IAA: Agent N

Chapter 1 - LOCCOM

White chipped walls. Slightly cracked ceiling. Spiderwebs. The buzz of the flickering lights. And the small taps
of a mouse that's been in this room since I was here.
Those are the small things I see while I lay on the old bed in a run-down apartment in Spain.

As someone who just came back from quite an eventful mission, I felt quite relaxed. I was in my black sports bra and pajama shorts. It was quiet. I could hear my heart beating in my eardrums. My dark brown eyes were the only parts of my body that were moving.

As I was analyzing my surroundings, my thoughts went back to the
events that occurred a few hours ago.

---

"Did you get the file?", said Carlos - the 28-year-old Cuban who provides all of my missions' information - on the phone.

"Yes", I answered curtly not wanting to talk.

"Vale, bye-" I hung up, without letting Carlos finish.

I put the phone in the duffle bag that I was preparing for my next mission. I looked at the opened file that was sitting next to the bag.

Name: Alexei Ivanov
Nationality: Russian
Age: 49
Motive to kill: Child trafficking accomplice, serial assaulter, abuses wife and kids
Last place seen: Pub Século IX, Santiago de Compostela, Spain - was seen there twice in the duration of three days.
Occupation: FBI agent

I arched my eyebrow at this man's occupation. He must be good at hiding his tracks. I looked at his picture that was on the next page.

"..Older than I thought" I muttered to myself.

His wrinkles were considerably noticeable for his age. Must be stress from his honorable work, I thought as I turn to the next page.

Blood type: AB
Medical background: Arrythmia

"Arrythmia...he's doing all this with a heart disease?" I questioned as I closed the file and put it in the bag.

I walked to the opened cabinet that held my weapons. This was the hardest part. I looked at the range of weapons I had in the cabinet. My M25 sniper, grenades, syringes, shotguns, knives, and some personal
defense gadgets. All good options.

Great options, I must say.

But I have to take his occupation into account.
He has an 'honorary' legal job, so his death has to look like an accident.

"...hm" I smirked.

I have the perfect thing. My eyes landed on a few sets of press-on nails. Which color should I choose? My
fingers traced over the cases and stopped on a black to red ombre set.

I picked it up and sat on the only chair that was in this room. I opened the case and started to put the fake
nails on my plain ones.
The press-on nails for the index fingers both have micro needles embedded in them coated with adenosine - which opens some of the channels that transport potassium ions in and out of the cell - and lignocaine,
which blocks sodium ion channels. But the effects of these substances were quadrupled by the organization.

Basically these two substances freeze the heart. Which is perfect, considering his medical condition.

There's a small layer of silicone on the needles to protect me from any 'accidental' scratches.
I looked at my nicely manicured nails in satisfaction.

I stood up and grabbed two switchblades and one
combat knife and threw them in the bag. I closed the cabinet and walked to the nearby wooden closet. I
grabbed a sleek black short dress, that I will be wearing to the pub, and threw it in the bag. I changed into a
casual t-shirt and denim jeans for comfort. I walked back to the bag and checked if everything was in order.