Mortal Impact

Chapter 8

What to write, what to write? I twiddled my finger and bit my nail. (I need to stop doing that!)

Wait, something entered my mind. When I was smaller, about 9, I remember seeing a document- a slip of paper on my dad's desk. It was in a brown envelope. I took it up to my room and opened it and read it- a silly little girls trick. It said something about banks being hijacked so that when someone put their credit card into a hole in the wall, all the money on that card was extracted and fed straight to the culprit. This meant nothing to me at 9. But now it does.

I typed it up and lazily pushed back the office chair into the middle of the room and thought things over

'I am in the middle of New York, parents dead, expected to write down anything I know about my Dad and have just been told that he was in Mi6! When you think about it, this is quite a load to drop onto a 12 year old. I had literally just experienced the impact of someone dying in my life. No, not just someone, my parents. The people that I cared most about in my whole entire life! I was an only child so I had no siblings to care for or to care for me.

I was distraught, in despair. But concurrently I was excited. I had basically just been recruited to join MI6! I was really nervous. Would I live up to their standards and expectations? Would I die as my father died? Or would I fail miserably, would I die in vain?

But all my questions would become reality in a few moments as the door swung open and there stood the man- unshaven and filthy. He grabbed me (a little more gently than before) and guided me into the other room again.

I braced myself for Mortal Impact.