Chapter 2

2.

I headed to the shops below my apartment building. I popped into the internet cafe, gave the counter a sharp tap to wake up the drowsy attendant who was drooling on her keyboard.

Then I walked further down the row of storefronts and waved to the burly butcher.

Finally, I went home. I dug through the storage room―packed with children’s picture books, out-of-season clothes, and crates of vegetables―and pulled out a dusty old trunk.

Inside lay my old tactical gear and a Walther PPK, the kind 007 loved best.

I unhooked my ‘Jade’s Deli’ apron, slipped into my combat gear, and strapped my tactical knife to my boot.

As I loaded the magazine, my right hand trembled. The faint, jagged scar on my wrist was a souvenir from Cyrus, the leader of our old organization.

In his eyes, we were the ones who betrayed him.

He had plucked us as kids from orphanages across the country, raising us in a village called Eden, hidden on the border of two nations. We were nameless, identified only by numbers. I was the ninth, so I was called Nine.

My marksmanship was the best of the lot. On a lucky day, I could even shoot a bullet right out of the air, which made me the leader of the pack. Cyrus always loved taking me on missions.

We weren’t people to him; we were weapons. He told us to kill, we killed. He told us to burn, we burned.

But in Eden, the lost souls we met gave us something real―a sense of home. Even amidst the brutal training, we kept a spark of humanity.

There was Old Man Joe, who snuck me food during solitary confinement. Auntie Tasha, who watched over me when I was burning with fever. Grandma Mo, who waited at the village gate whenever we returned from a job.

To him, they were expendable. To me, they were family.

Until one day, we were compromised. Cyrus decided to evacuate, and during that exit, he burned everyone in Eden village to the ground.

I lost my mind.