This story follows Karina Yu, a Korean intelligence investigator missioned to capture a psychopathic assassin notably known as Winter.
Wyatt "Winter" Kim works for a large criminal organization known as Black Mamba. Assassins are called Naevis, who...
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Karina Kosmo Mansion | 11:43 PM
"You two are a disgrace," Irene spat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her words hung heavily in the air as we finally settled inside the Kosmo mansion. You only end up here when you're about to be scolded in order to keep other agents in the dark. Sometimes there are charity balls and special events, but with everything dead silent, you can pretty much guess what's next.
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It has high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers, marble floors that gleamed under soft, golden lighting, and walls with priceless works of art. The atmosphere, however, was far from welcoming. It felt cold, almost eerie, as though the very walls held secrets they were unwilling to divulge.
Our car ride going here was about as lively as a sloth's morning routine because, well, I had some serious thinking to do. Going all Hulk on Ning wasn't an option; who knew what secret spy buttons I'd push?
If there's one advice I repeatedly received from my late father, it's how I should act calmly in situations like this even if I'm internally doing the trust fall into a pit of uncertainty.
"Well, obviously you're both off the mission. Forget everything you know about Black Mamba or locating Winter," Irene started, her tone firm and unwavering. Ning and I exchanged a surprised glance, our mouths half-opened, ready to voice our objections. But before we could utter a single word, Irene held up a hand, shushing us into silence.
"Karina, you've been off the grid, which I specifically said you never do. And you, Agent Yizhuo, have not shown up for any debriefing after that disaster. Your superior's apartment got obliterated yet, there's no sense of urgency to report. What the hell is going on here?!" Irene's voice was a mix of frustration and concern as she leveled her accusations at us.
We stood in the dimly lit parlor of the mansion, illuminated by a single antique chandelier hanging from the ornate ceiling.
"Excuse me for laying low after an assassination attempt," I replied, my frustration boiling over. Admittedly, not reaching out to Kosmo wasn't the smartest move, but given all the spy drama going on, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
