It's finally time. Finally time to get justice for all those innocent civilians and for their families. Finally time for me to fight back. Finally time to catch the cold-hearted criminal mastermind that cost my father and millions of others their lives. I stared up at the building. It seemed to loom over me. It's cold, stone walls, the only barrier between me and the truth. The last rays of sunlight hit the glass windows. Glass… I thought. The rest of the windows were just gaping holes. No glass separating the inside from the icy winter air. It must be up there. His base. Their base. I was so close.
At the door, I stopped. My foot about to cross the threshold. I gripped the locket that hung from around my neck. A gift from my father that always seemed to bring me good luck. Bringing it up to my mouth, I kissed the cold bronze. Silently making a promise to him. A promise that I was determined to fulfill. I quickly ran up the stairs till I found the room I was looking for. Cautiously, I turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. I scanned the room careful to check for any traps or failsafes. But there were none. An uneasy feeling filled me. This was too easy I thought. But then again shouldn't I be glad that the mission wasn't extremely hard. That getting justice wasn't impossible. I couldn't see so well with the light coming from my torch but I didn't dare switch on the room's main light. It may attract the attention of the wrong sorts of people. Something glistened in the torchlight and I moved closer. It was an emblem. Engraved in it was the words THE CIRCLE. That was the organisation . The organisation where only the most heartless of people worked. People whose only desire was to ruin the lives of others.
I walked over to a desk in the far corner of the room.. It looked like they had been in a hurry to move. The computer had been taken but the mouse and keyboard left. The draws were full of junk. Staplers, plain pieces of paper and the odd rubber band. But there was one thing in particular that caught my eye. A cigarette packet. One whose brand name I recognised. It was a dutch brand. Quite expensive since it was premium quality and only one person that I knew smoked them. One person who was totally enamoured by them.
It was a cold November day when I got my first mission. I was walking out of the gym when he approached me, cigarette held lazily in his hand. He offered me one from the packet but I refused. My director. You see, I was already part of the FBI unit in New York but I was secretly working for another agency too. Scale. An organisation that kept the world in balance. I was their insider. Not exactly a double agent but the Scale's eyes and ears. Yet, I had never been on the field before. So, of course, you can imagine my surprise when he told me that I was going on a mission. My lips were pulled upwards in an excited grin and my bright green eyes glinted with determination. Little did I know, the evil I would soon face.
I looked around trying to find something else to point me in the right direction. A vital clue. By chance, I stumbled across a cardboard box. Lifting it upright, I found that it was sealed. That was strange. They must have forgotten to take it when they left. Well, that was careless of them. I put my torch between my teeth and grabbed my pocket knife. Cautiously, I opened it; not wanting to damage any crucial evidence. After all, if he found out where I was, he would blow a fuse. I shouldn't actually be here. Especially since he had advised me not to and it was against SCALE protocol to go against your assigned director. If I tampered with any evidence I would be charged and may ,ultimately, lose my job. Lifting open the flaps of the box, I peered inside and ,to my surprise, I found a suit. Lifting it up so I could see its full length and design, I realised it must have belonged to him. The evil mastermind who was behind all of the attacks.
It was the day of my dad's funeral. I stood next to my mum, both of our pale faces streaked with tears and our fists clenched in our black mourning garments. He stood behind me. His black suit fitting him like a glove and his head bowed as he paid his respects. After dad was buried and prayers had been said, words of comfort given and promises of help made, he escorted us back to the car that awaited us. I couldn't stand being brave anymore. He was the only shoulder I had to cry on and so I did. I buried my face in his silk covered shoulder and let it all out. All the guilt, sadness and anger. All the while, he was silent.
I was beginning to piece together all of the information. My mind was whirring so fast, I almost didn't realise that at the very bottom of the cardboard box was a file and on it were two words. A name. One that opened up a wound deep inside me. Lucian Graymark. My father. Just as I was about to open it I heard something. Something that sent chills down to the bottom of my spine. A footstep behind me. Spinning round, I saw him. After all this time of waiting, I hadn't known he was living amongst me. One of the people I had let in. It was him. My director and the smirk on his face showed that he would show no mercy. I was trapped. The gun cocked, ready and loaded. I had no choice but to surrender.
A/N. This is my first story. Please review!