I AM MI6

Chapter 1; Lone Wolf

My only answer is to shrug with a chuckle, turning around I pass Faye carefully into her arms, to whom she quickly begins cooing and humming at. Bringing a smile to the child's face, whilst I turn to pick Lottie up in my arms. Purposefully distracting my beloved, even if she cant smell the lie to my voice, I can and I hate it. "Nothing." I answer absent mindedly, but I cant look her in the eyes when I say it. She thankfully doesn't seem to notice it.

Faye, now cradled cosily in her mothers arms and finished with fussing around falls back to sleep. That child could sleep for Britain in the Olympics, and win gold every time. I grin at both of them, what I wouldn't have given in order to stay like this for the rest of eternity and never leave the three women who capture my heart every time that they smile. Unfortunately however, I have other things to worry about right now. I sigh softly, kissing my wife before standing up and saying. "I should get going."

Evelyn doesn't seem to realise what I have said for a few minutes, and looks up with a slight frown on her face. "Are you sure that you cant convince them to let you just have one more day off at the office, surely they can survive just one more day without you?" She said, Faye enclosing her mother's little finger in her tiny fist.

I hesitate a little, trying to find a way to word my sentence without hurting her feelings any further, I glance down at my bare feet and say. "I'm sorry love, but I've got a big meeting to get to, and it might just be my job on the line if I miss it. I'll see if I can get a day off this weekend to make up for it." I say as honestly as I can. Its not a complete lie, I do have a meeting, but I wont be selling any insurance that's for sure.

She only shrugged, her blonde curly hair dancing across her lower back, not making eye contact with me as she watched the children a little absent minded. I wish I could give her everything she wanted, unfortunately though it isn't always as possible as I would wish. "Love you." I say quietly, as not to wake the now contently dozing twins.

Evelyn only shrugs her shoulders and looks to the side, again not making eye contact which makes me pine a little bit to see her smile. "Love you." I repeat.

Now she sighs, lifting herself to her feet and kissing me on the side of the cheek, she replies with an unamused chuckle, "I love you too. Now get to work, before I don't let you leave."

Though every instinct tells me to stay, to do anything to make her happy. I know I have to go, had I been a pack member, I could have stayed easily with little trouble. Life is never that easy though unfortunately, so I stand up and leave to get changed.

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Within fifteen minutes I had left the house and driven my way to the tube station bought my ticket and was on my way to the building. On a normal day through London it would have taken a lot longer, despite my close proximity to the station, but thankfully today it had taken a lot quicker due to the fact it was the school holidays.

Once the train pulls to a stop at Kensington, I leave the station and make may way north towards my destination. As usual I pause at the homeless man who sits on the curb just outside of the nearby Cooperative and give him the usual change from my fare of £2.96. It helps to have friends in this city, especially with my occupation. Before carrying on my way.

I hesitate when the building comes into view, checking cautiously that I am not being followed. I had worked here for nearly fourteen years, never once had I ever seen sign of anyone following me, but old habits always die hard. Before carrying on, the front of where I work is disguised as Axton and Hunt Insurance lawyers, which is my front whenever anyone asks what I do. It is very good at hiding the truth behind what we actually do here. It is an old drab looking building, full of equally drab people. But its home.

I press my fingers to the key pad, typing the four numbers '8719' into the pad and leaning forward to let it scan my retina. All of this is almost instinct the number of times I have repeated the same procedure, and after a second or two I am allowed into the building.

With a grin I enter through the large hallway, painted a pristine white and undoubtedly expensive paintings hanging at regular intervals along the walls. Before I make my way into the reception, touching my hat to the rotund receptionist behind the counter I call as I pass. "Morning Lorraine." In return she gives me her toothy grin, the same one she has given me every working day for the last fourteen years and replies with a greeting of her own, but by this time I have walked through the door to her left and stopped listening.

A steady pace takes me quickly past the doors, all of which read posh sounding names and even posher titles below them and quickly make my way towards my desk. I say hello to the seven people I pass as I return to the same old workplace and the same old chair and sit down. Welcome back. I think to myself with a slight grin, before speedily logging into my computer. To find the delight of seventeen unread emails in my inbox.

In front of me sits the usual poster, of the unicorn and lion symbol of my agency hanging in their dreary colours. Below it reading Military Intelligence, section 6. And I grin at the old friend that has greeted me every day for work.

The email system I use at work, is solely used and run by the company, and an unread email only ever means one thing and it certainly isn't a welcome back Elliot email that I am about to read. These are missions.

Clicking my mouse onto the email icon, I glance across them to see a rather boring list of emails, none of which catch my interest, but all of which I will have to read and finish at one point or another. Unfortunately my job isn't always as much fun and games as they make it seem in the movies, I also receive a few mind numbingly boring tasks. But such was life.

I am about to click away from the emails, hoping to find some other task to concentrate on before getting to the long list of new jobs I have awaiting for me since returning from my holiday. When I realise I recognise one of the names of the senders of the eighth email in the list. Normally the names are all anonymous, made up and changed every time. This one was different, I recognised the name too well.

robertphelps @ Hotmail.com

That name. Why did it have to be that name, surely this could be no coincidence, not with the use of that name. This was no random occurrence, this person had sent me the email for my eyes only, not to be sent to some random agent to be dealt with.

The email read;

Dear Mr Parker;

I am righting to you with full knowledge as to what your job is, who you are, and what you do. I have no intent of attempting to out you as what you really are, but to instead recruit you for my own purposes. Purposes for which the MI6 will be unable to help me solve, I need someone... Shall we say special, for this job.

A new organisation has been formed, and I can assure you that this is no small business venture. I have fair reason to believe, from personal eye witness accounts, and close friends, that this organisation has only one goal. The destruction of the occult of England. How you may ask, until I have confirmation of you willingness to work with me, I cannot be specific. But lets just say, these are powerful people my friend. They intend to out you, all of you, for what you truly are, and we all know how that will end.

Therefore the reason as to why you are reading this right now, is because I have heard of your talents, and I have decided that you, along with a handful of similar beings. That you will be able to take down this organisation, before things take a turn for the worst. We know what would be lost if we are destroyed, but England do not. They may well be signing their own death certificates, we cannot give them the chance.

If you find this an interesting proposal, meet me at Kings Cross station, on todays date, I will come find you. If you do not arrive by 3.00pm, I will not give you this offer again. If you tell anyone of this email, I will come after you and I will kill you. This message will be deleted thirty seconds after you reach the end.

Yours

Robert.

I hesitate, the subject of the email is 'Be Brave.' What on earth could that have meant, but then a grin played across my lips just a little bit. This was going to be an interesting day.