Cloud 9

Chapter 5: Underground Assassins' Mall

Hadrig drives me to one of the new buildings in the Financial District. It’s probably at least 90-floors tall, all shiny metal and glass.

Marching me inside, we stop at the reception desk and he exchanges a few words with two security guards. The third one is eyeing me up and down with what looks like a very lascivious smile on his face. If I wasn’t scared out of my mind right now, I would punch that grin right off.

“Let’s go,” Hadrig says, leading me to the elevator doors. “Ready to get your mind blown?”

We step in and as the doors close, he reaches out a meaty, very hairy hand to push button “B,” “6”, and “38”. Below the buttons, a metallic door slides open to reveal a keypad. He enters a code slowly: 6, 4, 7, 8, 3, 8.

The floor moves beneath me and we descend. It feels like we’re going far beneath ground floor. When the doors finally open, I’m faced with the craziest sight I never expected to see.

A wide cement hallway full of people stretches out in front of me as far as I can see. Obviously, this underground basement’s been around centuries more than the building that sits on top of it. It’s dirty, musty, and made of stone.

On either side, there are shops and small offices with weird plate names that say “Brotherhood of Death,” “Crowley Ltd.,” and “Borden & Borden Weapons, Inc.”  It’s like an underground mall for evil people.

As Hadrig makes his way through the throng of people haggling, chatting, or swinging random nanchucks and testing other weapons, I come to the realization that this must be where the Death Catchers buy or sell all they need to carry out their secret missions. It’s kinda cool.

I imagine myself joining this secret society of assassins, honing my fighting skills and becoming a badass ninja. One day, when I’ve proven myself and earned the respect of all my peers, I will replace my dad and take over the reins of the Death Catchers. I’ll use my powers for good, end world hunger, save the trees, and give cuddly puppies a good home.

Hadrig interrupts my reverie by pulling on my arm and dragging me inside one of the grander doors in the hallway. It looked like heavy oak, very polished and ornately carved.

“My dad’s office?” I ask Hadrig and he nods. He knocks in a strange pattern on the door.

We see no one when it first opens.

“Took you longer than we expected,” says an irritated female voice. I set my eyes lower and see this short little pixie of a girl, dressed in black boots and leather pants. Her red tank top is the only bit of colour on her. She lets us in and we follow her into another room inside, where I find my dad sitting on a desk, typing away on his Mac.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him with a wave of my hand. Why do I always wave my hand?

He looks greyer than I remember. At least his beard is well-trimmed as usual and he hasn’t gone bald yet. He stares at me with his cold, cold eyes and leans back.

“Damien.”

“Father,” I reply in the same grave tone. His face practically shrinks into itself.

“Do you think this is a joke? I could kill you right now. I should, and I would if we didn’t share the same blood.”

“You’re so compassionate, father. I’m so glad to know you care.”

Dad abruptly stands up and slams his palms on the desk. It makes everyone else in the room jump, including Hadrig. Who knew a belly that big could jiggle so much? I try to stifle a laugh.

“This isn’t funny!” Dad screams. From the corner of my eye, I see the tiny pixie girl slinking out of the room. “You have no idea how fast I had to talk to get your neck off the chopping board.”

That’s a sobering thought. “So it’s true then? All of it? You’re part of some evil society that wants to kill people and take over the world or something?”

“You don’t understand, Damien. Let me explain something to you.”

“Just answer yes or no. Is your secret society planning to kill people?”

“Yes.” He grins. The bastard grins.

“Why?” I’m hyper-aware of sweat trickling down the back of my neck. It suddenly feels chilly in here, and it makes me shiver.

 “The world is slowly killing itself. We’re trying to save it, really, before it implodes.”

“You’re saving the world by killing people? Are these people illegal loggers, child traffickers, and people who litter?”

“Yes, those , and maybe a few others. Whatever it takes to get our death toll to 5,840,507,003.”

My jaw drops. I know they say that happens in books and it sounds like some stupid expression writers use; but, I promise you, it literally dropped.

“Isn’t that basically everyone on Earth?”

“Most of the world.” He walks from behind the desk towards a large bookshelf on the other side of the room, his hands steepled in front of him like Mr. Burns. My dad is a real-life villain.

He picks up a thick ancient book from a shelf. I assume it’s some kind of encyclopedia. “You see, Damien, the optimum world population is between 1.5 and 2 billion. Our race is like a runaway train, already heading fast towards 7 billion and beyond! There’s hunger, poverty, and pain everywhere.”

“And abandoned puppies?” I ask, but I don’t think he heard me.

“How can we ever hope to achieve medical miracles, find immortality, the cure for cancer, and attain world peace and perfect balance if we’re so preoccupied just trying to survive or protect what little security and happiness we can find in this world?”

“Protect security and happiness for the selected group of 1 million people that your little club has chosen? Why do you get to decide who lives or dies?”

“Whoever holds power must wield it.”

I feel like I just got teleported into an HBO show. Somebody pinch me.

TO BE CONTINUED