The Restless

Chapter One: Recovery

"What the hell-" I said, wincing at the bright light.

"Hello, Mia." A man said, leaning on his umbrella.

"My name isn't--" I said, before being shushed.

"It is now." He said, handing me an envelope as I struggled to sit up.

I took the envelope cautiously and opened it, my bloodied fingers screaming in pain. A passport and some documents fell out and I sighed. Another mission.

"Your assignment will begin in 24 hours. Wash and change your clothes." The man said, adjusting his glasses and grabbing his umbrella.

"Don't expect me to agree with this!" I exclaimed, jumping up. "I'm not your bloody hitman!"

His umbrella shot out and caught me in the stomach. I collapsed, winded. "Manners maketh man." He muttered, before walking out and locking the door behind him.

"Prick." I muttered, scowling. I eased myself off the floor, wincing. I picked up the passport and flicked through it, looking at my details. It read:

Mia Braga

21 years of age

Married

D.O.B: 28/07/87

Nationality: British

Typical. British again. I threw the passport on the table beside me and sat on the bed, putting my head in my hands. I sighed. How was I supposed to refuse? I'd been shot for insolence before; I didn't want it happening again. I picked up the clothes from the end of my bed. Boring camo tank top with black combat pants. Has no-one heard of fashion here? I wandered into the bathroom, examining my surroundings. Shower, sink, toilet. Luxuries of the modern age. I ran the hot water in the shower and stripped. I stepped in, the stinging feeling of hot water unfamiliar to me. I finished showering, and got dressed. I tied my wet hair up into a bun, and leaned on the sink, looking in the steamy mirror at my bruised face. "Bloody guards..." I muttered.

"Mrs Braga?" A voice called from behind me. I whipped round, reaching for the nearest object. A toothbrush. Great.

"What?" I called back.

"Mr Cumberbatch is waiting for you in the lounge." The maid said, shyly. My eyes widened in fear. If Cumberbatch was back, then I was dead already.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" The maid asked.

"Y-yeah. Yeah. Tell him to give me a minute." I said, faking a smile. She closed the door and I flopped down on my bed, my hand over my mouth. My heart raced, my brain ached. Both were not oblivious to the danger that strayed onto my path. "Fuck." I muttered. I lay on my bed for a bit, before I decided to go downstairs.

The lounge was very minimalist; beige and white walls, a fireplace, fluffy rug and a sofa. An auburn haired man was sitting there, a glass of wine poised in his hand. His head turned towards me, revealing sharp cheekbones and a defiant jawline.

"Ah! Mrs Braga." He exclaimed, getting up off the sofa. "Would you like a drink?" He asked, nodding towards the bottles of alcohol.

"No." I replied sternly.

His face turned sour for a moment, before a sickly sweet smile appeared on his face. "Fine." He said, slamming down his wine glass. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No." I said again, emotionless. "But I am guessing it's something to do with you."

"You guessed right, genius." He said, and nodded at his guards. They stepped forward. "I have an item which has been taken from me, and I need you to retrieve it. Details are shown on the documents enclosed." He said, handing me another envelope.

"Are you going to accept this assignment, or are you going to cause more trouble for the both of us.....?" He asked.

I shifted my position, the guards wary of my movement. "Fine." I growled, eying the nearest exit.

"Good." He said, smiling.

"You owe me, Cumberbatch. Remember that." I muttered, scowling. The guards stepped forward and I turned to leave.

"One more thing!" He said, walking closer to me. "Call me Ben." He said, before nodding to the guards to take me away.