Thameswood League of Advanced

Prologue

May 6th. 1999. Westminster, London.

"Mark? Do you copy?"

Although the man's voice appeared to be controlled, there were inevitable traces of doubt. Mark remained hidden on the rooftops of the building; lying on his stomach as he felt the cold concrete against his skin like a lifeless corpse. He waited for the two targets to arrive.

"Yes," Mark had whispered into the reciever attached to his ear. However, it was strained and gave the impression that backup might have been the preferred latter of their earlier conversation. He began to scratch the surface of the skin on his right arm, a habit whenever he felt agitated.

Mark watched as the two men approached each other, one of them, carrying a briefcase, then made sure the hidden camera on top of his dark glasses was recording the scene. He had been thankful that it was the middle of the night and that the only thing awake was the glaring Moon.

"So, what did your boss have to say?" Asked one of the men who held a rugged bag with large sums of money. He was a short, beady-eyed man with the splitting archetype of a mafia boss.

The other man was much taller with his face less exposed mainly due his hoodie he was wearing. He held the briefcase in his hands firmly which contrasted his boyish stature. He deepened his frown. "I didn't come here for chit-chat. I came here to close the deal," he snapped.

Mark remained silent, listening carefully to what the two were saying.

"How am I even sure you have what I requested?" The other man responded coolly. The two men both made sure to keep an even distance of at least four centimetres from each other, neither moving from their place.

"Prove to me that you have the stolen ammunition."

The boyish man growled and opened up the briefcase, exposing just as he had requested, then slammed the briefcase shut.

"Now give me what I want! I don't have all day," he ordered.

"Mark? Do you copy?" The same male voice came from the receiver.

"Yes," Mark answered, almost forgetting to respond the receiver. He knew what the next order would be.

"Make sure the other target doesn't leave with that briefcase. Go for the kill when the other guy leaves, so you can quickly grab the bag and bring it back to my office."

"Okay," Mark answered the voice back.

Mark continued to watch as the two men did their dirty deed. A few bickers had occurred here and there but it only amounted in more evidence. It then reached a point where the short man eventually accepted his trade of money after minutes of hesitation.

"Shoot him, now!" The receiver called.

Mark brought out his gun that laid beside him and positioned it for the perfect aim.

There wasn't a lot of things Mark could proud himself of but being a skilled shooter was one of the exceptions. As he placed his hand on the trigger with an aim to the head, a cold hand on his shoulder suddenly made him abandon the mission.

Mark froze in his spot, unsure of how to react for a few seconds before turning his head around slightly. He felt the metal of a cold gun being pressed against his forehead.

The receiver came on again, sounding impatient and anxious. "Mark! Now's your chance. What are you waiting for?"

The man's smirk widened as he removed Mark's glasses with one hand and stepped on it.

Once he had gotten a proper visual glimpse of the man, did Mark begin to tense even more than he had done before. He felt the sweat drip down the back of his neck but refused to give the menace in front of him any benefit of cowardice.

"Impossible. We've tracked your records and activities, you were supposed to be at a business meeting over in the States," Mark informed the man, his tone sounding more confused than scared.

The man's cold eyes lit up. "I had to cancel the meeting because my wife just delivered her child and I had to go pay the hospital bills." The man didn't even spare any ounce of joy that he had a child. Instead, he dramatically rolled his eyes followed by a mock sigh.

"Congratulations," Mark muttered sarcastically.

"So I decided to see if my minions completed the task and made a stop here but I never expected something as interesting as this would happen," the man continued. "To think not only did I get a potential successor today but having to continuously get rid of another one of you on the same day?"

Mark was not one to keep his mouth shut. A trait his boss admired but also feared for his sake. 

"He'll always be one step ahead," he let out, his body limp and tired.

The man then gave Mark a deadly smirk, all humour and taunt gone from his tone as he uttered: "Well better luck next time, T.L.A."

The birds had fled into the distance.

"Mark! Mark, what's going on? What happened?"

"Mark? Do you copy?"

"Mark!"

"Kid, are you there?"

"......"

[re-visited]