The terminal in London Heathrow was busy as always. Everyone had their lives wrapped up in neat packages on wheels and were rushing to and from their destination. Each person stayed in their own world, worrying only about their own flight time, their own luggage. They were willing to sit in silence next to complete strangers in a metal tube as it flew them thousands of feet in the air, strictly for business or pleasure in another location. No one gave a second glance at a young man stepping off a plane and quite frankly, he didn’t give a damn about them.

A twelve-hour flight and eight hours in the wrong time zone left Sol in a rather irritated condition. He had gotten little sleep on the flight and knew he would be forcing himself to stay up for the rest of the day in order to adjust to his new life in London. It was meant to be temporary, but with a job like this, the time frame was difficult to predict. He stood amongst the cattle in silence to get through customs, flashing his passport and illegally acquired visa. His passport photo was old, from his high school days. His hair was shorter now, usually styled neatly, but currently in a messy state from the long flight. He looked a little older, grown a couple of centimeters, but overall, he was the same smug-looking asshole in the photo as he was standing in front of customs.

The officer looked at his Korean passport and back up at Sol, asking him questions painfully slowly and loudly, as if Sol was a child or idiot. Sol, in return, played along. He made the man’s life harder for amusement, pretending not to understand and nodded his head slowly at questions that weren’t yes or no questions. After a moment of frustration, the officer simply grumbled to himself and seeing nothing suspicious about this kid who couldn’t speak English, stamped his passport. Sol, in return, gave him a grateful smile and grabbed his papers, before mockingly speaking painfully slowly back at him in the same tone.

“I. know. English. Is. Hard. But. Keep. Trying. Ass. Hole.”

After getting safely into his hotel room and settling in, Sol stared at the mattress for a long minute, wanting to take a moment of rest. But to fix his jet lag, he knew better. Even sitting down on the bed for a second would probably cause him to knock out immediately. He quickly sent a text to his informant he was meant to meet at some point in his trip to help him with his task. After taking care of business, he decided to head out and get familiar with the area as a distraction to stay awake. At the very least, he’d get familiar with a pub.

"Oi mate, you comin' out for a cuppa, ye?"

"I can't, I have this paper to finish for class." Long ebony hair aggressively tossed over his shoulder, glasses adjusted even though he knew by his friend's harsh accent through the receiver, he might not be able to back out of this one. Emilio, as always, valued his studies more than he did socializing. One would think it was a pity, he thought otherwise.

"U've locked yerself in tha' bloody room for days, come out!" the gruffness on the other end signaled that this was going to be a hopeless endeavor.

"It's only been five hours, I know I look like the perfect girlfriend on your arm, but I am not going out." Reaching underneath the bridge of his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose, almost running out of options of getting out of this. Tea sounded nice . . . But it's not exactly the kind of "cuppa" his English friend was referring to, not at all. As pleasing as alcohol sounded, he didn't feel like getting shit-faced.

"Y'ur a right arse, you know that? I'm still stopping by later, so don't kill yourself with them books, ye?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Yes mum. Now run along to your book club, I bet they're missing you already." He heard a grunt and then an arse said on the other line before he ended the call. Stretching leisurely like a cat, Emilio rose from his desk and patted his bare feet into his bathroom. Flicking the switch on, he removed his glasses and looked himself in the mirror. He was beginning to form small, dark bags underneath his eyes. The eyes that were a usual sharp ice color, have now grown dull and tired from the constant studying and other . . . worrisome problems he's been faced with. His features had shed almost every ounce of baby fat from his high school days in Seoul, Korea. Prominent cheekbones, a sharper nose and jawline, even grew several centimeters in height. Running his fingers through the back of his hair and bringing them to the front, he looked at the greying hairs from the back of his hairline. He's been researching it and oddly enough, that part of his hair seemed to grey out faster than the rest.

What odd genetics.

In the midst of his facial self-pity, he heard a knock on his apartment door. Sighing, he walked out and about to the front door and was greeted with a soft smile. "Oliver, what brings you here?" He stepped aside and let in the small-framed individual. Dusty freckles on pale skin, hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair, what a cutie.

"Someone from a rival gang was murdered last night, his body was brought back to a mate of mine's house so he can inspect on what the cause of death was. It was almost instantaneous, really." The voice was boyishly masculine, but a hint of femininity was held in the undertones.

"You're the only one I knew that could. . . well, put your expertise into play." And by that, he was the perfect "Doctor" for taking apart the body, saving the good pieces to sell and discarding the rest. This was Emilio's side-job. He knew the drill, he put his shoes and jacket on and headed out the door, following Oliver's lead. Nothing cured Emilio's boredom than hacking and dismembering a cadaver.

He sat at the bar by himself, fiddling with his phone as a local football game was being screened. Normally, he was interested enough in the sport to follow along, but tonight, his mind was a haze and mildly preoccupied. Sol had been told to contact the informant immediately upon arrival. This made him anticipate a speedy response. He had just barely enough information to go digging himself, but that would require a lot of time and work. Luckily, a contact surfaced which is what brought him to London, but now that Sol arrived, he hadn’t heard a word. He flipped over his phone a couple more times before tucking it away, obviously annoyed. There was no use waiting around the phone like a teenage girl. He finished his beer and ordered another, staying in the pub for the duration of the game.

    After the game, he closed his tab and headed out. London was a busy, gloomy city and he wasn’t quite in the mood to sightsee. He lifted his wrist to check his watch, and it was only 8PM. Well, he felt like a damn old man, but that was late enough for him to sleep without fueling his jetlag. He shoved his hands back into his jacket pocket before heading back to the hotel. He hopped on the tube, and it wasn’t until he was getting off he noticed a pair following him. He grimaced, not wanting to deal with any riffraff tonight. He hoped he was just seeing things, but as he turned a corner rapidly, there was no mistaking they were following him.

    They were probably trying to mug an easy target. Or maybe mess around with this foreign kid. And the least likely scenario, they were with the gang he came to eliminate. Unlikely, since they shouldn’t know who he was and if they did, they shouldn’t know he was there. His own gang had not revealed any intention of going after the idiots in London. Who knew what they wanted? Sol didn’t give them time to explain themselves.

    As soon as he went around the corner, he turned around rapidly to knock a solid punch in the leading man’s gut. The other swung a wide punch, too wide, which Sol ducked away from. Without hesitation, he grabbed the same wrist and quickly twisted the arm around. With firm control over him, he pushed the man’s head into the other’s and in their short moment of daze, Sol ran off. He was quick, but if either of them had weapons on them, he would’ve been screwed. It looked like he needed to get himself equipped soon. They were also both too large for him to handle completely on his own at the moment. Sol quickly ran into a hotel, not his hotel, and waited for them to follow him inside. As they looked around, angry and confused, Sol shed his jacket and walked out of the building when their backs were turned with a small smile on his face. He quickly tossed it in a nearby rubbish bin, in case they were still following him, but the London crowds should provide more than enough cover. He made hi way calmly, but swiftly back to his own hotel, two blocks over. The London fog was rolling in and he just threw away a perfectly good jacket.The moment of adrenaline faded and pure exhaustion overtook him as soon as he entered the room. He flopped onto the bed and brown eyes disappeared behind black lashes, before fluttering open after reconsideration. He grabbed the phone and sent out one more message before falling asleep on his first night in London.

“Hey fucker. If you don’t respond by the time I wake up, I’m letting our mutual friends in on a rat problem. Good night, sweetie.”