Chapter 1: One More Poor Soul to Add to My List

There are some things in this world that you can never vanquish.

There are other things that you can never partake in.

And there are things you can never take back.

Tonight, I walk on a bleak road still fresh with God's tears sprawling down from the abyss. The drops frizzle my hair, falling tight against my face as if to caress my skin. My eyes become hazy from the moisture as the lights dim, as if blocked by a fog. Within seconds, the fog darkens around me as I am surrounded in black.

I can hardly see my hands in front of me, as my feet slug along the damp streets. I cough, panged by the slight sickness I gathered from this potent world. My head feels like a ten-gallon hat and my arms…oh my arms feel like cement blocks. Still, the darkness does not end, and I must continue on like a pilgrim searching for a new world. Luckily, I have been down worst paths in my lifetime.

I crept slightly across the path, not hearing a sound or seeing a glint of light…not even feeling a breath of wind. Everything was silent here. My senses lead me to a door, one that vibrates in a pale light on this dull street side. I lightly carry myself up its hollow steps, peering at my prize.

The darkness grasps onto me like Hades dragging the living into the pits of hell. It allows me to feel the chilled steel and taste its alloyed substance of the doorknob. It twists and my feet follow into nothingness with a glimpse of a pale golf ball peering into the window. It shimmers, creating an eerie glow within the home.

I climb the stairs softly, not making a noise. The smooth carpet rustles against my boots, making it easier to not stir any of the inhabitants. The second floor is illuminated by a small light, beckoning me to its pale glimmer. The light, oh how it beckons me to come near only to fade to black as I pass it by.

I head to a small door, opening it to face an icy wind from inside from a window left open in this tundra night. I feel the warmth emanating from your lips, as I close my eyes becoming you: my spirit drifting into your form. I am warm, covered with hefty blankets as I grasp my maiden tight. Our body heat desires cold from the chilled town to keep us from overheating. I smile for I feel safe and loved by the woman in my arms, as if we are protected.

I smirk, opening my eyes as the window slams shut. The room heats up, little by little, as the color comes back into the world and the wind outside begins to sing. I ignore the squeals and screams from the couple as I lift my prize, as he stares at me in horror yelping forgiveness upon his lips. The world stops, the room blackens, crimson.

Chapter 2: Counterparts

Lyonel doesn't usually have this many people in his office, but today was an exception. Four of us meant more arguments and usually Lyonel tries to avoid strong minded individuals. As the voices escalated around the room, I leaned back in Lyonel's gorgeous padded black leather chair. It piped just right as I moved my figure as smelled newly purchased as I crossed my legs and dug it all in. My coworkers and Lyonel would be at it for days, bickering over who knows what and I daresay that I slightly enjoyed it. Plus, most of the fuss revolved around me anyway.

The big, buff, African American father-figure of mine, aka Lyonel, was yelling at Christine, the seductive blonde bitch. This time it was regarding a case we've been at for years. As if right on time, the slender and dimwitted Jackson spouted off random comments that didn't have anything to do with the topic of conversation. What can I say…typical Wednesday afternoon at the office banter. Mondays were casual, Tuesdays boring as fuck, Thursdays babes, and Friday's non-stop drinking. If I could create the perfect world, I'd only see a Thursday and Friday, that way days like Monday through Wednesday would never exist. Nevertheless, I couldn't complain much about my job. I mean, without Lyonel and the gang I wouldn't have a way to kill time, and they wouldn't have an assassin.

"Look," Lyonel snapped, leaning back in his throne. "Craven has been on our list for too long. He's our key to the Coetus! If we get their arms dealer, we can stop one of their major operations. So what makes you think going after Weeds is a better option, when this Mammon Bay playboy is within our grasp?"

"Weeds is one of Craven's most influential buyers. If we take him out first, Craven loses a key piece of his operation," Christine blurted.

"But what about the Renue' Case? You know the super-human cell creation? Seems to me that this is of more concern than hunting down the Coetus," Jackson pressed, allowing Christine and Lyonel to eye him angrily.

"Jackson I'm tired of the bull shit that you vomit every two seconds. We are trying to give Orion the most productive case. We are NIA (National Intervention Agency), and we…"

"Dispose of those who disrupt the natural balance of the laws of the land, the silent knight for those who can't speak, and the justice who doesn't care about getting their hands dirty," Jackson yawned, rolling his eyes.

"Funny how you can cite our moto yet tell us to spend our time and effort hunting down some science experiment," Lyonel roared.

Christine shook her head at Jackson, "For once I actually agree with Lyonel. Anyway, getting back on subject, Orion has already disposed of Joseph O'Riley. He was known as the chief producer of Craven's heroin unit. We have recovered some information on deals, acquired various numbers, but still have no whereabouts on Craven. What do you suppose we do?"

Jackson shrugged, looking back at me, "Send in our silent knight."

My eyes directed towards Jackson, blazing with excitement as Lyonel and Christine turned my way as well.

"Well Orion, what is your take on the issue?" Lyonel asked.

I smirked, reaching into my coat pocket and pulling out a silver device that looked like a sleek as a credit card.

"Wat on earth is that?" Jackson questioned.

"Just watch," I stated, touching the green power key as a map of Mammon Bay appeared in a flash of blue light. Yellow dots pinpointed every business and residence in the area, but I pinched the globe together narrowing it down to the downtown area. Why? Because this was the place that most came out to play, friendly or foe. There were also red dots highlighting points of interest, which illuminated current gatherings within the city limits.

I began to turn the globe, slowly examining each red area, as I stopped at a mass gathering near the center of downtown Mammon. The building turned out to be the Hilton Palace, one of the largest hotel/resorts in the country. Here a crowd of 40,000 gathered.

My eyes lifted from the screen to meet my colleagues, "Seems rather odd that thousands of people swarm to the Hilton today when there are no records of any convention or big shot corporate gathering scheduled."

"Actually," Jackson shot, quickly typing on his Surface, "there was a corporate meeting with Tim Yale today at 1pm."

"Sure," I say, amused at Jackson's comment as I pointed to the Hilton Palace, enveloping a screen of attendees. I typed in Tim Yale's name, allowing the list of faces to flash in front of my colleagues until "name not recognized" appeared on the globe. "Tim Yale is a well-known associate of Craven who does not live within the United States; he is currently living out his life in France. Actually, I checked up on him earlier today and he and his children were seen going on a trip to Rome. Thus, there is no way that Tim Yale is holding a party of this grandeur in Mammon Bay."

"So, what are you getting at?" Lyonel said, placing a hand under his chin. "Do you believe this is one of Craven's affairs?"

"Yes, Craven is using this outlet to auction off new technological advancements from toothbrushes to human counterparts. The attendees are likely to go up to 50,000 say in a matter of minutes."

Lyonel, Christine, and Jackson looked at the building skeptically as they saw a rise in the population to the amount I had previously quoted. Christine had to smirk as Jackson scowled.

"I hate it when he does that," Jackson huffed.

I paced myself over towards Lyonel, "I calculate up to…say 170,000 as the day drags on. So, it's up to you, my friend, on what our next course of action is going to be."

Lyonel smirked, tilting his head, "Now Orion, you don't need me to tell you that, son."

I nodded, dimming down the map as I placed the device back in my pocket. "Looks like I'll see what I can find out in the dragon's den."

Chapter 3: Craven

I walked out of the office, going past thousands of clear paneled windows housing the central intelligence unit. This is where people bustled in and out like ants leaving and entering the colony, searching for new threats and commanding teams on the ground to take care of the problem. I am only used for prime targets, those the teams haven't been able to catch.

The light of the offices suddenly vanishes as I move past the workers, who make sure to move out of my ways as some women glance longingly after me. I enter a dim corridor, walking into the first door on the right as I walk into my room. The same room I've lived in for what seems to be a century. You see, I never left this place since I was four years old. NIA has always been home.

My room comprised of the average necessities: an average bed, oak desk, my iMac, standard issued Surface Pro laptop, oak drawers, a sturdy closet, a book case filled with literature from Shakespeare to Tolkien, and a fan up ahead to keep me cool. The most distinctive trait about my residence was the color: black. Everything I owned did not stray from the nature of my beast. Or for my constituents, I charm the term of the average America, "That's how I roll."

Lyonel never understood that mirrors were the void of my life, same with photographs. To tell you the truth, the first time I was told that I had black hair and striking green eyes was through my first examination upon entering NIA. Yet, I myself have never had the need to confirm that statement, for to see my face would only reveal the darkness: a being I don't care to see. I can shave and clean up nicely without stating "mirror mirror on the wall". And I don't need a falsified object to tell me that I'm handsome, or that I'm on Mammon Bay's eligible list of bachelors.

I walk near my bed, taking off my suit jacket and throwing it onto my comforter. I sat down near the end of the bed, loosening my tie, whipping it around my neck, and placing it on my cool but comfortable sheets. My hands fell to my shirt, undoing the buttons, as the air caressed my body. Leaning on the bed post, I slid my shirt off as an echoing knock shook my vibe.

I looked up to none other than Christine as she entered my lair. I knew she only wanted to see me naked, and we did have a past. Yet, it was the black garment bag draped across her shoulder that caught my eye.

"Well...well, spicing it up for me today?"

"Oh, you do flatter yourself," I respond, standing up to meet her as the door closed behind us.

She nods to the bag on her arm, "Lyonel wants that you wear this," she says, throwing it at me, which I instantly catch.

"A new suit, I've been dying for one of these," I say sarcastically.

"Don't worry big boy, this one will make you look better than your ego," she says, getting closer to me as she leans over to expose her breast surfacing out of the top of her shirt. "Toodles."

With that, she turns to leave, closing the door behind her. I had to laugh, knowing that whore only comes in here to get a little extra after meetings. Yet, those breasts were rather gorgeous today.

"Door lock," I shout, not making the same mistake twice.

I place the garment bag on a hook on my wall. I undo the zipper, and to my amazement I smirk at the surprise inside. It is a white collared suit, a Tom Ford Windsor — a symbol of wealth in Mammon Bay.

I take out the suit, undoing my pants and slip into the new attire — feeling like silk upon my skin. It makes me shiver with excitement, always glad to be well dressed at NIA. I grabbed the dry-cleaned shirt, which feels nice and warm, as I button it and tuck it into my pants. Then, I find the cream and silver diamond tie, wrap it around my neck and push my collar down over it, aligning it at will. Lastly, I go for the jacket with gold cufflinks, buttoning the first jacket button.

I smirked, pleased as I felt the four shuriken neatly laced inside my sleeves. I also had the pleasure of having two Glock 19 with silencers: black body lined with red. One of the guns sits inside my suit jacket pocket and the other I attach to my leg. The lab rats modified all my weapons so they are undetectable by radars. It's a beautiful touch when you need to breach military grade sites. I smiled, finally ready to do what I do best as I walked out of my door and back into the dim hallway.

I continued right, walking further down the hall where a couple more rooms on the right-hand side come into view. One of the field agents, Maria, came out of the door near the dark abyss I was about to head towards. She was gorgeous, tanned skin with gorgeous black hair to match her night eyes. Her short black dress caressed her hips and exposed her sizable breast. Her lips, crimson, the way I like it. It was rather hard not to stop and take her before I left NIA, but Craven was prime on my mind tonight.

"Maria, how was your trip to England? I heard it was rather fruitful," I say, starting small talk.

Maria lightly smiles at me, meeting me like a runway model. "It was lovely; those chaps of Craven's didn't know what hit them when the refinery suddenly ceased to exist."

I nodded, "Well done."

Maria shook her head, coming within inches of me to get a hold of my tie. "Boys sure don't know how to straighten ties on their own."

I smile, letting our eyes meet, "If there's anything else you need to fix, I may need to delay my engagement."

Maria chuckles, giving me a nice tug on my tie — patting it. She then moves her hand in my hair, fixing it, as her warm palms ran down my face. She moved her fingers over my lips, smirking as she did so.

"Why you never look in the mirror astonishes me. You're the most handsome man to have set foot in the Dragon's Den, but I'm sure you already know that."

I pull her close, as she gasps. Our lips meet, as I let my tongue caress her mouth. She moans, as her hands run down my chest.

Yet, she releases from me, a stark smile crossing her lips as her hand rubs the lipstick off of my mouth. She turns to leave, allowing me to see her gorgeous form walk away from me. "I will be hard for you to catch playboy. I'm not your average woman."

She is indeed, I thought, smirking at our encounter as I turn back toward the dark hallway. I allowed the blackness to engulf me as I confronted the only silver elevator doors in this quadrant. I pressed the chilled yellow button, opening the chamber.

I calmly step inside, pressing the "B" button to the basement. The doors began to slide shut as I faced the dark abyss, shutting me off from reality. I felt the elevator come to a stop, sliding its doors open as I faced a lit basement filled with hundreds of lavish cars from Range Rover's to Ferrari's. Today I found myself in a sporty mood, choosing the black Mercedes-AMG 4-door Coupe. I walked over to the Mercedes line, opening the door to the black knight and sit on its plush leather seat.

I grab the key out of the center console and turn on the beast. My watch and sunglases , which I retrieved from the glove compartment, was a silver Parmigiani Fleurier Kapla Grande and custom black Tom Ford Marko FT0144. Clicking on my seat belt, I placed the car in drive as I drove out of the parking garage and up an enclosed winding pass. I lean to the side of my seat, flying up the winding road leading out of NIA. I reached level ground, being confronted by a garage door as I drive over to the keypad. I roll down my window, scan my access badge and listen as my window hisses to its upright position.

The garage door opens little by little as the sun takes me into its vibrant rays. When it is fully opened, I head out into the streets of Mammon Bay—allowing the busy streets to envelop me. The traffic, as usual, was going slow but steady as I inched out into my playground. I sit as the skyscrapers look down on me, moving like cattle to the grazing field. After about twenty or so minutes of stalling, I was able to drive freely into Dragon's Den—the richest of the 1st class claimed the streets here. The guidelines clearly stated that you could not walk on the Den's pristine boulevards unless you had the cash. My car roared, allowing me to reach the Hilton Palace, rightfully named so, for its prestigious air was only fit for royalty.

I drove by the front as a young valet came and opened my door. "Hello sir, my name is Maximillian. Please enjoy your time at the Palace."

I nod, putting my car in park, as I step out of the Mercedes and rub my hand down my suit to straighten my appearance. Maximillian gave me a number to reclaim my car as I stuff it in my coat pocket and join the thousands of greedy mongrels.

I go into monstrous golden doors as I look around at the grandeur. A titanic of a chandelier glitters from the ceiling, the floors are lined with gold tile, Greek images decorate the walls, a marvelous display of artwork from the time of Leonardo Divinci decorates the ceiling, and striking Grecian pillars hold up this masterpiece. It was magnificent, Craven surely knew where to throw a shindig.

As I ventured out onto the floor, I saw luxurious cars that were able to roam on land and sea, robot maids that looked virtually human, a chip that enabled you to speak in any language, hologram technology available on any mobile platform, and much more. This place screamed futuristic ideals…all it needed was a little red.

I continue to walk past crowds of people gazing at Craven's miraculous feats. As I enter the center of the zoo, I look up, seeing a group of prestigious men and women overlooking the crowd from above. They talk and joke, nudging each another toward one lot to another. Yet, everything seemed to stop when the man in the middle claps his hands to get everyone's attention.

He was rather handsome with a strong European jawline. His jet-black hair was slicked back as his stark hazel eyes lay upon his guests. His suit, a jet black Dormeuil, was ever so fitting as he jiggles a glass of champagne in his right hand. My eyes light, a stark smile coming to my lips as I see the man I've been waiting to find.

"I am Victor Craven, promoter of future technology. These prototypes are only but a few of my line of modern advancements. Many more products will be released this year. Bidding for these items will start shortly, thank you."

A beautiful woman, and I mean an eyesore, walked to Craven's side. Her luscious brown hair was mesmerizing, and her lips were just the right hue of crimson. Her pearly white dress suited her body—curving upon her breast and shaping her ass. I craved her.

"Craven will also be attending the national fencing championship in Piere' this Saturday. Only the best in the world will be attending to win the grand prize of 20 million dollars," she cheers.

The crowd gasps as I take a vodka martini from a nearby waiter. "All of which Craven is donating to a charity to educate and aid young inventor's throughout Mammon Bay," she adds.

The crowd claps, cheering Craven on, as I join in for sport. I make sure to look him straight in the eye, those cold gems as harsh as the Sahara. Any regular man wouldn't dare threated someone of his caliber, but not I. The more I stand here, the more I wish for him to beg for the bullet that is meant for his heart.

The people begin to disperse, as I finish my glass and head over to a waiter holding a tray full of more drinks. He gladly offers me another martini as I smile, say a small thanks, and turn towards a group of men test riding a hover board. Amazing what these frat boys would pay to have now a days.

"Excuse me sir," a sensual female voice purrs into my ear.

I quickly, but politely, sip more of my drink before turning to the stunning beauty I had just seen a few moments before.

"Hello," I squint, hardly believing that she is talking to me. "You do give a grand speech, Mrs..."

"Laurina," she purrs, offering her hand which I take and kiss.

"Orion," I add, "You sure made your way down to us commoners rather quickly."

She laughed at that, "Commoners? Well, I you must be their prince." she smiles curtly.

"Quite," I shake my head, smirking.

"I've never seen you around these parts. Such a prestigious individual like yourself…daring enough to wear a white tux to such an occasion," she says, touching my collar and sliding her hand warmly down my jacket.

"It could be just the tux that makes me look rather dashing," I smirk, edging her on.

"I disagree with that," she winks, slowly removing her hand from my chest. "So, where are you from? The air about you is too mysterious to be American."

I cock my head, amused by her comment. "Sad to prove you wrong my dear, but I'm a native to the Mammon area. I'm just different from your average posh crowd. You see, I tend to only come out at night, or in this case, when something piques my interest."

She chuckles, surely entertained by my answer. "You're quite the jokester aren't you."

"I do try," I say, unable to conceal my laugh.

"Well," she starts, "my husband Victor, over yonder," she points, "noticed you apart from the crowd and was interested in you from the beginning."

"Is he now," I muse.

She smiles with a devilish charm and lifts her lips to my ear, "Interested in your money."

Right now would be the time for me to take the hand of another man's wife and seduce her with my charm. Yet, my sudden urge was silenced when the man I had waited to meet squashed my lustful intentions.

"I see Laurina has picked out another wealthy bachelor," Craven says, looking me in the eye with the angelic charm of Lucifer himself. "Have you come for the auction?"

I shake my head, "Granted I did at first, highly interested in the modifications you've made your vehicles. I myself am a collector and any new invention that can benefit me is always a plus. Yet, that's not at all what beckoned me to the Devil's Den tonight."

Craven smirked, in a peculiar way, "Well, what interests you…Mr…"

"Orion." Laurina adds for me, caressing her husband's arm.

Craven tilts his head in amusement. "Interesting, never heard of anyone in these parts with that surname. After the mythological hunter…a rather strong name."

"Well, he did claim to be different from the rest of us," Laurina says, eyeing me with her seductive charm.

"Indeed," Craven muses, "So, what is your purpose here tonight if not to bid?"

"Well…" I think, being fast on my feet, "scoping out my competition for sport. I will be entering the fencing tournament and wanted to know who and what I was up against."

Craven's smile illuminated at my response, "Well, Mr. Orion, to come all this way for me. I'm flattered. Fencing is a sport of balance and coordination, created by the Italians—my ancestors. In my mind, it is the art of royalty."

"Modern fencing actually originated in Spain, but once the Catholics banned the sport, the Spanish found comfort in Italy. Then, the Italians honed it as their own, which was later improved by the French." I correct him.

Craven twinges, whether in disgust or intrigue, and it only arouses my amusement.

Victor extends his hand, draping his emotions in a smile. "You seem very knowledgeable about the sport," I take his hand, receiving a rather strong grip. "It pleases me that true men are participating in the tournament. I will be having dinner at my house tomorrow, if you care to join. My home is on the Outer Banks, 1121 Le Vinnie Drive."

I nod, accepting his invitation, "Thank you for your generous offer. I will make room to accommodate you in my schedule."

He smirks in compliance, slightly bowing his head, as he and Laurina turn and walk away. Laurina glances over her shoulder, smiling at me as they depart. I lifted my glass in farewell, drinking the rest of my martini and taking it all in: for killing this man is going to be easier than I thought.