Prologue

"Hey kiddo, it's good to see 'ya," his familiar golden moon-face beamed at me from behind a commanding desk. His frosty eyebrows were raised, poising the ultimate question, "You ready to make some money or what?"

"Yes, Sir." I replied robotically. Stiff and out of character, with my hands tucked close at my sides.

"Uzi, sweetheart, I know that you've been in boot-camp for eight some odd weeks but that's no reason to go all android on me," he said to me as he stood and skirted around the massive desk. He half sat, half leaned against the fixture with a gaping smile, his eyes were tight with giggles; now a foot away from me, he poked and prodded my left bicep. "Look at you." Poke. Poke. Grunted laugh. " Perfectly collected, calm, and cool." Poke. Poke. "You're all f****n'... androidish." He said the last word with jazz-hands midair and was now rolling in throws of giggles. He poked me again and my bicep instinctively flexed in defense, yet gave to his touch and I let a forced bubble of soft chuckles sound from my throat. I awkwardly glanced down at our toes. Shiny. "I'm remembering that word! All of you kids, you come outta the training program all Mr. Roboto," he shook his head smiling and wiped at his watering eyes as the color begn to recede from his circular face. "I mean," he looked at me, bright and jolly, directly in the pupils when he said this to me, "lighten up, it's just murder."

"Oh... Uncle Vick," I cooed with a growing smile, "you've always had such a way with words."

"I plagerise mostly," he said with a nonchalant nod of his head crossing of arms, "everything we say has most certainly already been said before. Speaking of, next movie night we should bust out Natural Born Killers. Classic! I remember how much my dad loved that movie."

"Love to, only, if I'm going to be on assignments and 'making some money' as you put it, every other Thursday isn't going to work out so well."

"You have a point." He replied with a wink of an eye and wag of the finger. He stood up from his leaned position and walked back around to his high-backed black leather rolly chair. Predominant. He sat back and put up his feet. "We will have to try though, you've been gone so long." Vick pulled a stubby dark cigar out from the top right drawer and rolled it first between his index and forefinger, then between his thinning lips. With a long dense looking match he lit the cigar and puffed, slowly watching the warmly robust smoke curl up and out the small caged windows behind him. Without looking at me at all, in a barely noticeable way, Vick tugged his Pad from the desk into his lap. His Pad illuminated to his touch and the 15X20m monitor affixed to my right responded with happy colored LEDs and a welcoming female voice. Vick navigated his Pad with exaggerated sweeps and forceful jabs of his index finger; his ability to adapt to such rapidly changing technology throughout his lifetime was impressive but hardly graceful.

I took a seat, waited patiently, and slightly winced as the saliva began to build at the base of his cigar. Abruptly he jerked his head from his palms and the Pad to the monitor, withdrawing the smoke from his lips and letting his squinted right eye a rest. Images of my first Target reflected off the eggshell walls and our pale skin in bright colors. I gulped hard and tried not to let any of the fear that ripped through me into my eyes, I turned to Vick and said, "Uncle Vick, do you really think I will be any good at this?"

"Uzi, my dear," again he looked deep into me when he said, "you were born to do this." He lowered his legs, tenderly he reached out and cupped his soft hand over mine, "Uzi, we are going to save the earth, it is people like us that actually get s**t done around here."

I sputtered and manufactured some humorous sound, balking and shrugging a little, "Always gotta be the superhero." I teased. But I believed him.

"Trust me, kiddo, after so many years in the military I've become a pretty good judge of character," now taking  drag and plucking it out of his mouth again, letting the smoke roll on his tongue and settling back into his feel-important chair.

He had a point, that and the fact that he had been grooming for assassination detail since we lost my mother, for something like 13 years. I sadly smiled at him.

He turned back to the wall and cleared his throat before putting a light sober inflection in his voice; despite the noticeable attempt to squelch them, the giggles continued to boil beneath whatever veil he had drawn. "His name is Jake Reynolds, and he... let's see here..." Vick took another drag from the glowing nub and squinted at the monitor as I listened with only one ear and read n for myself. "Ah, yes, he is part of trio of GOP backed corporations that are responsible for the large acquisition of forest lands for the soul purpose of clear-cutting them." Vick squinted again. "He claims there's still an upscale market for timber, but what's more worrisome his where his spent money travels."

Mr. Reynold's was a 32 year-old  man with a hideous wife that he obviously married for the chance to gain control of her ailing father's company. With our globe's fairly recent events, in times of such evolvement and rebirth, this family maintained a legacy of staunch opposition and sabatoge.  The Cambridge dropout had accrued amounts of money he had never dreamed of eighteen months ago when the father-in-law finally croaked. Since then he'd been skimming the filmy surface of corruption and trying to make a quick buck, often found involved in gambling rings, some of his well-earned terras making their way into slave exchange that ran rampant in Sister Asia. A real swell fella'. I studied his picture. His dark hair was thinning great but he wore it greased and slicked back. His build was a little appealing and his face was evenly proportioned, a charmer, but he wore these glasses that made him look like a complete b***h. There in every single picture, wrapped around his head like a goddamn space-cadet, pretentious, bitchy, eyewear.

  I pulled my Pad out and tapped it to Vick's, instantly copying all of the information we were currently viewing into my device. I scrolled through the few pages of Jake Reynold's file. Vick looked down at me over his smoldering cigar, "You gotta take this pea-brained d****e-nozzle out before he is personally responsible for the desolation of every Douglas Fir in North America. Gotta protect our Sister."

I relaxed back into the thick wooden chair, a bold smirk spreading quick across my lips, "Yeah..." I said cooly, letting the accustomed arrogance slip back into my demeanor, "I'm totally gonna kill this guy."

"That's my girl!" He said smiling, making a grand gesture with his arms and finally snuffing out his cigar. Then he pulled out two business cards and an ink-pen, objects that seemed particularly foreign. Vick lightly printed two separate numbers on each card, then he slid them both towards me. I picked up both of the small pieces of thick paper stock  and looked puzzled into his childish eyes. I reached for my Pad that sat between us of the desk. "Ah-ah-ahh," he gently scolded as he laid his hand over the device, "there's good reason why some things are not stored or shared electronically. And I know you know that. Call the number with the extension when the assignment is complete, burn both the cards after you call. You'll do great, Uzi." He finished with a friendly grin, the large soft one I had squished between my palms as a young girl.

"What's the other number for?" I asked while I tucked the cards deep into the breast pocket of my jacket.

Vick's face fell in glitches, "That, is uh, for if things don't go so smoothly and you end up s**t's creek with piss for a paddle."

"Gotcha," I confirmed with bobbing head and eyebrows raised, "that it?"

"I usually take this time to aggressively stress the level of secrecy and adaptation it takes to do what we do. It requires the utmost conviction and attention to detail, you must have passion and principals. You cannot waver for an instant." He took a steady breath, "these are all ideal I have instilled in you for long enough, Uzi." He kicked back his feet again and said, "So let's not have that boring lecture and say that we did, and if you don't mind I am going to cut out early and meet a redhead for a cocktail."

"Uncle Vick," I said with a mock-surprised gaping mouth, "you dog, you." Only the tinsiest bit annoyed that it was him meeting the redhead and not me.

"Rock on! By the way," he said flustered with excitement and holding his Pad up, screen facing me, "this is me forwarding the entire Styxx discography to your device. Pump it!"

"It's already on my playlist," I assured him as I stood and began to make my way to the heavy metal door that lead out into the sterile hallways of AGBS.

"Also, before you leave I'm reminding you that I am also sending you the details for your civilian job, some paper-pusher over in Hemp Industries." He called from behind my shoulder.

"Nice," I turned to look at Vick. "And a reminder for you. It is Talia's birthday the week after next, she's turning 13. Buy her a new pink and glittery faceplate for her Pad, she'll love you forever. Her words."

"Already 13, damn you kids grow up so fast." He took a moment. "What should I bring your father?" He asked in a gravely sorrowful tone

I shrugged as I placed my hand on the doorknob and made some stupid half smile, "Probably a bottle of White Lightning," my lips pursed as I opened the door to step through. "You know how he likes to tie one on that night."

"Yeah, I do." Vick replied softly and I waved before gently gliding the giant threshold to a close with a click.

The offensively empty hallway lined with whitewashed panelling and buzzing with illuminators was sucked into the vacuum of the void my grief had long since carved out inside of me. I made my way for the entrance. I may be a secretive, shaped and molded, murdering prodigy, but my biggest, highest held principal has always been humanity. 

Reviews

[Leap]

This is gonna be good...real good. Very natural dialogue -- which is something you know I struggle with. Within one chapter you explain so much and set up the story with a nice and even balance. Your narrative is as descriptive and sharp as it always is. There's a few grammatical errors, but other than that, this is a running start baby. I really dig it. I don't know if you did it on purpose, but the description of Mr. Reynolds put the visual imagery of Bono in my head. Yuck. Also, the last paragraph is so appropriate to end a prologue with. It shows the antagonist has a standard or principle that could, not only be mentioned again, but become a running theme through the story's entirety. Uzi's dilemma. You're amazing. Also, I love you.