Dr Flynn was desperate.

He had to come up with something quickly. If he failed, all his efforts to flee the war in the West—abandoning everything but his nephew and his pet chicken—would have been for nothing. 

He paced around his living room, his lab coat flowing behind him. He hastily scrawled frantic calculations and illegible notes into his research log. Striding towards his coffee table, he fell onto the nearby couch. He pulled out a lab sample he had snuck home, a strange irradiated scale from one of the many casualties of Project Draco. Placing it down, he gazed at it intently, hoping it would lead him to some epiphany.

 He was pulled from his thoughts, as his smartphone began buzzing. His breath grew heavy, he was out of time; his superiors were already trying to call him. He knew twenty years ago that working for a military research organization would be risky. Still, it was the only entry-level job that paid enough to support him and his nephew, and for a refugee, that was enough.

However, he had risen up the ranks and became a prominent figure. This meant that when the project he had proposed to counter the Evalsky Kingdom’s dragon fleet had begun to go over its budget, with little to show for it, his time began running out.

Bioengineering was an underdeveloped field, and after enough time, the higher-ups were less than pleased that so much funding was going to a project they deemed a failure, it was inevitable that this was going to happen. Despite the goodwill and credibility he had built over twenty years, the military didn’t like those with confidential knowledge, and they didn’t let them roam free. After all, keeping such figures alive was an unnecessary risk, regardless of their utility.

He had hoped to buy time by claiming he had made a serious breakthrough, and he hoped the pressure would allow him to come up with something. But he had failed.

He pulled out a prototype for an improved laser pistol he had stolen, raising it to his forehead. “I’m sorry.” His voice was shaking, “I failed you, Alex, I’m sorry. I’m a worthless uncle.”

He looked down beside him, seeing Clucky, his chicken had entered the room. “I’m sorry, Clucky. You’ve been with me this whole time too. I’m especially sorry to you Diana, you begged me to live for you, to keep your son safe. I failed. I’m such a shitty younger brother.”

He closed his tear-filled eyes and pulled the trigger. Almost instantly, without a sound, there was a clean hole straight through his skull. The heat from the laser instantly cauterized the hole through his brain, and as his last thoughts passed, his head slammed onto the TV remote on the coffee table. The TV blared to life, and the lab sample clattered off the table, onto the floor.

“Tensions between the Evalsky Kingdom and Tisone are growing! The Pope of the Demonic Church has urged King Arthur Evalsky to join the Fantasia Pact! What could this mean for the Brimstone trade and energy prices? Tune in later this evening as we meet with a financial expert! In other news, the Poultry Corp stock prices have soared as their-”

The noise of the news report filled the hollow silence of the room. Clucky looked up at his owner, he wandered closer, pecking at his leg, trying to get him to respond. He pecked, and pecked, relentlessly, but his dear friend did not move. He wandered, finding the scale on the floor, swallowing it in one gulp. Pain filled the chicken’s body as a green light began emanating from his stomach. In a rage, it writhed, flinging itself around the apartment, until it flew out a partially opened window, out into the city.

———

It was a busy day at Poultry Corp. Business was booming, and the office was bustling. The year was nearing its end, and some new interns were hired to help out around the office. Sarah entered the spacious office, brushing her black hair out of her eyes, and scanning her new ID card. It was her first, and last, day as an intern there.

“Ah, you must be one of the new hires! Names David, the regional manager. Your first day can be a bit confusing, why don’t you join me for some drinks later today? To help you get acquainted with the place, it can be difficult for women to work their way up the corporate ladder, I’ll help you along the fast track in exchange for some, well, favors,” he handed her a business card and walked off with a slight smirk.

“You should probably report him to HR. I think he’s only like, one report away from being fired? People say he only got the job cause of family connections.”

“And who are you?” she tried hard to remain professional. Sarah eyed the lanky man. He had slightly long blonde hair and blue eyes, his clothing was relaxed but still professional, and he had a soft air of confidence to him.

“Ah, sorry, I’m Will. Another intern here. I’ve worked here for a year or so. The pay raises are kinda meh, but the workload is pretty light. If you’ve got any questions, you can ask me, or my buddy Aaron over there, he’s been working here a while. Well, nice meeting you,” he squinted at her name tag, “Kayla?”

“Call me Sarah. And thanks for the advice.”

Will nodded, a little confused, before returning to his work. Sarah cursed HQ internally. She had told them plenty of times that she preferred her fake identities to at least use her real first name. Well, that’s just how the Evil Shadow Organization was.

She retreated to a more isolated nook and dug through her pockets. She finally found the picture she was given of her target. Before she looked at it, she prayed it was that Dave guy, she really wanted to kill him.

Staring at it, she sighed in disappointment, it was just some generic-looking executive. Well, she could always go kill Dave later, although Evan might get annoyed.

The life of an assassin was always pretty fun, after all, there were always plenty of people to kill.

———

Alex Flynn loitered in front of the door to his uncle’s apartment. Since it was almost a new year, Tisone National College decided to give the students some time off, which he was grateful for.

His uncle, however, would likely not enjoy an unannounced visit. He sighed, debating whether to go through with it. While he and his uncle were close, his uncle was a private and awkward man. Alex knew little about what he actually did, besides the fact he worked for the Tisone Research Company.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

After some hesitation, Alex decided to just go through with it, he drove all the way there, no point in leaving now. He knocked on the door, waiting for a response. He could hear the TV, some news report was on, which was odd. His uncle wasn’t one to watch the news.

He knocked again, calling out “Uncle Cal? It’s me, Alex. I decided to visit, and yes, I’m sorry for not calling in advance.” After more silence, he sighed, sorting through his keychain to find the emergency key his uncle had given him. The damn old man sure liked to isolate himself. Still, he was looking forward to seeing him for the first time in a year.

As he opened the door, he noted how silent it was. Normally his uncle would have complained about having such a nosy nephew. He slowly stepped in, finally entering the living room, and it was then that he saw it. His uncle was slumped over, his head on the coffee table, there was a clean hole straight through his skull. The TV droned on, and Alex quickly grabbed the remote, shutting it off. He stood stunned staring at his uncle’s corpse.

There was no way. Why would his uncle kill himself? Why?

That one word flooded his mind. Was it because of him? Was it because he hadn’t visited enough? Was it because he visited too much? Was he lonely? Was he depressed? Did he miss the West? Was he tired? Did he blame himself for what happened to the rest of their family? Why?

Alex breathed in and out rapidly, struggling to steady his breath. He looked at the sight before him, his uncle dead, with a laser pistol in his hand, a weapon that was the farthest from legal a weapon could conceivably be. He saw a leather-bound book, and he grabbed the book, flipping through it, trying to see if there was some message, some reason for this madness. His vision started going out of focus as he rushed through.

In the final filled-out pages, he found calculations and frantic scribbles relating to something called “Project Draco.” There were ramblings about the TRO, he couldn’t understand what it meant. He had no clue what “Project Draco” was. He didn’t know what was going on in the TRO. He then noticed Clucky was gone too. Was he dead too? Was all of his family dead now? What did he escape the war for? To watch his family die all over again? 

He wanted to run. He wanted to hide, cower, and cry. He felt like his limbs were made of ice. Finally, he managed to melt the frost in his nerves, and he bolted. He fled the apartment in a blur, managing to vaguely register the clerk asking if he was alright before he disappeared into an alley.

He slunk into the darkness, crying. He was one horrible nephew.

———

An older man in an expensive suit sauntered into the apartment. His posture was rigid, his movements calculated, and his face stern and cold. He straightened his tie, and went straight to apartment 871, finding the door half open. He entered, spotting Cal Flynn's corpse. Whatever breakthrough he claimed to have made, was not one he wanted to share with the Tisone Research Company.

He climbed onto the sofa, pushing the corpse aside, as he reached toward the ceiling fan. He unscrewed the outer glass casing for the light, pulling out the hidden camera and destroying it. The TRC was a military agency, albeit secretly. They kept tabs on their workers, but a dead man needed no observation.

Flynn was an honest man, and he was someone capable of making a breakthrough that was dangerous on an international scale. He had managed to get an entire project, with hundreds of millions in funding, approved by the majority of the higher-ups after all. He was smart.

He was also a refugee, he knew the cost of war. It was dangerous if he didn’t want the TRC to get their hands on it. There was no other reason for a loyal lapdog like him to betray them so earnestly. The recordings showed him writing something down in his research log. It was likely the key to finishing Project Draco, the breakthrough he had made. 

Based on the same footage, that research log was now in the hands of Alex Flynn, and based on his final words, and Alex’s timely arrival, there was a good chance he left a message for his nephew, knowing he would come. The man looked around, noting the details of the scene. He pulled out his phone, and called up one of his associates, explaining the situation, and giving them the plan he had made to rectify it.

Alex Flynn would not escape his grasp. He and his uncle tried to run away, and the TRC always caught runaways.

———

Alex wiped the last tears from his reddened eyes. His senses were returning, albeit quite dulled. He realized he should probably call the police. His uncle was dead, a report had to be made. He already waited a while, almost an hour? He could get in serious trouble. He slowly stood up, stretching his numb limbs as he prepared to move.

He pulled out his phone as he began walking out of the alley, dialing 811. The operator spoke quickly. 

“Hello, this is 811, what’s the emergency?”

“My uncle, he took his own life. Uh, I’m Alex Flynn, my uncle lives at the Brooksville apartment, in apartment 871.”

There was an odd pause from the operator. “Alex Flynn? Can you give me your exact location right now?”

“Uh, sure? I’m near the apartment complex, in this one alleyway.”

“Please wait, officers will meet you there shortly, I’m very sorry about your uncle, we’ll deal with this quickly.”

The operator hung up. Alex felt uneasy. Something just felt off, like he was missing something. He noticed his phone had an alert he hadn’t seen.

“DANGEROUS CRIMINAL: Alex Flynn, wanted for the murder of his uncle was last seen in your area! If you see him or have any relevant information, please call the following hotline-”

He stopped reading. Below the alert was his ID photo. He killed his uncle? Why was he accused? More importantly, why was he practically ‘wanted’? Normally you needed serious evidence to be marked as such. He began to hyperventilate. Would they listen to him if he explained? What was going to happen to him? Surely there couldn’t be damning evidence for a crime he didn’t commit.

The more he thought about it, the more he began to question things, his analytical mind kicking in, he did follow in his uncle’s footsteps after all. He began to wonder what the TRO actually did, what if they had something to do with this? His thoughts spiraled as he wondered what was going on.

His instincts told him to run, the police knew where he was, and if his speculations were right, he would be far from safe in police custody. He bolted, dashing through the crowded streets, trying to keep his head down. His mind raced considering what he should do, and where he should go. He spotted some officers, looking around, nearing the alley he had just left. He tried to sneak off into another alleyway. However, one of the officers spotted him, quickly alerting his comrades.

He had a feeling that if they caught him now, he was no better than a dead man. He sprinted, dodging people left and right, weaving through the crowd. One of the officers started unloading a couple of bullets, causing chaos in the crowded area. One shouted out into the crowd; 

“If you’re a civilian, run! There is a wanted criminal here, this is a dangerous area!”

More officers began to open fire, forcing Alex to be more mindful. He tried to find cover, running even as his lungs felt like they would collapse. He was not athletic, but adrenaline had given him an edge in this race for his life.

Alex stared ahead at a wall. Mindlessly running and dodging had led him into a dead end. There was no escape, it seemed. The police approached closer, but suddenly a black and purple blur shot down from the rooftops, passing through the officers. In an instant, all of the officers' heads flew off, blood splattering across the alleyway. Their bodies flopped to the ground like fish.

“Well, shit. This is going to be such a pain to deal with. I was already behind schedule with killing the target, they are not gonna be happy about this.”

Standing before Alex was a woman with messy, long dark hair, wearing a black cloak. She was covered in blood and wielded a short black sword painted in red. Her face had a nonchalant annoyance etched onto it.

“So, what exactly did you do to get into such a pickle? Kill a family? Steal a loaf of bread for your sick little brother?”

She looked down, shaking off some of the blood, “This blood’s gonna be a pain to wash off, do you know how hard it is to get rid of blood stains?”

Alex stared at her stunned.

“You– You killed all of those officers in an instant.”

“Well, duh? When you work for the Evil Shadow Org, you gotta at least be that strong, it’s pretty easy once you can use mana. But you didn’t answer my question, twerp. The hell’d you do? And answer properly, I got a sword here.”

“I– I did nothing! My uncle killed himself today, and suddenly I’m a fugitive, and they’re saying I killed him. I think there might be some kind of foul play? I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. . .”

Concern flashed briefly across her face, but it quickly faded back into that nonchalant annoyance. It was then that Alex finished processing some of her earlier words.

“Wait, Evil Shadow Org? You work for the notorious– You know what, I can’t even be shocked anymore. I think I’m just outta it at this point. So, are you gonna kill me now, ‘no witnesses’ and all that?”

“Nah, I think I found something fun. I can tell you weren’t lying– and it takes serious evidence for someone to become wanted in Tisone. Something’s fishy here. HQ’s gonna be pissed, but I think this is gonna be much more fun than killing another old rich guy. Hell, I’ll probably get to kill plenty of people. I think I’ll help you investigate this ‘foul play’. The name’s Sarah.”

“I’m Alex.”

He sighed. He didn’t have a choice, he saw what she was capable of. What the hell had he gotten himself into?