Shadow Of The Prey

Prologue.

The rhythm of my heart overtakes my mind.
The vibrancy of the pulses reverberating throughout my body, how heavy each pounding beat feels, and how it speeds up within the seconds it catches my attention.

Bullets tear through the air, scintillating sparks bursting around me as they ricochet off the elevator walls. The burning sharp odour of metallic acidity enveloping me as the doors slowly close.
My eyes focused on the scattered targets ahead as I shoot with my left hand. A grenade slipping from my right, until quickly attaching back to the pistol grip of the APC9 SMG that dangles from my harness.

Amidst the chaos and the adrenaline coursing through me, my mind seems to focus only on the sound of my heart.
The recoil of the guns, the vibrations striking up my arms to my shoulders, all of my senses heightened as the sensation of these feelings hit me. The profound thunderous beating of my heart, throbbing through my whole body down to my fingers and toes, and the wave of emotions—just like a blizzard of frost—causing my head to numb.
The first time in my life I've ever felt this way.

I'm afraid.

The elevator doors shut, and I freeze in my position. The rumbling of the grenade rattling the doors, yet the explosion doesn't even faze me as the elevator begins to move.

This wasn't the first time my heart beat so loudly as if it would explode.
No... The other times it beat like this, was in those moments.
The moments that made the mask I wear crumble. The moments where I abandoned the immoral commands that's been engraved into me, and the ideologies of that girl, Elise Barrington.

My hands tremble as they grip the submachine guns. A breath escaping my chest, I lower my arms, dropping them to my sides.

The thought of being weak never came to me. Even throughout my training, battling against men twice my size, and even the cruelest torture, I was never weak. Yet the bitter taste of reality to what I've now become, mockingly dances on my tongue like a slow burn of bleach.
There was never a time I lost sight of my purpose. My mind was programmed to follow orders from the agency, and I never questioned the things I did—never even questioning the lives I took.
So, just when did I truly lose control? When did the tight chains that barred my heart and mind break? When have I ever questioned myself like so?

Taking a deep breath in the silence of the elevator, I rest my hands on my thighs. Closing my exhausted eyes that burn from the gun powder, my mind plucks out the memories of when it all seemed to go awry.

"Agent Viper."
His voice was deep and smooth like a well aged whiskey.

The man on the screen in front of me was 'Ben'.
'Ben' is merely a codename to hide his identity.
If vice presidents lowered their heads to their presidents, presidents kneeled before Ben. That's the reality of his position and power.
The one who provides all clients with what they require, and the one who provides the best agents for a price—and nobody knew his name.

The agency he leads is UNS for short, standing for Underground National Security. Agents from the UNS are bought by private clients to deal with abnormal schemes—prostitution rings, drug rings, and black market auctions—but compared to the police, FBI, and the CIA, the UNS deal with targets too large to bring down with simple moral tactics. The price to hire UNS is beyond high, yet clients continue to flock to our doors due to our results.

"Ben." I smile, fixing my muted berry lipstick.
"The client has given a gracious period of eight months. They want evidence that links the target to a previous drugs bust that happened in Heathrow, and to an upcoming shipment in Europe."
"Just evidence tying the target to the shipments?"
"As well as any evidence to all things he's involved with. He's supposedly linked to an underground organization, rumoured to be trafficking women."
"Got it. Is everything set for Miss. Barrington?"
"Of course. On screen you'll see information on the target."