Neon lights created a faux aurora across the city. Crowds in the hundreds muffled blaring music, which only escaped in split-seconds of calm. The only things to outshine both lights and the noise were fireworks and their ferocious explosions of color. Savory aromas drifted from the many night market stalls dotting the street.
Beyond the night market and lining the main road were party buses painted a vibrant red. A clear sign beside their doors prohibited any alcohol. The vehicles did little to stifle the excitement inside each one.
Overlooking the district was a popular rooftop bar, connected between two buildings by a neon-lit skywalk. Leaning on its railing, Agent 47 watched over the roads like a hawk.
"Welcome to Guangzhou," Diana greeted. "Your target is Liao Yingpei, a freelance programmer, and the last of Myung's mess—forgive my bluntness. His profile indicates him to be the introvert of the friend group. What he lacked in words and resources, he made up with smarts. It was he who picked up a digital footprint left by Myung's sloppiness, connecting the Kronstadt Explosion to the ICA.
"Liao is carrying the last physical copy of Bao's evidence on the ICA. Based on what we know from Bao, he intends to fly out of China and deliver the files to every international news agency. Naturally, we cannot allow that to happen. Your task is to eliminate him and retrieve the files.
"However, it seems the Blue Lotus wasn't willing to give up after Bao Ju's death. Credit where credit is due, they're keeping their end of the bargain. Liao is currently situated in a CICADA-class armored car on a direct route toward the airport, protected by four vans of the same caliber. They're able to withstand heavy gunfire and low-grade explosives.
"Liao is currently on his way toward Guangzhou, where he will pass by to reach the airport. I speculate he will be in your area within an hour, so I advise you use this time to set something up. It's no bucket-wheel excavator by any means, but it'll certainly be trickier to deal with. Still, I trust you will find a way.
"Happy hunting, 47."
Location: Guangzhou, China
Target: The Whiz
A yellow-vested man donned with a hard hat pulled himself over the skywalk's railing, landing back on the bridge itself. After unhooking himself from the safety harness, he walked briskly ahead.
"Is something wrong with the skywalk?" a passerby asked her boyfriend.
"Probably not. I've seen this guy here once every few months. He goes under the bridge, talks to the manager for a bit, then leaves. I guess it's some routine inspection."
"Well, at least one business owner here puts safety before profits."
The couple walked past earshot. 47 moved from his spot.
Illuminated by string lights, the establishment served as a bar and restaurant across both rooftops. A blue neon shine lined the flooring, making it seem as if everything floated over luminescent water. At each corner, watched over by the staff, people launched fireworks into the sky.
The bridge inspector sidled past waiters and patrons, making his way indoors.
In stark contrast to the party outside, the staircase was bound by empty tan walls that continued downward. He continued through rooms that at least had some semblance of pattern, but nothing compared to the main attraction of the rooftop. Soon, he reached the manager's office.
Neither of them was leaving any time soon, so in the meantime, 47 took a closer look at a point of interest he noted earlier. It was down a secluded hall that customers typically wouldn't notice. It was a room, heavily guarded by half a dozen guards: the Blue Lotus.
47 returned to the rooftop. He went around the edges, eyeing the usual entrances. He stopped at one area, then glanced for passersby.
Crouching behind the cover of seating partitions, 47 leaped over the edge. He latched onto a gutter pipe, sliding until he was level with the room. Stepping onto an outward edge and hugging the wall, he made his way toward an open window.
The first thing that greeted him was a bed filling an otherwise empty room. Past a doorway, he saw a kitchen and living room. It was a simple apartment room.
Diana chipped in. "An empty room guarded by the Blue Lotus. It can't be for Liao Yingpei..." 47 could imagine his handler pulling up an assortment of tabs, scanning for intel. "Ah, here we go. Liao Biyu, his wife, lives around the same area as him, and they are reportedly a tightly-knit couple. Yingpei must have put his wife under protection while he performs his duty. Since she's not here, Biyu may be nearby. Could be worth looking into."
After a quick search, there was nothing of use to be found. Agent 47 left the same way he came.
Upon returning to the manager's office, he found the two men leaving. The inspector went to the restroom, while the manager went up to the roof.
47 picked the door open, accessing the office. Wide open on the desk was a report written by the inspector. As he looked over it, his earpiece rang again. "Interesting... Whoever built this skywalk used low-quality materials in lieu of standard resources; likely to skimp on assets. The bridge inspector already identified some weak points in the structure, but it seems the manager paid him to keep quiet and make superficial patches. Some interference could speed up the inevitable—the stashed items you requested are here—but unfortunately, this road is not part of Liao's course."
Said stashed items were breaching charges; small explosives with only enough power to force open a locked door.
He darted out of the office, heading straight after the restroom. The inspector just pushed open the door, mindlessly leaving the facility. Upon the first step out, though, he was grabbed and brought to the floor, an arm locked around his neck. 47 tightened his grip until he stopped moving.
The hitman dragged the unconscious man back inside the restroom. He pulled him onto a toilet in one of the stalls, and after locking it and taking his outfit, crawled out.
On the rooftop, 47 approached the manager. "Excuse me."
"Yes?" He didn't even bother batting an eye.
"You need to close the skywalk. Preferably as soon as possible."
Only now did he turn. "What? Why?"
"It's going to collapse."
"That's why I pay you to fix it, don't I?"
"You will pay a lot more when it kills someone."
His mouth hung ajar, not used to a stern tone. He shook his head clear. "If I close it, it's going to cause problems for our customers."
"Close the skywalk."
The inspector's voice struck a chord that made him want to cower. "It's my restaurant, my choice, you got—"
"Close the skywalk."
His mouth hung open, lost for words. "F-Fine. But whatever business I lose, I'm taking a cut of your—" They met eyes. The manager spun away. "Nevermind."
...
In the density of the night market, Agent 47 stopped to eavesdrop. He found his next path to follow.
"They came to our door and dragged me by my hands into their car, Pei! My dinner is still sitting in the microwave!" A woman screamed into her phone, much to the displeasure of the four people surrounding her.
"That is Liao Biyu," Diana said. "By the look of it, she's currently being escorted by plain-clothed Blue Lotus."
"They're taking you somewhere safe, honey, I promise it will be okay."
"This has to do with what you've been up to the past few weeks, isn't it?"
Yingpei remained silent.
"You should have told me what's going on. Whatever it is, I could've helped you. We're a team, aren't we?"
"You don't understand, Biyu. My friends... Nishi, Bao, they're all dead because of this. I... I couldn't put you in danger."
"Dead?" She took a breath. "We need to talk when we see each other again. Promise me that."
"Honey... I don't know if I will see you—"
"Don't you dare say such a thing! You're going to make it through, and we will see each other again. You have to come back, or I'll never forgive you."
There was a pause. "I promise."
"Good. Call when you can, okay?" The call ended there.
47 Walked ahead of their trail, searching for opportunities.
It didn't take long for him to set his sights on a stall selling fried sweet potatoes. The owner backed away, phone to his ear. "Yes, dear, I'm almost done! I only have a few more sales to make before I pack up." He nodded to himself. "Yeah, I bought a new laser pointer like you asked. I know how much our cat loves it."
As the owner turned, he made eye contact with a bald foreigner. He took one of the skewers, wordlessly walking away. "Um, dear, I'll call you back." He slid the phone into his pocket. "Hey, you need to pay for that!" The thief sped into an alleyway. "Damn tourists... Hey! I'm talking to you!" He gave chase.
47 emerged from the alleyway, donning a new set of clothes.
Just as he returned to the stall, Biyu and her entourage made their appearance. They didn't so much as glance at it until he called out, "Free samples. Care to try one?"
Of the group, only one changed their path.
"Shen," one gangster called.
"I don't understand how you all can walk through here while famished. The lady has a point, you know, it'll be way past dinner by the time we get her to the safe room." He grinned with a mouth full of sweet potato.
He quickly caught up with the group. However, no sooner than a few steps away did Shen falter. He clutched his stomach as he felt his body heat up.
"Shen?" his peer called back.
He groaned. A burp forced his food up his throat, soaked in stomach acid. "Something's wrong..." He rested his hands on his knees. "You guys go ahead. I feel sick..." Shen took off a moment later, his stomach trembling.
The other clicked his tongue. "Idiot. This is I told him to lay off on the street food."
Shen ended up in a lone alleyway, thinking the dark corner was a perfect place to let it all out. Only, 47 stood behind him with a metal pipe. He brought it over the gangster's head, and he crumpled over quietly, vomit still spilling from his mouth. 47 lifted him into the dumpster with the stall owner.
Changing into his outfit (and wiping off drops of vomit), he chased after the group.
They just made it to the building entrance. The three remaining members approached their peers at the door, also dressed plainly, leaving Biyu a few meters back.
It was a perfect enough distance for 47 to grab her attention. "Liao Biyu? I need you to hand over your phone."
"Who are you?"
"Blue Lotus."
"I can see that. But you're not even Chinese?"
"Yet here I am. Your phone."
"What am I going to do? Call the cops on the Triad? The least you could do is let me keep in touch with my husband."
"I'm afraid not."
She scoffed. "I don't understand you people..." Yet, she reluctantly handed it over.
"Thank you." 47 departed momentarily. Much to Biyu's confusion, he did not join up with the rest of the Triad.
"Come on, the safe room is just in here," her guard said. "You can call your husband all you like."
"With what phone?" she spat, much to his confusion.
As the hitman got into her phone, his earpiece rang. "47, Liao Yingpei has just entered your area. Whatever you have planned, you need to act fast." In the contacts, Yingpei's was first on the list. He dialed.
...
No matter how far Liao reclined in his chair, tried to control his breath or keep his eyes shut, the palpitations in his heart never ceased. He was terrified; he could admit that much to himself. Even while surrounded by the Blue Lotus, he never felt so fearful in his life.
"How much longer until we get there?" he asked the driver.
"My God, what are you, a kid? You keep asking the same question—we'll get there when we get there! As soon as we get through this part of Guangzhou, it'll be the airport."
Liao shriveled into his seat. Though he failed to even register his annoyance, it did little to reassure him of anything.
He knew exactly what fate awaited him; he saw it in the headlines. Nishi dead in a supposed accident, just like Zihao. The landslide at the mine; he knew for sure Bao Ju was dead, likely still buried under tons of gravel.
Rather than death, what scared him the most was how little people cared.
A sharp ring pulled Liao out of his trance—with a scream.
"Would you shut up?" the driver cried, startled.
"S-Sorry..." Liao fumbled his phone out of his pocket. Despite everything, he found it in himself to smile. His wife was calling. "Hello?"
"Keep quiet. Your wife will die if you don't listen to me."
The world fell silent. "Wh-Who is this...?"
"The Blue Lotus betrayed you." Liao's sweat ran cold. "They're not taking you to the airport. They're bringing you to your wife to present a trade: your life for hers."
"But why?"
"Myung got to them. Why do you think they stuck around after Bao's death?"
Liao buried his face in his hand. Here a random caller was, affirming his very fears. It made no sense. Bao Ju did everything in her power to get the Blue Lotus... Except a Korean chaebol could offer anything beyond her reach. "Look, I'll call you back."
"I'd advise you don't do—" Click.
"Who was that?" the driver asked.
"A friend. He was... curious about where I am."
Liao could no longer control his breath. He patted the driver's shoulder. "Hey... can you call and see how my wife is doing?"
The gangster huffed. "Why? Do you think the Blue Lotus can't do their job?"
"Can you please just call them?"
Grumbling, he retrieved his phone, punching in a contact. Liao watched on; each dial noise felt as if it took longer and longer to play. Then it stopped. He felt his stress melt away as her guard answered. "Hey, it's me. How is the VIP?"
"She's fine—why?"
"Nothing. The husband is getting quite paranoid, is all."
Liao wiped his forehead of sweat. "Can I—?"
The driver ended the call. "Your wife is safe. Satisfied?"
"I wanted to talk with her!" he cried. "How safe is she? Has she reached the safe room?"
Brows furrowed, there was a bout of silence. He sighed. "I think you have too little faith in us. She's in very good hands."
"That doesn't answer anything I said."
"She's safe, Liao," he snapped. "You and your friends trusted us to help. You made your bed, now—shut—up."
Liao gritted his teeth. His weighted stress returned, this time mixing with the unyielding sense of anger. He clutched his stomach in discomfort.
As the motorcade made a turn, Liao's phone buzzed again. With sweaty palms, he answered. The stranger's voice drilled into his ear. "If you kept listening, you would have known they would kill her the moment you suspected them of anything." He paled. "Because of you, you and your wife are dead." The call disconnected.
"You alright?" he asked, albeit totally unconcerned.
Liao looked up at the gangster. He was heaving, now. He couldn't make out his driver's face. "Yeah..." Liao leaned against the door, grimacing as if suffering a tremendous headache. He clutched what hair remained on his balding scalp. Forcing himself to look up, he lit up with alarm. "Th-This isn't the road to the airport..."
"Don't worry so much." The driver was calm—or putting up with his passenger, he didn't know. "We're only taking a shortcut to dodge the traffic."
Because of you, you and your family are dead. Liao muffled himself, lurching into his lap. "Oh my God..."
They stopped at a red light. "What's the matter? You sick?"
Liao threw himself at the gangster.
Their scuffle was scrappy. The gangster didn't realize what was happening at first. Both struck each other, but every blow fell weak. But his goal was not hand-to-hand struggling, for his grip found the handle of cold plastic at the driver's hip.
Liao straightened himself, pointing the pistol. "Get out of the car!"
"Are you mad?!"
"Get! Out!"
He scoffed. "You don't know how to use that thing."
The gunshot sent each of their ears ringing. The bullet lodged into the hardened window. Liao, wincing through temporary deafness, kept his aim trained. "Now!"
Hands in the air, he hurried out of the car. Liao locked it after him, hopping over to the driver's seat. Just as the light turned green, he sped off with a grinding skid—ahead of the motorcade. Only when the street became blurry did he realize the tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey... I'm so sorry your husband was awful..."
"47, I'm tracking unusual movement from Liao's vehicle. It's speeding past its motorcade and steering off course."
From the rooftop bar, the hitman peered over the side. Right on cue, Liao's car made a sharp turn into view a few blocks away. Diana spoke again. "That is Liao Yingpei's vehicle. Thanks to your efforts, he commandeered the car and veered off course. As long as he's inside, getting to him will be difficult. But I'm sure you've cooked up a plan, already."
Just as quickly, though, he turned into an intersection, going behind a line of buildings. 47 ran to the other end of the bar to follow.
Liao checked his mirrors. The motorcade was behind him for now, allowing him a chance to breathe. Only now did he realize how stuffy the air was, and how clammed his hands became. His shoulders sunk as the weight of everything fell. He folded the glasses, wiping his eyes.
The shrill honk from the car behind reminded Liao that he lacked the luxury of time. But as he eyed the green-lit traffic light, a blinding red forced his gaze shut. Confusion struck first, and he swatted at the mystery light. Then the red dot fell to his stomach; over his heart. Liao blanched. "Oh God... they're trying to kill me!"
The traffic light flickered red. He stepped on the gas.
Honks and angered yells filled the air. Liao swerved between two cars, spinning his vehicle to the first open lane he saw. Tires screeching, he sped off in the bar's direction.
His glasses fell under the passenger seat.
47 flicked off his laser pointer. He had aimed at a reflective piece of glass, using its reflection to land on Liao. Now, he was coming straight for them on a through road—parallel to the skywalk.
He glanced down, spotting one of the party buses still parked.
47 rose from his table. "Something came up. I have to go," he said to the confused waiter. As he passed the bar, he snuck a bottle of alcohol off the shelf.
The remaining party bus waited for any straggling passengers who wished to board. The driver eyed one such group of young adults. A bald foreigner passed behind them, but other than that, they were the only ones there.
As they boarded, the driver scowled at the last boy. He snatched his wrist, glaring at his confusion. "Hey! Can't you read? No alcohol on my bus!"
"Wh-What?" His friends joined in the commotion, taking the driver's side in a delightful tease. They pointed to his backpack, which, to his surprise, an entire bottle stood for everyone to see. "This isn't mine!" he cried.
"Get out."
"I swear, this isn't mine! I have no idea how it got in my bag!"
"Every year I get kids like you trying to sneak alcohol onto my bus, and every time you leave a mess that I have to clean up! I'm done with you!" He rose from his seat, still clutching the boy's wrist as he took him outside; he left his keys in the ignition. His friends and the other passengers clambered at the windows, some whipping their phones out, to watch the drama.
None noticed the suited foreigner boarding, even as he took the driver's seat.
Before anyone could react, the bus took off. Everyone lurched back from the sudden speed. The bus turned into the road, driving towards the intersection as screams escaped the vehicle.
The bus spun perpendicular, effectively blocking the through road. At the same time, Liao Yingpei's vehicle came into view. The Blue Lotus motorcade followed close behind.
47 lit the firework and aimed it down.
A tremendous explosion of smoke and color boomed inside. If the passengers weren't shaken up by the unannounced ride, the detonation sent the rest of them screaming. Dozens flew out the door, breaking into a blind sprint as smoke followed them out. Bystanders from the sidewalk also entered the intersection, curious if they could help with whatever was happening.
Liao skidded to a full stop as the crowd spilled onto the roads. Behind, the motorcade was caught in the same trap. Liao kept his foot on the gas, taking any chance to move even the smallest inch.
In the stampeding crowd, Agent 47 weaved towards the black car. Soon, he was close enough to make out Liao Yingpei inside, shriveled like a scared chipmunk against the wheel.
The hitman threw a rock into the air. It struck the windshield, rolling onto the hood.
But for Liao, all he saw was the gray shape. Stability hit its breaking point. For all Liao was concerned with, the Blue Lotus just threw a bomb at him.
He slammed the gas pedal. More screams erupted as civilians rolled over the vehicle and blanketed its windshield. The tires screeched to life, forcing through the crowd. Liao turned a hard left; away from the "bomb."
Liao drove until no more people stood against his car. He drove down the road, where the skywalk hung above.
47 squeezed a detonator.
Puffs of smoke appeared under the skywalk. Dust and pebbles fell. The center dipped. Its supports on each end gave way. Chunks of the building ripped off, carried by the bridge as the structure collapsed. Liao swerved, and his tires screeched.
Clouds of dust kicked up. The car never emerged.
As dust surrounded all, 47 was first on site. Flashing headlights burned through the haze. The vehicle's entire backseat was crushed by rubble. Its doors were popped open, and the smell of petrol made itself apparent.
47 nudged open the passenger door. It fell off its hinges. In the driver's seat, splayed against the dashboard, was Liao Yingpei, battered and bloodied.
The hitman reached inside, finding the glovebox. Within was the file, crumpled and torn. He slid the damaged papers out from the destruction.
"H-Help..."
47 looked at Liao. He lived—barely.
"Help...! Hel—"
"Your wife is not dead."
Liao froze into a blank stare. It took a few seconds for him to comprehend those words—even the fact that he survived. He knew instantly that this man was responsible for everything, from his stoic expression to the calmness of his movements.
More importantly, he had no reason to lie.
Liao mustered a smile as 47 wrapped his hands around his neck. He twisted. "Target down," Diana said. "File retrieved. Expertly done, 47. We're finished here, time to find an exit."
"Hey! Over here!" someone yelled. A crowd was forming around the debris, now. It didn't take long for groups of people to descend on the car, looking to help.
As they encroached into the dust, none noticed the bald man walking in the other direction.
One person, clambering over the rubble, finally made it to the car. The dust settled enough for them to see. "Hey!" he shouted, peering inside. "Are you okay?" He grimaced, reversing his steps. As the others neared, he rose a hand for them to stop, shaking his head.
"It's no use." The bystander rubbed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the sight now burned into his mind. "The guy's already dead."
From the safe room, Biyu peeked through the blinders. "What a disaster... I hope everybody is fine." With a huff, she returned to lazing on the sofa. Never had she felt so impatiently anxious doing nothing.
The door clicked open, and she shot up with newfound excitement. Even when she discovered her guest was one of the Triad guards, she remained optimistic. "Well? I bet Liao's on a plane to America, isn't he? That's why he hasn't been picking up!"
The gangster quietly walked farther inside. With a sigh, he offered the only thing he had: the truth.
Biyu's smile vanished. Her cries filled the room.
At the metro station, Agent 47 caught a subway. As he sat, an old woman tapped his shoulder. "Did you hear about what happened at the skywalk?" she asked, donning a disapproving look.
"Yes. I was there."
She clicked her tongue. "I heard the guy who died drove through a crowd of people beforehand. I saw lots of ambulances on the way. These fools and their reckless driving... I dare say he deserved it. When will they understand that people can get hurt?"
"People get careless. Fear and adrenaline take over, and they stop thinking straight. I've seen it many times."
"What an awful, awful thing..."
"It's only human. It can't be helped."
The subway driver announced their departure. Its doors shut, and they were on their way out.
SKYWALK COLLAPSE KILLS ONE
In Guangzhou, a skywalk part of a popular rooftop bar collapsed on a street, crushing a car and killing its only passenger. The disaster spurred a flurry of backlash and frustration on social media, with allegations coming about the manager of the business. It has come to light that he paid the bridge inspector to make artificial repairs each time and that the skywalk was designed from the start with low-quality materials.
The manager and the inspector have since been arrested, but the incident has sparked discussion about corruption, with users bringing up several other structural collapses in China. Corruption and infrastructure problems have been prevalent since the 1990s when market reforms set the country's economy on a rocketlike trajectory.
The skywalk collapse is one of many cases that have been tagged with the term, doufazha, which means "bean curd dregs."
LEADER OF BRITISH GANG "THE ROBINSON BROTHERS" ASSASSINATED
Patrick Robison, the leader of Britain's largest organized crime, was found stabbed to death in a hotel room in what some investigators claim is the most violent gang-related killing in recent history. The staff who opened the room said it was "the most horrific thing I ever saw. The bed was drenched in blood, and it spilled onto the floor. They cut him up real, real bad."
The Robinson Brothers is one of the most infamous gangs in London, responsible for more than half of firearm homicides. Funded through drug trades and prostitution, Patrick Robinson has been wanted by MI5 for years.
In contrast to the predictions of British authorities, the gang has shown little signs of aggravation. This led to speculation that Patrick's assassination was planned from within. His younger brother, Todd, was murdered the year prior after reported bouts of tension grew between him and Patrick, nearly creating a schism in the gang. Many believe Patrick orchestrated his murder.
The Russian assassin known as the Crimson Mongoose claimed responsibility, but there is no evidence to prove or disprove the statement.
No suspects have yet been listed for either death. Investigations are still ongoing.
GHOST HUNTING TV HOST EVERETT EMERY CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES
The host of the controversial TV show, World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery, has been acquitted of his charges of Tampering with Evidence and Desecration of a Human Corpse.
Described as a paranormal enthusiast, Everett has faced many controversies for the bold, explicit content of his show. The lawsuit came in the aftermath of Timothy Caldwell's murder, which Everett recorded on the crime scene only a day after the killing. The episode that aired, "Timmy's Last Cry," featured footage of Timothy's uncensored corpse. It even aired a confrontation between Everett and the family.
The episode launched to global recognition and infamy. Fans of the show were reported to have tracked down the Caldwell household and harassed them, angry for how they treated Everett.
Blaming Everett for their troubles, the family launched a series of lawsuits against him. The TV host claims, "Every episode I film and make, I do so out of total respect for the dead. 25% of the profits we get from the series goes to funding cold case investigations."
This is amid speculation that Everett pays off the police to gain access to crime scenes, and that his actions impede forensic investigations.
After months of court battling, Everett was cleared of all charges. He has not shown any remorse for the incident and has gone on to state that he is eager to return to filming more episodes.
Seoul, South Korea
"All contracts complete. The transactions have been made." Clera spread the paperwork across the desk. Portraits of the past four targets, all stamped red with the word 'Eliminated,' brought a smile to the other's face. "We're in the clear, Director."
"He was as effective as those statistics have proven." Myung Soo-min glanced over each paper, her frown unchanged. Clera couldn't tell if she was unimpressed, or had worked for so long that nothing in this line of business phased her.
"One other thing," Clera began, "Diana wanted me to pass a message."
Myung flicked her gaze up. "Go ahead."
She quietly cleared her throat. "ICA would not have been in danger if not for your personal desires. ICA is a neutral force, not your convenient tool. Please never request my services again."
Silence hung in the air for a full minute. Clera felt Myung's eyes drilling into her—she looked anywhere but at the woman, trying not to tremble. Then, laughter. Dry laughter. Only now did Myung's wrinkles shift in expression. "If only you had as much bite as her, then someone would remember you."
Clera ducked her head, wincing at the sudden jab.
Much to her relief, someone else entered the office. One of the private jet's flight attendants wheeled in a cart filled with the usual assortments of snacks. Stopping by the two, he passed them both a plastic bag of peanuts.
In an instant, Myung's amusement twisted into an acute scowl. Myung slapped the attendant's hand away, dropping the bag. "What am I, a pig?"
The attendant, wide-eyed and blanching, froze in place for a moment. "P-Pardon me?"
"I am not a peasant anymore! I expect my food on a plate! Is something so simple too hard to understand? Do you eat food off of nothing but plastic? Do you know who you work for!?"
A mess of garbled words escaped his mouth, but he barely choked out, "I-It's standard procedure."
"Procedure?" Myung recoiled, aghast at such an idea. "Get the cabin crew chief here right now!"
He arrived quickly, just as pale as the flight attendant. "Yes, madam?" he asked, voice shaking.
"Is it true that it's procedure for you to serve nuts in a plastic bag?"
"Y-Yes, madam, it is." In an instant, he dropped to his knees and brought his face to the floor. "Please forgive me! I was not knowledgeable enough to serve such an esteemed madam!"
Myung shook her head in disgust. "What a disgrace. It's a wonder how you survived up to this point." She motioned for them to leave. "You're dismissed. As soon as we land, you're fired."
He rose, keeping his head down. "Of course, madam. Thank you..." The two crew took their leave.
Clera felt glued to her seat, not daring to draw attention to herself after that. Regardless, Myung was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Clera, usually we're given better service than this." Despite what happened moments prior, she offered a smile to the handler.
"Right... Of course..."
After Myung busied herself with papers and Clera dealt with the awkward silence, they soon landed at Seoul's airport.
As the two met solid ground, Clera piped up, "Was this really necessary? It would've only been a 30-minute drive to get here."
Myung waggled her finger. "Wouldn't you always choose the most convenient option available if it were there?"
"I suppose I would..." She stopped walking, making Myung turn around with a questioning look. "If that is all, I need to return to my office."
"Oh, I'd rather you stay. If it's your work you're worried about, I had someone take care of it."
Clera had nothing to say to that. To begin with, she found it odd how Myung wished for her to give her report in person. She proceeded to join Myung in the limousine awaiting them. Her nerves grew in volume as they took to the streets, then a private road, culminating in a titanic mansion; Myung's home.
They brought her inside, through the grand foyer filled to the brim with luxurious decorations beyond any normal person's pay. Clera was led upstairs; toward Myung's room. She mustered the courage to ask, "Director, with all due respect, what am I here for?"
She chuckled. "I am going to give you what you truly want, Clera. For now, you should relax. We may have to wait a while."
Myung opened the door to her room. As the lights automatically flicked on, her smug grin disappeared to shock. Behind her, Clera felt even more compelled to worry.
A blonde woman dressed in all black stood, leaning against the back wall.
The two entered quietly. "Who... who are you?" Clera asked, unintentionally shouting in a whisper.
The mystery woman met Myung halfway.
The director smiled. "Xenia!" They embraced each other in a hug, Myung patting her shoulder. "What a surprise! I thought we'd have to wait for you."
"My schedule is tight, I'm afraid. I need to be efficient if our dream is to be realized in due time."
The two then looked at Clera, who felt like shrinking away the moment they did so. Myung spoke first. "Clera, I would like you to meet Xenia Samec." The woman in question bowed promptly in mock courtesy. "She has something she would like to give you."
When she looked back at Xenia, she was directly in front of her, holding something out. The item in question was a plain envelope.
She moved robotically, taking it and ripping the letter out of its grasp. It was handwritten, distinctly cursive. As she read, she mouthed each word out.
Hello, Clera. You have questions, I'm sure. I am he who wields his bright sword. I am he who will slay the Gods, and whose flames that he brought forth will engulf the Earth. I found you because you were lost. Your life will only head downwards, because any hope of a future has been stripped away by a force out of your power.
You are the youngest in a family of five. Your siblings have achieved great renown in the public eye, and your parents awarded them tremendously for it. You, however, never received any of that. Because you were a normal person, your parents punished you. Their own child.
Wanting to escape a life of overshadowing and comparisons, you moved out as soon as you could. However, you found that those patterns presented themselves everywhere. In every field of work, you found yourself compared to your peers; whether it was your own judgment or not. No matter how hard you worked, there was always someone better.
Eventually, you found that your talents lay in commanding and directing. I commend you for turning your greatest sin into a virtue. Using your ability to focus on others' effectiveness and what needs to be done could have landed you a fantastic job.
But it did not. Because, such jobs are equally, if not more, competitive. As you found, and let's be honest, you're second-rate. Not once could you ever make first. There was always something wrong with your work that never caught your eye until it was too late.
Out of options, it was thanks to one of Myung's associates that you found work in the ICA. Here, you finally felt at home. And, for a time, you finally tasted what being the best felt like. For a time.
Diana Burnwood is your friend, but the biggest thorn in your side. In what little time she worked at the ICA, she surpassed you for factors beyond your control: she found an agent capable of perfection. Compared to the years you spent, I can only imagine the pain of being overshadowed once again.
You can be more than a handler. More than Diana. That is, when the world I see has come to life. I need you to help shape it.
Signed, Surtr.