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PROLOGUE

He pointed the gun at the old man's head. The gun was an Agent's weapon, marked by the silver and blue that covered its handle. Its owner held it perfectly, the aim locked at its target's heart, ready to shoot at any moment.

The victim, old and frail, stood without a shiver in his body. He made no effort to move. No weapon, not even the strength to overpower his opponent. No method of defending himself. Yet he just lifted his head and laughed; he looked at his would-be killer straight in the eye and simply said, "I am not afraid."

"You should be! A man is pointing a loaded gun at you, and you laugh! Fool!" The voice that answered him was that of a boy, tall for his age, dressed like an agent, but still a boy.

"Maybe I would be afraid, if you were a man. But you're not."

"Think I won't kill you? Just because of my age? Don't you know who I am? I will kill you!"

"Oh, I know you," the old man whispered, "and I know you want to kill me." He spoke ever so calmly, a hidden tone of ridicule in his voice. "You have every reason in the world to want me dead, but you won't kill me."

"I will!" His voice shook.

The old man raised his eyebrows. "Really? Have you ever killed anyone before? Do you think you have what it takes to do it?" His echoes bounced around the glass room's walls. "Because I highly doubt it."

"I can! I will!"

"No, you won't." He sounded determined. "You're a fourteen-year-old boy, you don't have the heart. Not yet. Your father may have taught you how to shoot, but he never taught you how to kill. Not a person. You can't do it."

"Yes I can!" the boy forced himself to shout. "And don't you dare speak about my father!"

"No," the man growled, getting impatient. "You can't! Xian, you are not a murderer. You are a child!"

"You know nothing about me. How do you know I'm not a murderer? I'm not like the others. I'm different. I have these abilities...."

"Oh Xian, you poor boy...Xian...."

"Don't call me that!" He tightened his grip on the gun's handle. "Or else."

"Or else what?" the old man mocked. He started to move, nearing his desk. Like a proper marksman, followed him as he moved. The old man got his own gun, for he knew this would have to end with someone dead. He hid the gun well, but Xian saw. If he didn't do it soon, he'd be the one dead. "You'll kill me?"

"Yes!" The boy-Xian-had tears in his eyes. He could barely hold the gun straight.

"You won't, or you would've killed me already."

Tears fell down the young man's face as he lowered his gun. He held it with his trembling fingers and stared at it with glistening eyes. He's right. I can't do it.

"Aha!" The old man laughed with triumph. "I knew it. You are weak." He smiled. "Weak," he repeated. "Just like your father!" The old man kept showing him his pleased face. "I don't suppose you know how he died. I was there, watching them. He was tied up, completely immobilized. I watched him get beaten, and sliced, and tortured. I watched him burn when they lit him up. He screamed for so long, until he finally died. Served him right."

BANG!

The old man crashed to the wall and his body fell to the ground. The bullet hit its mark all right. Blood splattered everywhere, staining the perfectly white floor and the shiny glass walls. The boy looked at the old man's body, his mouth gaping at him and his dull eyes were still wide open.

Xian spat at the old man's corpse. He made a face of disgust but it then formed into a twisted smile. "That was for my father!"

He put his gun back in his pocket and laughed. I killed someone, he thought. He didn't feel any guilt at all, he felt satisfied. He felt powerful.

He looked at the lifeless body one last time, thinking of all the others that would meet the same fate at his hands. Without another thought, he left the old man's house, a spring in his step, and a grin on his face.