Ordo Noctis

Prologue

I awoke to duct tape around my wrists and ankles, a blindfold over my eyes and a gag in my mouth. To most people, this would be a panic-inducing experience, but I was not most people.

For all fourteen years of my life, I had been trained by the most elite secret organization of international operatives. Obviously, I was under instruction not to reveal any information to any person, even another operative. Anybody could be a traitor. I was taught to trust nobody and show no mercy. I was told that I was special: I was the organization's secret weapon, the only member trained from birth.

But now everything has changed. By the time you are hearing this, the organization and all of its connections will have been destroyed. So I feel at liberty to share with you my story, and that starts with the organization that raised me from birth: Ordo Noctis. It's been around for so long, the name is in Latin. In English, it translates to 'Order of Midnight' - an appropriate name, as the organization works in the shadows.

Ordo Noctis was founded in Rome to monitor the growing government and its activities, but its mission eventually spread to keep watch over all governments across the globe. They could not be left to their own devices, so Ordo Noctis worked undercover, keeping everything under control. If it weren't for the organization, the world would have been destroyed by a nuclear war decades ago.

So when I woke from my drugged haze with no memory of how I had gotten there, my years of training automatically kicked in. I listened for any sign of movement, but nobody was in the room with me. It smelled musty, and even through my blindfold there was no sign of light. I assumed I was underground. I grunted through my gag and listened to the echo. I was in a tiny room, about the size of a small walk-in closet. Using my sharpened nails, I undid the stitching of a secret pocket on the inside of my black sweatshirt, pulling out a small syringe filled with what I knew was a rusty-red liquid. It was a special antidote that would reverse the effects of any drug, except one meant to kill you. I was one of four people permitted to carry it: I was too valuable to lose. But it would only work if you had enough sense to remember how to use it, so I was glad I still had a small amount of my wits about me.

I stabbed the needle into my leg and squeezed the antidote into my bloodstream. Immediately, I could think straight and my memory came back. It was my fourteenth birthday today. I had been on a mission for three days in Paris, France to ensure that a new artifact arrived safely to the Louvre Museum. It was a small mission, unimportant, but it gave me something to do. I had been exiting my hotel when a man had stepped out of the shadows and stabbed a needle into my neck. That's when everything had gone black.

The duct tape limited how far I could move my hand, but I was able to reach into another secret pocket in my black jeans where a small knife was hidden. I grabbed it, wincing at the chafe of the tape on my skin. I didn't have enough freedom for a proper throw, but this would do. With a flick of my wrist, I threw the knife with perfect accuracy. (I had been training with blades since seven years old, so I would have been disappointed with any less.)

It sliced through the blindfold as it whizzed past my head, and ripped the gag as well. I spit it out and both pieces of cloth fell to the floor. A clatter as the knife fell told me I was in a metal room, but now I could see that for myself.

The floor, wall, and ceiling were all a smooth steel - and no door in sight. But I wasn't worried. I simply pressed the call signal on the button of my jeans. It would notify Ordo Noctis of my plight and would tell them where I was.

As I did so, a holographic screen descended from the ceiling, positioning itself in front of me. A figure wearing a mask was shown. I leaned back in my chair, waiting for it to speak.

After a moment, the mask dude finally talked. "So you're their secret weapon, hmm?"
I pursed my lips and played with my nails, feigning uninterest. If I didn't talk, it would force him to fill the silence. And the more he talked, the more I could learn about my kidnapper. My pockets had been emptied, but a secret recording device had been implanted in one of my black acrylic nails. I pressed it subtly.