In Tears [h.s]

1. Licenced To Kill

I started this job at 17. All through my childhood, I felt disconnected from the world. I didn't love it, or anyone if I'm being honest, but I also didn't hate it. It's just a constant cycle of the same things over and over again. That's why I do my job. There's always a new challenge, a new scenario, a new pursuit.

"West," That was The Handler, the big eye in the sky boss who somehow sees everything we do. I'm convinced she hates me. "West! Are you ignoring me?" She beckons. I snap out of my subconscious daydreams, looking up at the six-foot woman sat in a large velvet covered chair.

Gosh she was scary sometimes. She knew what she wanted and would do literally anything to get it. She wore vintage 1960s dresses and had her hair cut into a short bob, with pearls hung round her neck.

"My name is Ta-," I start, being ever so rudely interrupted. Obviously, my words didn't matter to her, she had better things to do.

"I know your name, West, but only good agents get called by their first name," She sneered, "and that certainly isn't you,". She swirled around the last swig of cognac before pouring into her mouth.

"So, I'm a little rusty," I protest.

"Inexperienced, rookie," Her snide assistant appeared in the doorway.

"Herb don't flatter her,". She laughed, "she couldn't finish a job if she tried,". She pulled out a silver box from her draw and fiddled with the latch.

I frowned at her. "Give me one example," I ask, knowing that I had finished every single assignment she had given me.

"Seven, eight, three," She said, "Paris 2014,".

"I finished that, even after you set me up," I said, not believing her lies.

"So how come they're still alive?!" She yelled, standing up from her velvet cushioned chair.

I could tell she was mad now. Her fists slammed against the desk, rattling the pens and tacky ornaments lined up on the front it.

"We- well, I didn't know you wanted me to kill them," I lied, trying to defend myself.

"Ha," She scoffed, "When have I ever sent you on a mission where you haven't killed them, apart from 783? You're a double o for god's sake, you're licenced to kill!" She pushed the chair out from her desk and walked round to the front it.

"None, ma'am," I sigh, giving into her.

"Now," She said, taking a cigarette from her box and placing it between her lips, "What do you know about boybands?".

Oh shit.

"Not much, why," I lied, I didn't want her to know too much, she'd use it against me as a weakness.

"Assignment," She said, lighting the cigarette in her mouth. I watched her cheeks suck in the smoke before she released it from her mouth into my face.

"Like what?" I coughed, choking on her cigarette smoke, "I can't catch and kill a boyband, people would ask questions, and I'd lose my job,".

"Well, you better get to it, before I fire you," She smirked.

"Bitch," I whispered under my voice. She sets me up to fail.

"What was that?" She asked, drawing a second lot of smoke from her cigarette.

"Nothing," I lied, smiling, "What's the number?".

"Seven, nine, three," She said, "And don't fuck this one up,".

I rolled my eyes at her, "Thanks for the encouragement,".

"And I'll accept your resignation after the task is completed," She said, holding the cigarette between her index and middle finger. I stormed out of her office and into the library. I logged into the computers and started searching the archive for the file.