Mission to kill
Only five of us were gathered in the conference room. All seated far apart at a table fit to accommodate so many more, carved in a U shape. Floor to ceiling windows let in the early morning sunlight, and I let my shoulders relax in the few moments I had to watch the wispy clouds drift across the rolling expanse of blue sky.
The calm before the storm.
These days I didn't seem to have very much calm before the next storm came.
Something big seemed to be coming. Missions were diverging away from simple assassinations and undercover operations. The supernatural world was growing, at least our knowledge of it, and the more the organization learned, the more we had to dip our toes in those waters.
When the oldest Field Agent in the room was finally settled into his seat, Donovan, leaning forward on the chair in the middle of the table, clicked a button on the tiny remote in his hand. As he did so, a black screen descended from the top of the windows, shutting off my view from the outside and leaving us in darkness.
Low blue lights quickly turned on as a projection popped up in the air from a space on the floor in the center of the table's U shape. It projected layers of confidential files and photos of the people involved. Agent Sixty-Two cleared his throat to get our attention. As soon as the four field agents were giving him their undivided attention, he pulled the chair out from the table and plopped down into it casually.
"So," he started, while leaning back and pointing his index finger at the glowing images in the center of the room. "We have assignments lined up for each of you. Based on your recent performance, we have allocated what we believe to be the work for you to take on, as usual. Nothing really new here folks." Sixty-Two waved his right hand, clad in a three-finger glove, to control the projections. As he did so, the file images separated and the four agents at the table leaned forward to look at what had been positioned in front of them, all trying to get a brief idea of their assignment.
Agent Thirty-Three at my left was nodding his head. I could see he was given a simple recon assignment. He was most likely getting close to retirement age. He was two batches older than I was. His grey hair was more prominent than the brown I remember him having so long ago. Thirty-Three could probably still kill me with ease if he had to though.
What really caught my attention was the bitch across the table glaring holes into me. Either she was poorly trained in hiding her emotions or she wanted me to know how she felt. I slowly looked up into her brown eyes, making sure my expression read as bored while taking in her orange-red hair that fell around her tensed shoulders. I hadn't even looked at my mission folder glowing in front of me yet, and she was already jealous of it.
"How come she gets that mission? As far as I'm aware, her last few missions weren't like these. Fifty-Five doesn't do undercover ops like these. She causes destruction everywhere she goes, Sir." The red head was talking to Donovan with an intense scowl written as plain as day. I didn't stop myself from rolling my eyes in the hopes they would all see it. I know they did.
"Cal- ahem... Agent Fifty-Five has more experience, and with her recent missions, this was the decision made. Are you unhappy with your own assignment, Sixty-Eight?" He asked the irritated. redhead. Donovan leaned back in his seat while clicking the pen in his hand, showing he didn't really care for the conversation at hand.
The decision on missions was always final.
"She's not as experienced in undercover ops as I am. You want to send Fifty-Five into a gala to observe a high-rank Alpha? When's the last time she had to kill a werewolf?!" Sixty-Eight's voice rose at Donovan with her brows scrunched together and her nose wrinkled in distaste.
"You jealous you don't get to go to the fancy party?" I scoffed at the embarrassing way her lower lip curled into a frown at my question.
"I don't think anyone would want to send an agent of chaos into something so high-brow. At least I have more training for such upper-class events!" She sneered at me in her last words.
"If you were meant to have this mission, then we would have assigned it to you, but you weren't. Didn't even cross my mind to assign it to you. Why don't you show some of that high-brow training you were given and shut the fuck up?" Donovan leaned forward onto the table, crossing his arms and giving a smile that didn't reach his eyes. There was a thinly veiled threat in his tone.
Sixty-Eight finally sat back in her chair with a scoff and turned her eyes back to the glowing file in front of her after crossing her arms. I don't know why she was so upset. It looked like she was being assigned an easy enough to point and shoot.
In the moment of silence after the bitch shut her mouth, I could finally focus on the details of my next assignment. My eyes fell on the side profile of an incredibly handsome man. Dark hair styled back on his head and he had a sharp, yet strong looking jaw covered with a short beard.
Apollo Mathison.
Werewolf. Alpha. Powerful.
Not the normal targets we go after. However, the notes in my file showed that this man just might be the leader of a new gang. Not just a large and powerful pack, no. An actual crime lord selling magically enhanced drugs.
They wanted me to watch him. Track him. Discover all those he worked with to stop this new drug from spreading.
Then kill him.