A/N:So this a just a prologue, I wanted to get you into the sort of life Santana and just set the scene before i write their first meeting and more of the mystery is unravelled, please enjoy and review :)

I loved it, the killing. Watching as I sucked the life out of them. It felt as if I gained their life from their death. The guilt, remorse it had all faded now, I don't understand how I'm still human. I can't tell if I've locked the feelings away or after years in my profession it just disappears.

I was kneeling behind an air duct on top of some building, the heavy sun beating down on me made beads of sweat form and trickle down my face. I had waited here for hours, praying that my target would exit the glass palace soon. The heat and the hours of waiting finally paid off, as an average white man is a crisp suit walked out of the revolving doors and onto the clean sidewalk. I brought the sniper to my eye. Trained the sight on the man's head. And pulled the trigger. I didn't even flinch. It almost scared me, the monster I had become.

Now, I've been killing for a long time, but never have I been caught. That's what's so brilliant about working for the most powerful man in LA, possibly the world. If you googled him you'd find out about a few dodgy oil deals, maybe one or two marriage scandals but this? All of this, the underground stuff, that was kept so secret that even the best hackers, the CIA, even god damn Sherlock Holmes couldn't find even a snippet of evidence about what he really did.

Oil, was how it started, how his wealth began. His family farm was apparently on top of some major oil site; he sold parts of it off, controlled others and began to build his empire. I fondly remember meeting him at an over the top bar and he being more than overjoyed to buy me ridiculously over-priced cocktails. I never knew why he chose me, how he knew I worked for the CIA, how he knew that the only thing that kept me doing right had gone; but he did.

Usually when I received a text from an anonymous number I would do as much as I could to trace the number, track the person down, run it past my seniors; but I didn't care any more. There was no-one left who needed me alive; in fact I'd welcome death. I had reached the location that the text had asked me to and was shocked to find I wasn't in a creepy car park or dodgy neighbourhood but instead at some flashy bar. As I entered I was grabbed by two burly men, who roughly tugged me towards to an oddly dressed middle aged man leaning against the bar. He seemed to glow, his shiny yellow jacket reflecting the gaudy neon bulbs that studded the bar. His face was thin and somehow wrong. One of his eyes seemed to be a different colour from the other; it was so dark that it seemed to blend with his pupil, completely black. He smiled at me, a sickly smile that seemed to slice across his whole face and then proceeded to look me up and down, examining me. He waved his hands at the men holding me and they quickly released me and stalked off into the shadows.

"We aren't going to kill you." He said simply, I remember being shocked by his whiny feminine voice; it didn't seem to match the ominous power that emanated from him.

"I wasn't really worried about that, so why do you want me?" I replied, becoming slightly more at ease with the situation and taking a seat at the bar next to the man.

"You know you're one of the best, I have a job for a woman with your talents" He smiled once more and I felt that uneasy feeling wash over me again.

"How do you know anything about me?" I questioned, meeting the man's dark eyes.

"I know everything about you, you know better than me how easy it is to find anyone's personal information" He paused to lift a near-empty glass to his lips. "Would you like a drink?" He asked, calling over the barman.

"Sure, but if you already know so much about me; you order for me" I quipped, smiling at the man.

He told me all about what he would need me to do, when I asked why he needed an assassin, a spy he simply shut me down. He only let me in to one secret, the business I would swear to protect, was not the medical company it pretended to be. There were others that worked for him, the lower down the ranks you got the blind-er they were. Some believed he was a wealthy old man that gave to charity, others told me he was the evil mastermind of the world's worst corporation but to me he was always that odd guy that bought me drinks and made me rich. I get paid very well, although I don't really need the money, sometimes it's nice to buy some extravagant material things but generally I just give it away; under a false name of course. Almost everything I do now is hidden, my house is in a false name, my bank account, I rarely even leave my house without my hood up and dark shades.

I'm not upset by it, there's nothing much left of me anyway, I just kind of live. I mean, I enjoy work but that's not a life, occasionally I'm invited to special events for the company but I've started to tire of it, the same boring existence every day, and sometimes at night the feelings seem to creep back in, subtle whispers of emotion that almost break me. I tried hard to forget about her, forget about all that happened, hell that's the main reason I even took this crazy job but I still can't forget.

Being alone was once exciting, then torturous and now it was the only way I can be. It's not like I hadn't tried to make friends, become the happy, social person I was before but it's just too hard, it's like when she died a part of me died with her. The days seemed to pass so quickly, I was like a machine, I didn't even realise that I'd been doing this for four years, all the years just blur together. Thinking about it, I guess I do really deserve the ridiculous amount of money I earn; I mean I pretty much work throughout the whole entire year while others take off on their family holidays or pathetic 'sick' days.

I don't just kill rich men every day, that would be obvious, some idiotic journalist would probably look into why all these rich old dudes seemed to keep disappearing to Mexico or having terrible heart attacks and I'd have to quit my job and hide. No, some of my work is more interesting than that, I generally spend my days setting up the targets, making great fake scenes, making sure that their black BMW doesn't have the usual driver but instead one of the heavy-set, big-boned men that would help me clean away the body. I make sure that every single assassination that I and the guys carry out goes perfectly to plan, make sure that there are no slip-ups, no way that any of us could get incriminated and that takes much more skill than being able to kill a guy on the ground from a high-rise building.

When I first started working, I had to train the others, I had to set up a schedule and manage the idiots but now they could pretty much do my job on their own, my knowledge from my previous profession helped a little but after talking to a few of the new men I discovered they were ex-FBI and had much of the same training as myself. I was beginning to feel a little useless and of course he picked up on it.

I was sitting in my office, absent-mindedly chewing on my pen when I was startled by my phone, no-one ever called me, I was pretty sure the phone was disconnected. Hesitantly I answered.

"Hello?" I didn't want to sound as scared as I was of the phone call so I put on my pissed-off voice.

"Hi, this is Diane from upstairs, he'd like to see you" I was worried, if he wanted to see you, you were either going to die, get fired or get pulled onto a massive casino crime spree; I wasn't really in the mood for any of those outcomes.

"Tell him I'll be right up"

I'd only been in this elevator twice, first going up to his office to sign my life away and second, coming down from that signing.

All the walls of the small box were mirrors and small grey cameras were hidden in the top corners of the elevator, they slowly turned and the small creaking noises of its movement stood out over the cheery music that was played in. There were only two buttons, up and down, when you entered this elevator you knew where you were going, there were no fake floors, you were going to him. He rarely comes to you.

The office wasn't as large as you'd expect, first there was a small glass room that housed 'Diane', I doubt if that was a real name, but it suited the middle aged woman sitting in the glass room. Then past Diane's small room there was an ominous black door, the entrance to his lair, inside his room there was only a large mahogany table and an elegant leather office chair with his expensive computer showcased in the middle of the desk, that computer probably held more information about the population than the NSA's headquarters. Behind his large wooden desk you would expect a large glass window, I'm sure there was one once, but now there was only a brick wall. I had heard whispers of his paranoia so it was no surprise he didn't want a window showcasing the inside of his office to the world.

Exiting the small elevator, I quickly smiled at 'Diane' and she nodded, allowing me permission to enter the black door, I surveyed the room quickly and noticed a guard sitting in the corner looking down at the smooth wooden floor and shaking his foot slightly. I expected him to get up and pat me down or something but he didn't remove his eyes from the floor so I pushed the black door and entered.

He looked up from his screen and raised his eyebrows at me, giving me a gentle smile before turning to the burly bald man sitting behind him.

"Get the woman a chair Henry! She's the main reason this company still exists, show some respect and be more prepared when I have guests, gosh" His voice was more camp and frail than it had been the last time they'd met. Henry put a chair down on the opposite side of the desk for me and shuffled back to his seat. "Sorry about that, I've recently changed security teams and these new idiots -" He gave an icy glance towards the bald man. "don't yet understand how it works here."

I smiled up at him and laughed lightly, pretending I understood that annoying new-security-team feeling.

"I'm sorry, I must seem so rude. Hello again Santana, how have you been? How has my company been treating you?" He pushed some papers from his desk and tilted his screen to have a better view of me.

"It's fine sir, I've been great, your company has been treating me wonderfully, in fact I wish you'd contacted me sooner" I smiled up at him, remembering why I had first agreed to work for him, although one of his eyes were pure black and his bright suits were often off-putting, he was charming and the uneasiness that he could exude faded within a few seconds of conversation.

"We both know if I had contacted you earlier you would of declined" He gave me a sad smile and continued "You got any ideas why I called you up?"

"I guess you're either going to fire me or kill me, not sure why but I mean I'm pretty sure the president was the only man to leave this office happy" I wasn't that scared of the elderly man in front of me, if he wanted to kill me he would have had it done the second I entered the building this morning.

"Oh tut-tut Santana, do you all think I'm a heartless monster down in the other departments? No, no you're far too valuable to lose, I actually just noticed you seemed a little bored recently and I wondered if you were willing to change positions; have a more inside view my glorious empire?" He grinned like a cat and the smile still seemed to wide for his thin face.

"Hey, I wouldn't be so bored if you hadn't of started employing these James Bond fuckers" I joked. "What would this position entail?"

"You'll pretty much be a personal guard, like Henry over there but not a complete idiot and much better paid" He pointed back at the oaf of a man with his thumb.

"I'd love to disclose more details, but you gotta sign first..." He slid a contract across the smooth wood and placed his expensive pen down next to the paper. I picked up the contact and skimmed through the three pages, it was similar than my first contract, it was pretty much a pinky promise not to tell but in writing. I thought about all that I'd done, the years that I'd spent grieving, trying to ignore my feelings by throwing myself into the work, maybe a change in that work wouldn't be too bad, besides if I didn't take it I'd feel horrible getting paid the ridiculous amount I get for simply letting some ex-FBI guys do my job for me.

Without hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed. This could be a good thing for me, maybe this job will be so difficult and time-consuming that even in the coldest of nights no memories of her will infiltrate my tired mind.