Chapter One
My life revolves around three rules.
Number one: Overcome everything.
Number two: Sacrifice yourself.
Number three: Don’t get attached.
As I pull my hair back into the sleekest ponytail, I star at myself in the mirror. Bright green eyes, dark hair, tight-lipped smile, defined cheekbones, and a set jaw. Nothing to be ashamed of.
Sure, when you first look at me, some might see a young girl in her late teens with a full life ahead of her. But, they’re wrong. If they look past the exterior, they’ll see my soul is as old as Earth itself. They’ll see the tragedies and the pains and the hardships.
I know, I’m nineteen. I should have hopes for a bright future, a dream for a life. But, I know better than to have silly and meaningless wishes. I have a set life full of missions and travel and saving lives. Whether I want it or not.
I’m stuck as an agent, risking my life for people I don’t know or love or care about. I’m not allowed to have fears. I’m not allowed to have long-term relationships with anyone. And I’m supposed to die for the helpless.
“Agent 219, you’re needed in the board room.”
I look at the intercom on the wall of my lifeless bedroom. All agents lived under the protection of the fortress provided by the Secret Service Association (SSA). The SSA is located on the outskirts of the UK.
I walk up to the intercom and press the silver button.
“Right away,” I answer.
In my all black outfit, appropriate for out-in-the-field jobs, I make my way out of the room and down the corridor.
Pressing my hand on the recognition plate at the end of the hall, it beeps positively. The wall starts to slide until there is an opening just big enough to let one person through. I slip through, and as I walk down the steel metal hallway, I allow laser lights to scan my body.
Beeping approvingly, the door at the end opens as I reach it. I see a large door on my left, and I press my face up to the eye scanner. A light scans my retinas and, once again, beeps approvingly. The door steams open and I enter.
“Agent 219 is here, sir,” a slim assistant says, her hair pulled back into a bun. She’s clutching a clipboard, with both eyes on me.
“Excellent,” says my boss, who is sitting in the large chair at the end of a long board room table.
He swivels around to face me. He’s looking older each day. His wispy white hair and glassy eyes are all so familiar to me, since I started when I was fifteen.
“Anna,” he greets me. I smile slightly.
“Mr. Handler,” I respond. I’m almost positive that’s not his real last name. But everyone calls him that because, well, he ‘handles’ us.
“I have an assignment for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looks to his assistant, who hands me a folder with stacks of paper. Biographies of the people who have now become my new project. I sort through the pages, noticing how very familiar these faces look.
“Who are these boys?” I ask. I flip from picture to picture – blonde and blue eyes, curly brown hair and green eyes, swept brown hair and blue-green eyes –
“Anna, you must recognize them,” he says.
I shake my head. “I can’t put my finger on where I know them.”
