home go to? Was this a trap?

Dayholt finally reached the door and turned the cold metal handle.

He held it open as Rica stopped in front of the entrance, expecting metal bars and cells to fill the room. Little kids would be in the cells, only getting a cup of water and a slice of bread to eat for a day. Rica stepped in and looked around, seeing something much different.

It was a small, square room with a single shelf on the wall, which held three black, metallic crates.

You seem tense, Mr. Dayholt peered down at Rica, no visible expression on his face.

Rica swallowed, Is this a storage?

You could say that Dayholt reached up to the shelf—which was about the same height as him—and pulled a crate down He spun to face Rica and held out the box, I believe this belongs to you.

Rica raised her arms and took the crate. The metallic sheen reflected the fluorescent lights above them—causing Rica to blink as it flashed into her eyes. She brushed her hand over it, the box was surprisingly warm for the temperature of the room.

Go on, Spencer’s eyes shimmered like a proud father that just taught his child how to ride a bike, You can open it in here, Miss.

Rica gazed down at the case, her faint reflection returning the stare. She crouched down, set the box on the cold cement floor and undid the latches, and lifted the lid.

The crate had been filled with a large, black fabric that was folded into a perfect square. Sitting on top of the cloth, a small, dark leather satchel sat next to a sheath with a polished wooden handle jutting from what Rica believed was a blade. On top of everything laid a black watch with a shiny new screen that didn’t have a single scuff on the reflective glass. It looked exactly like the watch that Mr. Campel had in the car

What on Earth would I need these for?

What is this? Rica raised her head and looked at Dayholt, whose face showed no emotion.

Those are your utilities, Dayholt strutted over to the door and turned the handle, Welcome to the O.N. Rica, your training begins in a week, he left the room.

Rica blinked, she didn’t understand. She turned to Spencer, who still had a grin plastered on his face.

Miss, he chuckled, You are in for a ride.

Chapter 1

7 Years Later

Rica peeked through the window and counted eight guards at the entrance of the tavern.

She was perched ten stories up in the hollowed-out shell of a crumbling office building, hidden from the view of the patrols.

Pulling her head back in from the chilled night air and pressing herself against the wall, Rica let out an annoyed exhalation, Ticks… Why are there so many?

A familiar voice crackled through her earpiece, No need for profanity, Miss, but I can tell that there’s one bouncer for every hundred guests, Spencer’s Irish accent sounded a bit odd through the transmitter, This isn’t any other shindig.

He got that right. Even from Rica’s higher altitude, this tavern was massive. A fountain sat in the middle of the green courtyard’s pathway—filled with guests of all sorts—that led up to the front gates of the tavern. The whole property was surrounded by nine-foot concrete walls. Spotlights that shot into the night sky illuminated the entire property. Not like the slum bars that were found in the Outskirts at all.

A shudder passed down Rica's back as she recalled the area. The Outskirts: also known as the dilapidated trash heap that circled the city, it had once been recognized as a cluster of homey suburbs twenty years ago.

She shook her head and brought her attention back to the mission, "But having all the guards gathered at the front? Really?"

You got to make your move soon, Miss. The target isn’t planning on staying long.

Rica bit the inside of her cheek and reached into the bag that Spencer had put together for her. Time to make a move.

The dark duffel bag held an