The Assignment 001

"I told you I'm fucking done." My voice echoes off the cement walls until the only sound is a faint water drip.

"You do this one final assignment or they kill you. There aren't any other options."

"B."

"What?"

"Option B," I repeat.

"They'll go after your family, your friends..." Annoyance and desperation raise the pitch of her voice and her cold, composed countenance waivers.

"There's no one to go after."

"Don't do this. It's just one more assignment."

"It'll always be just one more. I told you I'm done."

"This assignment is different," she explains firmly, urging me to reconsider.

"What happens to you if I don't take it?" The way her gray eyes drop to the ground is answer enough. I don't consider my handler a friend exactly, but after three years together, I like her enough not to get her killed like this.

"Damn it," I sigh. "How many?"

"No casualties," she replies eagerly, confidently. She lights up, believing she's convinced me.

"Then what is it?"

"Recruiting."

I start to laugh until I realize she's serious. "I'm not exactly the kind of..." I begin, confused.

"Yeah, I know this is... not typical." She chooses her words carefully.

"Not typical? It's a terrible idea."

"This mark is different. He hasn't been tempted by anyone we've sent."

"Maybe he prefers men," I suggest, but she ignores my comment.

"One girl made a little progress, but she had to resign."

"Resign? Is that what we call it now? Did she resign to the bottom of the river?"

"The mark," she continues, undeterred. "He is... His tastes are a bit... unconventional." She doesn't deny the other girl is likely dead. Discarded. No longer useful.

"Bit bold to assume my tastes are unconventional." Bold but accurate. Between her ability to read people and the unlimited data the Resistance has access to, I can't hide anything from her. She gives me a knowing look.

"They're not giving up on this guy and I need to assign the next person." She seems sorry, or at least sorry for herself. We're both painfully aware that my skillset is more suited for a different kind of assignment. Shorter, quicker assignments with less personal interaction.

"So I refuse, they kill me. I fail, they kill me. I succeed..."

"I help get you out."

"Fine."

"You'll do it?"

"I'll try," I tell her.

---

"Don't let him bring you a drink. Don't give him contact information. Don't meet him afterwards. He'll find you. He likes what he can't have. He needs a challenge."

Instead of being briefed on entry and exit points or security systems, I'm forced to sit through a lesson on playing hard to get. Luckily, ignoring rich old men is not difficult for me.

"He's requested that the security team wears gala attire. It's less... ominous."

"For fucks sake," I mumble at the long-sleeved, floor length, beaded gown. "I'm not going to be able to move in that."

"Well it's the only dress with a kevlar bodice I have so you'll have to make it work. He has to notice you. He'll be swarmed by women all night."

And she was right. Hours into the gala, I had yet to see him without at least a woman on each elbow. I tug on the sleeve of my dress, trying to reach the itch on my arm to no avail. The bodice is tight on my ribs and chest, making deep breaths an effort.

I watch him cross the room towards me, towards the bar. The bartender hands him a drink for each hand. I smile to myself, amused at how many women are about to be disappointed when he gives that second drink to someone. When he turns my direction, I avert my eyes, resuming my duty as a hired security guard.

"Thirsty?" He asks, his voice smooth with a melodic masculinity. He smells faintly of cigars. She had said he'd talk to me eventually, but I'm still surprised.

"No thank you," I tell him politely, keeping most of my attention on the room. I did notice he's not as old as I expected though. His dark hair is only barely flecked with silver at his temples.

"It's water. You're obviously working."

"Obviously?" I ask, prompting conversation, but not accepting the water yet.

"You're alone - observing, not participating. And while that dress is stunning, you look extremely uncomfortable in it."

"I was told my usual uniform is ominous." I take the water with a slight nod of thanks, "Cheers."

As I raise my glass, the sleeve of my dress hikes up. His attention is immediately drawn to the scars on my wrist. I meet his eyes - shadowy and swirling with thought - over the edge of my glass. I don't drop my eyes in shame. I don't make excuses. I hold his gaze unapologetically, knowing he saw, knowing the darkness in him can't resist the darkness in me.

He's dangerous. I can feel it all over - the instinct to flee or fight... or freeze in fear. I hope he doesn't notice. The tension is tangible as we wait for the other to speak.

It won't be me.

"Are you staying in the area?" he asks.

"I live in the City."

"In the City?" He doesn't hide his surprise. I nod. As I scan the room, I realize people are watching us. There's nothing rich, nosey people do better than gossip. "You seem like someone who can take care of herself but..."

"Yeah, I can," I cut him off. I've lived in the City my whole life. Granted, it seems to be constantly getting worse - the crime, the gangs, the violence - but I definitely can take care of myself. Most people are just eagerly heading to their favorite bar or brothel. The rest are on their way home to some tiny apartment in a dirty skyrise.

"I'll let you get back to work." He sounds annoyed. Had I ruined this already? I did exactly what she told me to do. I'm fucked.

I couldn't even manage step one of this impossible assignment. I stare forlornly into the crowd, feeling completely set up for failure.

These people are all going to enjoy their party then return to their gated communities with round-the-clock patrol and home security systems that could thwart an army. Their bots will probably prepare them a midnight snack and turn down their bedsheets for them. They'll sleep soundly - no sirens, no honking, no gunshots outside their windows in the suburbs.

The rest of the party passes in a blur. I should be observing, trying to learn anything useful. I doubt any amount of information will save me from this failure of an evening though.

As soon as I can, I slip away to the bathroom and get out of that dress. I stuff it into my backpack, not caring about wrinkling it. I'm far more comfortable in my normal clothes: loose jeans, boots, a worn black hoodie, and a slouchy cap. I put valuables in my pants pockets - they can have the dumb dress and my bag - and duck out of the bathroom, head already down so as not to attract attention.

"Hey." I pause at the familiar voice.

"Are you following me?" I ask him. Maybe I hadn't failed. Maybe he's still interested.

"Let me give you a ride home," he offers, but I chuckle.

"I'd be jumped two seconds after getting out of a town car."

"Well I wouldn't want that..." He's thinking, studying me.

"Goodnight," I tell him and leave before he can say more.

The night is crisp, so I walk quickly to the bus stop. The other bus passengers ignore me and the subsequent subway ride is just as solitary. Walking up the stairs from the subway into the City is stepping into a completely different world from the suburbs. Bright signs flash on every building, lighting 2am up like a sunny afternoon. Projections of scantily-clad women dance on the sidewalk. Advertisements blast from every establishment, encouraging you to enter.

Sales, discounts, specials.

I keep my eyes on the sidewalk and weave in and out of people, many who are stumbling drunk. I duck into an alley and up a fire escape to a window, notifying the inhabitant with a gentle tap-tap.

"Damn it, Sosie, use the front door. You scared the shit out of me."

"It's safer this way." I see fear fill his round face when I say this.

"I heard they took you in. Are you in trouble?" He runs his hand through greasy hair.

"I'm... cooperating."

"Were you followed?" I shake my head. "What do you need?"

"Background check. Alden Riege."

"Alden Riege," he repeats ominously. "Why, Sos?" Concern coats his voice.

"That's my mark."

"You can't kill Alden Riege."

"Recruit, not kill. And quit saying his name like a supervillain. I met him tonight. He's not... not what I expected."

"Fuck... and if you... don't?" I shake my head. "Right. Got it. You look tired. Get some sleep. I'll get started." He's businesslike, ready.

"Thank you. Seriously." I realize how tired I am and crash on his couch, but my sleep is not restful. Every time I close my eyes I see them...

"Wake up, Sosie. Hey you're safe. It's just a dream."

I bolt up, narrowly missing Nick. He stares at me, unsure what to say. He knows I don't want to talk about it and frankly, he doesn't want to hear about it.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?" I ask, embarrassed and guilty.

"I've been up. Grab some breakfast. I'll tell you what I found." I settle back onto the couch with a bowl of cereal. "Mr. Riege owns half the city - bars, brothels, laundromats, apartments. He uses aliases and shell companies, some sketchy stuff but no police record... squeaky clean."

"Because other people do his dirty work."

"Well I've got facts and I've got rumors."

"Rumors, please."

"He's a regular at one of the brothels he doesn't own. One with bots instead of real girls where people can..."

"I get it. Things you can't do to real girls."

"Right. His friends, partners, people around him rotate out quickly. He's an extremely private person, but he belongs to a group of other wealthy business people that's rumored to be anti-Party."

"All on the same side then."

"Don't lump me into that. I'm on the stay-alive side. The Party and I get along just fine."

"Lucky you," I mutter. "Thanks for your help. Got a date with my handler."

"Don't get either of us killed, okay?"

"That's the plan." He smiles, still clearly concerned, but trusting me. I leave down the fire escape just in case, but there's no one out this early on a Sunday.

The park I sit down in is deserted. The paint on the jungle gym is cracked and peeling. Only one swing is still hanging, but only by one chain that creaks when the wind blows. I shiver as leaves tumble across the basketball court with tattered nets.

When someone sits next to me, I continue looking at my phone. "Kind of surprised you're personally working this one," I tell her.

"I have a lot riding on this," she replies as she pulls out a book to pretend to read. I choke back a laugh. Yes, we both have a lot riding on this, literally everything is riding on this.

"I hope you're taking this seriously." She is all business, which is typical for her. Efficient and simple in how she speaks and how she dresses, she's hidden in plain sight. Describing her would be describing any brunette. The first and only time I've ever seen her show any emotion was when she convinced me to take on this assignment. I often wonder if that was an act.

"Life-or-death seriously," I assure her.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine. He made first contact and offered me a ride home afterwards."

"How'd he take the rejection?"

"Like a spoiled boy used to getting whatever he wants."

"I thought so. This is why men shouldn't be in charge of recruitment. They've been sending beautiful vapid sluts. Mr. Riege can have his choice of those, but you..."

"Flattered, I think."

"You are a challenge. You'll have to let him have you eventually though." Have me - how eloquent.

"I know."

"And that won't be a problem."

"No," I confirm.

"Then you'll earn me a promotion and I'll get you out." The words take a moment to register.

Of course. Big risk, big reward. If she proves she's better at this manipulation warfare, they'll promote her, which is how she'll have the power to get me out. If she fails, well... they're not going to have a use for either of us.

"That or they'll can us both," I remind her.

"Yes," she says vacantly. "That or they'll can us both."

Usually weeks pass between hearing from my handler, but only days later she contacts me again. "He asked for you specifically. A private event at his home in two weeks. He's arranged private transportation from the office..."

That had been the first time I heard our fake security company had an office, but in this age of telework, office space is cheap and easy to come by. Now I sit waiting for said private transportation.

I don't talk to the other three security guards - all men, all stereotypical muscle jock types. I doubt they know what my assignment is, but I can't help but wonder. They, like the receptionist who hasn't looked up from her phone, are all likely just part of the charade. Not even pawns, only scenery.

I wouldn't want to be only scenery.

A black van transports us to the home of Alden Riege. The word 'home' is insufficient for the monstrosity we park in front of. A 'compound' may be more appropriate with its layers of walls and fences.

We loop around to a back entrance where a man is waiting. A black t-shirt strains against his muscular arms and chest. Black pants and black boots complete the ensemble. His neck looks almost as thick as my midsection.

He leads us inside and immediately begins speeding through rules and expectations. I can't focus on his monotone voice, but I'm sure it's common sense.

"You and you." The finger pointing at me is almost grotesque in its largeness. "North end of the ballroom, opposite the main entrance." I just nod.

The ballroom is empty when we enter. The cavernous, ornate hall is eerily quiet, but our footsteps echo as we inspect the room. After a while, waiters and bartenders arrive in a flurry of activity. I stand against the wall, away from the other guard assigned to my position. Time ticks by slowly and I'm starting to feel nervous.

He asked for you specifically.

Perhaps he already knows who I am. That seems more believable than him inviting me because he's attracted or interested. I try to distract myself from these thoughts by studying the guests who have started to arrive.

I bet that man has a mistress.

I bet that woman knows how to crack a whip.

Every one of these people have secrets.

An hour passes without an appearance by the host. I suppose he likes to make an entrance and his guests don't seem to care. Everybody appears to know everybody else. Or at least they pretend to. Society's elite is a small social circle.

He eventually enters from a side door. I watch him shake hands and kiss cheeks, all smiles and pleasantries. I wonder if any of these people know his secrets. How many of these women has he slept with?

"Good evening, Mr. Riege," I say politely when he approaches me.

"Can you come with me please?" His tone is difficult to read. He's so formal, so serious.

Have I done something to upset him?

I only nod and follow him to his office. He motions to one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as he crosses to the other side of the room. I glance over my shoulder, measuring the distance to the exit.

"Something wrong?" he asks. I wish I was better at reading people.

Does he look suspicious? Only curious?

"It's just... Shouldn't I be out there?"

He chuckles. "I'm the one paying you. You should be exactly where I tell you to be." I only nod again, still utterly unsure how to respond to this man. I realize he's holding two glasses.

"You know that's against company policy," I tell him when he attempts to hand me one.

"Fine." He's not used to being told no. "I have a proposal for you and then maybe we'll have a drink."

"Maybe," I repeat.

"Come work for me. I'll pay double your current salary."

"I'm paid per job. I don't..."

"Give me a number," he interrupts.

"I'd have to think about it."

"The job or the salary?" He sounds frustrated.

"Um... both," I tell him cautiously.

"I offered you a full time, salary job. You wouldn't have to live in the City anymore."

"I don't mind the City," I tell him, feeling defensive.

"Keep the apartment for your off-duty days then and you'll have a place to stay here too. Best of both worlds."

"Why?"

"It would be nice to have something different around here. When you meet my current staff, you'll understand."

"Fine."

"Good, because I already notified your employer. Now shall we celebrate?"

"You quit... for me?"

"I wasn't going to take no for an answer," he replies confidently, handing me the glass again.

This was too easy. Something's not right.

"Cheers then." I can feel the uneasiness in my smile.

"To strong, capable women." I take a large sip. It's expensive, whatever it is - a smooth warmth instead of the alcoholic burn of corner store liquor. I realize he's watching me over his glass. A lady of the suburbs would've cringed at the manly drink.

I smirk as I lower my glass and look around. I've never seen so many books in one place before. Or so much woodwork. This man is very, very wealthy. I'll have to think of a suitable salary to protect such a person.

"What are you thinking?" he asks. His tone is kind and satisfied now that he got what he wants.

"You have a lot of books," I tell him honestly, keeping my other thoughts - the ones about him knowing my identity and planning to kill me - to myself.

"I do..." The tension is suffocating. It's not sexual exactly, but something is building: a dark, dangerous need.

"I should get back," I blurt out suddenly, making him raise an eyebrow. "That is if you..."

"You're dismissed. And Stephanie." My cover name sounds strange, but I turn back towards him. "There's a redhead in an emerald dress. Absolutely stunning. Quite a bit taller than you. You can't miss her. Bring her to me."

"Yes sir." He's trying to gage my reaction but I don't give him one. The woman is easy to find, albeit surrounded by men. I excuse myself as I work my way towards her. She's beautiful. He really can have whoever he wants.

"Ma'am, Mr. Riege would like to see you in his office." Her smile falters a little. I know I didn't imagine it and it unnerves me.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." A moment after she passes me, I hear it.

At first, my mind can't make sense of the gunshot, but instincts take over.

In an instant, my gun is pointed in the direction the sound came from.

When I see a masked figure appear from behind a column on the balcony, I do not hesitate. The trigger always feels heavier in moments like this though. Moments when death is imminent and I need to ensure it's not my time.

In my peripheral, the redhead in the emerald dress collapses. A guard swoops in and picks her up while I continue scanning the room for more masked figures.

The second attacker doesn't get a chance to fire. I'm quicker. His head snaps backwards from the force of my bullet before he takes his shot.

The third masked figure, however, does fire and the pain in my chest is excruciating. I'm throttled backwards and my head slams into the marble floor.

A guard tugs on my arm and pain shoots through my ribs. I whimper but he continues to pull me to my feet. I lean into him for support as the room blurs around us. Ahead of me, I see a glint of the emerald dress and an open door... and Alden Riege motioning frantically. The door closes behind us, muffling the screaming and gunshots in the ballroom. My ears are ringing.

The darkness of the hallway is disorienting, but luckily I'm being dragged along to safety. My head, my ribs are throbbing. Maintaining consciousness is my only focus.

We exit the passage into a bedroom where the guards lay the woman on a chaise lounge. I can see the dark red stain covering her midsection. She looks so luxurious laying in her gorgeous green dress with her fiery hair fanned out on the headrest.

She's not going to make it.

"Were you shot?" Alden asks, all business.

"Yeah," I tap my chest, "but I have a vest."

"Your head is bleeding." I touch the back of my head, which is indeed damp with blood, but not a concerning amount. I wipe my hand on my leg.

"I'm fine. She needs a doctor." I say quietly, not taking my eyes off her. The woman in the emerald dress is eerily still - a morbidly beautiful snapshot.

We hear more gunshots outside the bedroom.

"We need to go." Alden pulls two handguns out of the bedside table and tosses one to me. "You two first," he orders the guards.

We re-enter the passageway and I take the rear. Just lifting the gun is painful. My ribs are definitely fractured or worse.

The guards check each intersection in this maze of dark hallways and continue to move with urgency. My sense of direction is poor to begin with, but at least the gunshots sound far away now.

When we begin climbing a steep staircase, the pain is nauseating. My head throbs. My ribs burn. I'm running out of adrenalin.

We pause at the top of the staircase to the helipad and exchange looks. I'm not the only one breathing heavily. We all know we're not likely hopping on the helicopter without a fight. The first guard signals a plan with his hands, pointing to each of us and then a direction. He's answered with silent nods then bursts through the door.

The helipad is empty.

It's not right.

If someone was here to hurt Alden, they surely would've known about the helicopter. They would've disabled it or prevented him from getting on it. It feels like a trap.

But Alden says 'let's go' so we do. He scans his hand, punches in a location, and we're off. I should feel relieved, but the uneasy feeling in my stomach only grows.