Welcome to First Page Sunday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously. You can submit your own First Page using this form.
He was tired of killing. To be more precise, he was tired, period. A fatigue so cold and pervasive that his bones ached despite the unusually warm April day, his usual sharp anticipation of ridding the world of another blight numbed. For months he’d been traveling nonstop all over the country and now was more than a month overdue for the mandatory base time for all enforcers. His tranqs were left in his well hidden truck two miles away per orders of the big boss, Darrell Issing, a prick but still his boss. This was another silver mission, meaning only silver bullets needed for this job. Extermination.
Through the scope he could see his target arriving home from his job at the nearby bank, harried and juggling three bags filled with groceries. The man kicked the car door closed, turned and squatted to embrace the whirlwind that flew down the house steps into his arms. Agent Nathan Rivers swore under his breath but never took his eyes off the target, frowning as the tremor returned in his left hand. Swearing again, he relaxed his hand and flexed his fingers before again cradling the rubber grip, all without moving his eye from the scope. The man swept the boy, who looked to be only six or seven, into his arms, eyes darting around nervously before running into the house, groceries spilled and forgotten in the driveway.
Roy Delgado might be only a bank teller, but he was still coyote, and obviously finally felt the danger stalking him. The agent didn’t mind eradicating the magic users or the Lost, shifters who lost control over their animal. That was his job and he was damn good at it. While following the target with his weapon from window to window in the small house as Delgado frantically shut the blinds, he tried to dismiss the unease that remained after he completed his last two jobs, the wolf in that godawful dusty town in East Texas and the female Omega, a foul shifter/mage abomination, just outside Aiken, South Carolina. The first a silver, the second the more common DI, or detained interrogation. His job was to get the Omega onto the plane alive to be questioned by Issing himself. For what purpose he didn’t know and didn’t care. In the Endless War between shifters and magic users he was just an Enforcer, a tool, to ensure victory for all his kind. He lost no sleep over his job. He preferred his swifter justice – death – for the Omegas over Issing’s new mandate of detainment but he followed orders.
His mind rolled again to the handoff at the airport. Again, he replayed the small popping sound. He had turned and the shock wave of the second fiery explosion knocked him to the tarmac.
He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t shocked. Casualties were expected. It was the expression on the Omega’s face he kept replaying. Serene. Without a doubt she caused the explosion despite her power nulled by the silver net. No, it wasn’t guilt he felt. He was the top assassin in the EA, after all. It was the disturbing break in the pattern.
He ignored the sweat pooling on his back. The air was humid and still, a thunderstorm threatening in the distance, the bloated black clouds creeping from the west easily visible if he were upright in the flat Indiana terrain. He felt the impending storm, the very weight of the air pressing him further into the dirt. He had been in lying in this spot concealed by thorny brush for three hours, waiting, thinking, trying to pinpoint his disquiet.