Chapter 1
OC POV
The rain pounded against the windows of the dimly lit bar, but I found the sound soothing. It was steady, predictable—unlike the world I operated in. I sat motionless in the farthest booth, my eyes half-lidded as if I could sleep. But I never did. My mind wouldn't allow it.
I watched the patrons with idle disinterest. Couples on dates, families sharing meals, friends laughing over drinks. They were all distractions, flickers of normalcy I had no use for. I was waiting for someone—a person who gave my life direction, yet remained a stranger.
She was my partner, in a sense. A woman in her forties, cold as steel, devoid of warmth or pretense. She never smiled, never wore makeup, never spoke of anything outside business. Every time, I made her come here, to this bar in the middle of Minnesota. She was always punctual. One hour and thirty minutes after my arrival, she'd appear, sliding into the seat across from me, an envelope in hand. She would stay for exactly five minutes, answer my questions, and disappear.
We split the jobs evenly. She handled logistics, connections, assignments. I executed them. Two or three months after each mission, she would return with another envelope, another target. We never exchanged names. She feared me, and that was wise.
I was born in Germany, in a lab. My mother, a sixteen-year-old girl, was paid to carry me. My father—a psychiatric patient—was a cannibal who had eaten three people before he was caught. My mother died in childbirth. The scientists who created me had one goal: perfection. The perfect soldier.
By the age of ten, I was impeccable. I spoke ten languages. My IQ was 200. I had training in everything from ballroom dancing to dismemberment. I could charm at a dinner party and torture a man to death in the same breath. The only thing I couldn't do was sleep. My brain refused to shut down.
I was their greatest success. But they had made a mistake. I was also free-thinking. And so, I killed them all.
After escaping, I was placed in an orphanage. Later, I discovered there was no official record of my existence. The experiment that created me was buried. Forgotten. I spent my time there reading, honing my skills—lying, sneaking, manipulating. When I turned eighteen, I burned the orphanage to the ground, erasing every trace of myself.
The next two years were a blur of blood and strategy as I built my name in the underworld. The Hollow Man. The most effective, the most ruthless. A ghost, a myth. The world had no idea how many powerful figures had fallen by my hand.
And now, here I was again, waiting.
The door to the bar opened, letting in a cold draft. I glanced at my watch. One hour, thirty minutes. Right on time.
She slid into the booth without greeting me, pulling an envelope from her purse. I took it, slipping out the photographs inside. Ten faces, each labeled with a name. They shared few similarities—except for beauty, unnatural pallor, and striking yellow eyes.
Only two stood out. A young girl, much younger than the others. And a Native American boy.
"Which one is the target?" I asked without looking up.
"Renesmee."
I found her picture—a sixteen-year-old girl.
"What can you tell me about them?"
She hesitated. "They're... advanced individuals. The people who hired us claim they're vampires."
I raised an eyebrow. "Vampires?"
"Not like the ones from myth," she clarified in that flat, detached voice. "They do drink blood, but these ones only consume animal blood. They have superhuman strength, speed, and near-invulnerability."
I leaned back. "How do they die?"
"Fire."
I nodded. That was workable. "Anything else?"
"Three in particular you should be cautious of—Alice, Edward, and Jacob."
I picked up their photographs, studying them. "Why?"
"Alice can see the future," she explained. "But only possibilities. If you remain undecided, you can trick her. Edward can read minds. Jacob is a werewolf and the target's mate. He'll fight to protect her. He also leads a pack of more werewolves."
"What's Edward's range?"
"Unknown."
"And Jacob's pack? How many?"
"Unknown."
I finally looked up at her. "Do you believe this?"
"I met our clients," she said simply. "Whether it's real or not, they're paying a hundred million for the girl's head on a stick."
I examined her critically. "Their exact words?"
She nodded.
I glanced back at the photographs. It was dangerous for sure a real challenge and I love challenges.
" I'll do it," I said.
"A bit much, don't you think? If this is true, do you really think you can pull it off?"
I nodded. "I do."
She slid another envelope across the table. "Everything we know is in there. The rest of your assets—fake passport, ID, credit cards—are included."
Then, just like that, she was gone.
I stayed in the bar for another hour, memorizing every detail. Then I stood, grabbed my coat, and left.
At my apartment, I packed my things, debating whether to alter my appearance. The Hollow Man was infamous— young but with white hair, bloodshot eyes, deathly pale skin. It made me look like something out of a nightmare. But this time, I wanted them to know. This was a high-priority target. I wanted the world to see my work.
I pulled on a baseball cap and slung my bag over my shoulder, heading for the airport.
As I walked through security, I reviewed my plan.
Alice Cullen had to go first. If she lived, the plan would fail. But she would see through any deception I created. She could look into the future, predict my every move.
Unless she saw exactly what I wanted her to see.
Mid-flight, I moved to the bathroom. Rolling up my sleeve, I grabbed a sharpie and scrawled across my arm:
Don't read the files. When you arrive, go to Forks, Washington. Warehouse address below. When you get there, firebomb this house. A woman will try to stop you. When you see her, read the other arm.*
I pulled my sleeve down and rolled up the other.
Her name is Alice Cullen. She can see the future in possibilities. There is a reinforced tungsten cage in the warehouse. It activates when you pull the lever on the wall. Capture her. Then read the documents.*
If Alice looked into the future now, all she would see was a lunatic intent on burning down their home. She wouldn't take me seriously—just some madman who needed stopping. She would come.
And when she did, the trap would spring.
I pulled my sleeve down and sat back, pulling out my medication. A high-dose sedative—one of the only things that could dull my mind. If I took just the right amount, I'd forget everything.
I swallowed the pills dry and closed my eyes.
When I woke, the hunt would begin
(if enough people are interested I will continue)