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  I sit in my room at the agency playing a game of solitaire by myself in my own thoughts.   The game has a sort of irony to it.   I'm solitary, always have been, always will be.
         I look around my bland room.  This collection of depression includes a desk that I swear Mavrick got out of a garbage dumpster.  I look towards my white walls that are slowly turning brown because of the building up filth.  The only other pieces of furniture in this square box is a dinky, old mattress, and a dresser that has a wobbly leg.   Nothing in here was actually bought, not that surprising considering the work we do here.
        The hammering on the door is what knocked me out of my daydreaming.  I tug down my raggedy old t-shirt that's about 8 years old.  My feet padded on the cold, concrete cement as I walk over to the entryway. 
        " God Mavrick, do you really need to bang on the door? A simple knock would have been suffice."   I look at my boss/handler.
        "You have an assignment and you need to come to the office with me."  He says as he pulls me down the dimly lit hallway towards the control room.
        " But I just got back from the mission in Dubai to assassinate Prince Duga.  And that errand was a success if I do say so myself. " I smirked as I was jerked further down the corridor .
         " Stop boasting. You know your duty and that is to do what I say, and I say that you are assigned to this chore.  Plus you are the only one that is young enough and of the female population.  That allows you to get on a more personal level with the individual."  That statement was correct considering I am the youngest and only female in this place.  Sometimes that is an advantage and sometimes it is the furthest thing from it.   I usually get to go to school when I am assigned but there's always the part of what I'm actually doing there.
        We arrive to the door of what we like to call the point of no return.  Once you are in here you are given a task and you could possibly never come back to the agency.  There is the occasional exception, me being one of them, but for the most part you're not coming back.  That's why I'm one of the only ones to have a permanent room at the agency.  I see so many faces coming in and out daily, that may be the reason why I'm not the friendliest of people. 
        " Andrew, I'm glad you're here-," says Adam, the head of MTAC , says when I am roughly pushed down into the chair in front of the large mahogany desk that is cluttered with old case files. 
        "I didn't have much of a choice," I mumble under my breath.  I see him flinch with an urge to reprimand me, but he lets it go seeing as I am the only person available for this job.
        " I have a very important client who needs some 'removing' of a nuisance.   I want you to go and get in his head.  Become his friend, get to know him on a personal level. Learn his daily schedule.  Learn what really makes him tick, including the little quirks.  Then when I give the command I want you to finish the job.  I will tell you what procedure to use, whether it may be a simple shot or a slow, agonizing death."
        " Who is the client and why does he want him dead?" I blurt out without thinking.  I sink back in my chair and begin twiddling with my hair.   I know not to ask information about the client.  They come here to get their dirty work done and for animosity.  You can't count how many times I've received punishment for speaking out of term or asking about the client.  I'm always curious on why I'm doing this, why these people have to die.  But you know what they say, Curiosity killed the cat,  and today I am the cat. 
        " Andrew, what have I told you about asking about the client.  You are only allowed to ask about the target and nothing else," Adam says as he throws the case file at me.   " That is all you need know about the client. I want you to study and memorize it, which shouldn't be hard for you.  I want you to write a 500 word summary on him and have it on my desk by 1500 tomorrow.  You are dismissed." 
        I nod my head in understanding and head towards the door and hear " Don't think I  forgot about that outburst, an extra hour of intensive training tomorrow."  I slouch in defeat and continue walking out of the office and making my way to my room. 
        When I get back to my room I toss the file onto my dresser, which wobbles from the slight addition of weight.  I change into my comfortable clothing, and grab the folder.  I hear the bed creak as I plop down onto it.  I inhale deeply as I began to open the folder in anticipation of what lies beyond the folder.  I don't know if who I am about murder.  It could be a real criminal who deserves to die or it could be someone who is about to die purely out of short tempered revenge.  I peel away the front cover and the first page is a page of warning.  It basically states that this is classified information and if you are reading this without permission, you will have to face the consequences. 
        The next page contains the name and place of my next victim.  What I'm not expecting is what is really written on the page.

                                                                            Daxton Reynolds - University of Maryland, Baltimore

Hey Guys this is my first story. This story was inspired by a dream I had at 2 in the morning and I decide to add onto it. If you are a grammar nazi like I am please comment critiques.

Also tell me what you think!

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