A team of special forces enter a house to acquire classified information but realise that the house isn't empty as they had thought.
An emotionless girl that can kill in one move
A young boy who chases you with a bloody axe
And a pair of cute but...
Western City square, the tall oak tree stood with its branches like giant arms flaying about in the air. The morning dew on the lush green leaf slithered down as the branches moved and leaves rustled.
A young boy stood, leaning on the tree with headphones in his ears. The music was blasting out of them at full volume. It looked pretty normal if the time wasn't 5 am and the music wasn't some horror movie ambience soundtrack.
His bright blue eyes were attractive under his black hoodie but now, there was a hint of impatience visible in them. He kept glancing at his wrist watch and then up to the second floor of the cafe at the end of the street.
After a round of staring, a hand finally appeared in the window of the second floor and waved frantically as if using all its might to tell that 'I'm here!'. The boy rolled his eyes while walking towards the cafe, up the side stairs leading to the second floor.
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He opened the metal door, rusted dat is hinges. The sound of metal dragging across the floor and the screechy sound of rusted hinges was especially ear piercing in the silence of the morning. It opened into a dusty and old studio that looked like it hadn't been occupied in years. Dust accumulation over years of lack of cleaning. A murky smell of furniture and if something unidentifiable which had died in a particular hidden corner of the room.
Covering his nose with his sleeve and frowning heavily, he picked up the letter on the coffee table. The white envelope looked considerably new and clean. It stood out among the junk places on the table.
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Looking around the studio and not seeing a single soul, he smirked and walked towards the book case at the back of the room, taking a step to the left, he kicked the wall beside the book case. The metal plate camouflaged in the wall gave way to reveal a narrow tunnel, but big enough to fit a grown man. As he had expected, the messenger was quick and left smoothly through the tunnel. Placing the metal plate back, he pocketed the letter and went out of the studio.
An hour and a half later, he stood in front of the headquarters of the International Crime Force. A twenty story glass building which looked no different from an office building. On the front was huge emblem with ICF written in bold golden letters on a badge that looked like a medieval soldier's shield. ICF is known to work like a steadfast organisation of the medieval times...and this wasn't a praise.
It was an Organisation dedicated to help the international police to uncover heinous crimes but with a different methodology. They are given free reign to whether conduct their investigations by following the law or not. A death quota is given in every mission, which means that they can kill anyone under that quota without any repercussions.
Hence, the government officials call them "A bunch of barbarians." and that wasn't a secret. The reason why the ICF can operate this way is because they produce 'results'. Failure has never been heard of in a mission taken by ICF members. They have uncovered foreign spies, terrorist schemes and maintained the safety of the country.
The "International" in the name does not mean that it overlooks many countries but each base is assigned a country and numerous bases cannot communicate with each there. The overseer of all these bases is the main headquarters known as "HQ KING" but no one knows where it is located or who the operators are. They remain this secrecy with untouchable means of communication with the many bases but no one does dare to find out because HQ KING is an entity to be feared...
At the top floor, a middle aged man was pacing around his office. His brows furrowed heavily. He was very impatient, somewhat worried but also anticipating. He was the chief of the Organization, Ralph Fulley.
The door of the office opened and the boy calmly walked in without knocking.
"Chief," He gave a simple greeting nod.
Fulley sighed in relief when he saw him enter the office.
"Devin, you're finally here. Did you get the information?" He asked with a slightly worried tone. Devin threw the letter on his desk and made himself home on the couch.
"Here, I wonder what was so important that you made me go to our most hidden supplier?" He picked up the paper weight and started playing with it. Fulley picked up the letter and read through it, he frowned until he reached the end when he stopped and gazed at a certain line with pair of sparkling eyes.
"The seal is broken so I suppose you already know the content of the letter." He placed it back on the table and looked at Devin, "What do you think?"
Devin gave a bored look to Fulley, "I think that you'll be popping your 1956 wine tonight with those bunch of guzzlers that you call your friends, aka, directors of ICF"
"You are invited as well."
"No thank you." Devin said, repulsed by the idea of drinking with a bunch of old men. Fulley gave him a smile that was sincere yet weirdly unsettling.
"I think you'll want to come because this letter marks the beginning of your next mission."
