Chapter 1 - Part 3

As usual, nothing poses much of a challenge for me, as I have been honing my combat skills since the tender age of seven to fend off the relentless bullies I encountered. Each day was a battle, and I learned to navigate the treacherous school hallways with ease, outsmarting my tormentors with a combination of agility, strategy, and well-timed strikes.

Arthur has always been my steadfast ally, assisting me in dealing with bullies from a young age. However, I gradually took matters into my own hands, determined not to burden him indefinitely. Fortunately, I possess a natural aptitude for lightning-fast reflexes, almost bordering on the supernatural.

I attribute my swift victories to this remarkable ability, allowing me to effortlessly fend off the Tormentors of my past. When facing an opponent, time seems to decelerate, enabling me to execute the flawless countermove. Nonetheless, I understand the importance of maintaining my physical fitness and regularly engaging in sparring sessions.

Having swiftly defeated every challenger in the dojo, I had intended to proceed to the gym for some cardiovascular exercise before the daily briefing. However, my plans were interrupted by someone calling me out, reminding me of our scheduled sparring session.

I turn around and behold Emma gracefully stretching, declaring that it's finally time to bring me down. Despite my weariness, I perceive it as a futile endeavor on her part, as she has never come close to defeating me.

Before I can conjure an excuse, she charges forward, launching a palm strike toward my abdomen, abruptly shattering my train of thought.

I deftly redirect her strike, causing Emma to lose her balance and creating an opportune moment for a swift hip toss that swiftly brings her down to the mat. "Good effort, Emma," I remark with a sly smirk. "Perhaps another try tomorrow?"

Clearly disheartened, she wears a visible expression of frustration. However, with breakfast and the daily review of today's raid impending, I swiftly make my escape before she can utter a response.

Following breakfast, I encounter Arthur, his appearance suggesting he has just concluded a session of target practice and weightlifting. Playfully, I jest that he reeks and is in desperate need of a shower, attempting to evoke a reaction from him.

Without missing a beat, he retorts, suggesting that I'm the one perspiring and should attend to any unpleasant odors before heading into the briefing room. Arthur and I share a longstanding history, having become acquainted during our formative years in primary school.

Our relationship was never ordinary in the conventional sense. Even so, Arthur, being a year older, consistently came to my aid whenever I faced bullying.

He was unwavering in his support, always standing by my side. He holds the distinction of being my very first friend, and together, we made the decision to join this program three years ago, driven by our youthful naivety and lofty aspirations of rectifying the chaotic state of the world.

Regrettably, for every malevolent individual we apprehend or remove from the equation, another seems to effortlessly step into their shoes, seamlessly filling the void.

It is as though their presence is never truly eradicated. I remain uncertain about the ultimate solution to this predicament. Nevertheless, for the time being, I can persist in severing the head of the snake in this cruel world, one by one.

Today unfolds like every other day, with our relentless pursuit of shady individuals engaged in the illicit trade of weapons, drugs, or even human lives in exchange for monetary gain.

I sign in, my mind consumed by the complexities of establishing lasting peace or eradicating these issues, contemplating the formidable dilemmas we face before making my way into the briefing room.

Currently, only Arthur and I occupy the room. Emma is likely still tidying up, and Desmond should be joining us shortly. He has a penchant for going on long runs. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is probably engrossed in yet another explosive experiment, enthusiastically working on her Helix Bomb contraption, which she proudly boasts about.

Undoubtedly, she will arrive fashionably late, as usual.

Growing restless while waiting, I rest my head on the table, succumbing to drowsiness. After unintentionally dozing off for a solid 20 to 30 minutes, I awaken to find that everyone has finally assembled, settling into their respective seats.

Emma occupies the front row next to Elizabeth, Desmond takes his place in the middle, and I settle on the outer edge alongside Arthur.

Finally, Chief Bronzir, the authoritative figure responsible for assigning our missions, strides into the room.

The Chief stands an impressive 6'8" tall, an imposing figure who has dedicated roughly three decades to serving within the internal government.

It strikes me as surprising that he continues to be involved in operational matters such as these, considering he should be savoring his well-deserved retirement.

Or so I imagine myself doing once my hair has turned gray.

I can't help but draw a parallel between his appearance and that of an aged character from a manga I used to read. Well, it matters little, I suppose. The important thing is that everyone is now present.

The Chief begins addressing the room, expressing his gratitude for our punctuality this time around (even though we are 30 minutes late).

He commends the exceptional work we have accomplished over the past three years, surpassing all expectations with a remarkable 99% success rate in our raid missions.

He unveils the news that our endeavors have caught the attention of the local government, hinting that we should anticipate letters from the likes of the FBI or CIA, offering us prestigious roles in missions abroad in the coming year.

However, his expression grows more solemn as he forcefully places a folder bearing the name "Eric Bloomington" on the table, announcing that he is our target for this evening's operation.

Eric has been on the run for upward to 10 years now, but we have secured intel that he will be at his Chicago safe house tonight, moving roughly 20 million dollars in drug and trafficking sales.

Our objective is to secure the money and capture Eric without any issues.

The Chief explains that we will be walking on foot to the safe house to avoid detection. It's a good 30-45 minutes away from any support, so we need to be careful and not screw up or alert him in any way. Eric will have a helicopter on his roof for escape, as per his usual routine.

This is the closest the government has gotten to securing him in over five years, and our success in bringing him in will reflect positively on our program.

The Chief asks if there are any questions. Arthur raises his hand and asks if we will be escorting Eric back all the way on foot.

The Chief responds that we will utilize his helicopter for a safer exit and to minimize the chances of reinforcements being called in to save him.

With no further questions, the Chief expects a full report by midnight and to see Eric face-to-face by the morning. He dismisses us, and we leave the briefing room.

The mission tonight feels different. The stakes are higher, and success could have a significant impact on our careers. As I walk alongside Arthur, we exchange glances and a nod of determination.

It's time to put our training and skills to the test and take down Eric Bloomington. The world may be messed up, but we're doing our part to bring some justice to it.

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