Assassin [H.S.]

Twenty Nine

A/N: play THIS when u see *
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08:46am
Date: April 27th, 2018
Location: Greendale, Oregon

Sloane Davenport

"How's the search for Damien going so far?"

The muffled voice rings through the ear, echoing from one side to another. My burner phone is lodged between my shoulder and the cup of my ear listening to the person calling me on the other side.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm once again rushing myself to get to work. And by work is CASTA training with another therapy session and hunting down wherever Noah Lyses' kid is.

"No trace of him has been found. It's almost been at least a month since we last saw him." I gather my duffle bag, shoving down everything from my training shoes and supply of weapons from my locker.

We get a new trunk of weapons every month, starting from pocket sized guns to paintball grenades. I'm eager to get my hands on them before the newbies snag them all.

"SIDD probably has him under some influence. Maybe brainwashed him so that he could never figure out who he was in the first place."

"Well I mean it could be worse than him being killed by them. God knows what they did to finish him off, a bullet to his head or dumped the body in a river basin." I say, shivers go down my spine as I try shaking off the edge of necrophobia from scaring me.

"They've been trained to kill without compensation. Whatever they take, they take it without asking."

I take a deep sigh, zipping up my duffle and closing it. "I still think he's alive. Whether or not he's hanging by a single thread, there's still hope. Cory's been losing sleep but Devon..she's trying to make the best out of our team right now."

"Let's hope so."

"Look I gotta go, I'll meet you back home for dinner. I'm making fettuccini alfredo tonight. So don't be late when it gets cold."

I take a look at my reflection as I wait for a response. I did my best again to hide my hickeys on my neck so that Wilkins won't have another lame excuse for me being late. It's not like I was get fucked in the sewers before training. They're not too noticeable, but with a little bit of concealer, it's nothing to it.

"Alright I'll see you soon kiddo. I love you."

"Love you too, Uncle. See you on the other side." I shut the burner screen down to the key pad side, letting my flip phone lock by itself and sliding it inside my jacket. Uncle James has been moved to another location in the Midwest, analyzing and mapping out safe houses for CASTA members to hide in.

I usually don't ask him about his job much, pretty self explanatory if you will. While my dad was an agent on foot, Uncle James decided to make himself clear from the world, by labeling himself as a construction worker and undercover CASTA member who nearly built most safe houses across the country.

He used to be a ground agent like my dad, but he stopped years ago before I became one. For one, I know he does not want to ever talk about why. Mainly for reason number two: the death of my parents.

It already stained me as the only living child of them, but I know deep down he's afraid if something happens to me, he'll put himself to misery.

Touching up on the last of my appearance, I gather myself and head downstairs, where not even a single bug is making noise in the house. It gets quiet when Uncle James isn't here; it serves as another reminder of my loneliness in this world. I forgot what it's like for a house to be busy like most neighborhoods, but it felt like being trapped in a blizzard surrounded by the cold and isolation.