Song: Nothing Else Matters by Marlisa
***
I'm the first one out of the performing arts center today. The very first one. Which, for me, is very unusual. I'm generally the one staying behind, perfecting my lines and songs. But not today. Today, I'm patiently awaiting the arrival of a red SUV.
The red car is late as it pulls up to the curb of the performing arts center. I peer into the passenger side window hesitantly. A dark haired woman, her hair neatly secured in a bun, sits in the driver's seat. She quickly flashes her CIA badge, and I scurry into the car.
"Hey Charlotte, took you long enough," I spit, rolling my eyes as I sit. "Hope you brought me food. Cause when I'm hungry, I'm in a bad mood. Hey, that rhymed."
She glares at me from behind the dark sunglasses which she wears. "Watch your mouth, Mr. Paget. And hello to you too."
"That's a real nice way to greet me," I chortle, "especially the kidnapping my sister part. Really added a nice touch of congeniality, you know?"
"Mr. Paget," Miss Baldwin sighs, "I'm trying to go about this professionally-"
"Well, you already failed in that respect," I interject. I hear her sigh once more from beside me. "But let me hear what you've got; I want my sister back, and I got homework," I say, turning towards her in my chair.
She puts the car on autopilot and it begins heading out of the parking lot. "And you'll get her back, if you do as we say," Miss Baldwin says carefully.
She says no more, and I groan in frustration. I click my seat belt into the buckle and state, "I'm listening, if you haven't noticed. No need for all the dramatic pauses."
Her lips curve upward. "Just checking. I know how you teenagers work after all."
"Just get on with it," I hiss, staring out the windshield as I secretly, and guiltlessly, criticize her car's driving.
"Very well then," she says, adjusting her seat to face me. "You were given a job to do, Mr. Paget. A job with consequences, if it was failed to be carried out. Which, so far, it has been."
"Yeah, because you hired a teenager to be your hitman," I mutter. "Unpaid, no less."
Miss Baldwin raises her eyebrows at my statement, but nevertheless continues. "But seeing as we try to be courteous, I will propose to you a deal. The deal is simple, really. We'll give you two choices. You can forget about the book you were given on your birthday. You can even destroy it if you want."
"Already done," I snort.
She gives me a pointed look. "The choices are as follows: for choice one, you may give up your position as a Hunter. However, we will not return your sister to you or your family. She will be at our mercy, off of the Protected list. Or, you may choose choice two, which is a rather special task. We need a specific type of person to capture or kill a ruthless gang leader for us."
Oh of course, I think to myself. Nobody wants to go after the gang leaders by themselves these days. But sure, let's make a teenager do it!
"Is it that guy you guys texted the whole country about yesterday?" I ask. "I figured you could do that on your own."
I roll my eyes as she continues. "This said gang leader has possibly learned of the Hunter mission and needs to be terminated immediately before the mission is divulged to the public. That makes this gang leader what's known as a Dasher, or a Hunted who learns of the Hunter mission and attempts to evade his termination. You, Mitchell, just so happen to be the only person to meet all of our qualifications needed to stop this Dasher. Capture or kill the Dasher, and you can have your sister back."
Of course I'm the only one to meet the "qualifications". Well, I'm certainly not going to let my sister die, I think to myself. So I guess the choice is made for me. I can capture a gang leader, right? No killing required.
"And what exactly were these said 'qualifications'? And what's this guy's name?" I prod, mostly curious to know what made me the only person to meet all of the qualifications.
Miss Baldwin tilts her head, pressing her lips into a thin line. "The qualifications aren't necessary to your task, and neither is the Dasher's name, seeing as we'd hate for any information to slip," she states, and it takes everything I have to not kick the door open and leave.
"How am I supposed to find the guy without his name? Can you at least tell me where this. . . this 'gang leader' Dasher is even located?" I ask nervously. Fighting big, bulky men isn't exactly my forté, I hope the CIA knows that. Maybe they're just looking for a way to get me killed. It wouldn't be completely out of their realm of ideas, after all.
The woman smirks. "That I can tell you. We've tracked the Dasher by the car's GPS. This ruthless murderer is currently here in Seattle."
I gulp. "How has no one noticed this guy, if he's as infamous as you claim?" I stutter.
"We believe a disguise was used to mask the Dasher's face-"
"Leaving him totally unrecognizable. Of fucking course," I interject with a groan, finishing her sentence. She gives me a pointed look. I rub my face with my hand and ask, "And how old is he?"
"Sixteen, but quite possibly posing as an eighteen year old," she says.
I snort. "That seems young for a gang leader in Seattle," I scoff. "Funny that a kid is able to threaten the government so much."
"Mr. Paget. . ." Miss Baldwin groans.
"Funny that a kid is now potentially able to expose the government's biggest, most dangerous secret since the Roswell Scandal of 2022," I continue, ignoring her protests.
She has the car stop. "Mr. Paget, enough. Just do whatever you can to capture or kill the leader. We'll be watching you, and we'll come to you once you've completed your task." Suddenly, she tosses me a small device, about the size of a clementine. "You can use this to track the location of the Dasher's car at any time. But it will only show you the car's location, so bear that in mind."
I swiftly catch the device, turning it over in my palm. "How does this thing work?" I inquire, too afraid to test it myself for fear of it exploding in my hands.
"Press the red button at the top. A map will appear; the green beacon is the car. I've left a note with further instructions inside," she instructs as she presses a button on the car beside her door. My door automatically opens and my seatbelt automatically unbuckles, both of which startle me.
I pocket the small device, hopping out of the car. Miss Baldwin peers back at me and says, "Good luck. And remember, we're always watching you, Mr. Paget. If you want your sister back, you must do this for us."
Before I can speak she closes the door and drives away, leaving me on an empty sidewalk with nothing but a tracking beacon in my pocket, and a Dasher on the run.
***
