Leaving was, for Rey, always an act of violence.He rarely grew attached to things or places, but when he did grow attached to them, it was nearly impossible to separate himself from them. When he had no choice but to, he was always forced to tear himself away and the process felt like losing skin.Three months living with his grandmother and he had trained his body into a killing machine. His wounds had healed completely, leaving scars behind like craters and brown puckered lips. Rey tended to know things like when he had overstayed his welcome or when he needed to go, and yesterday he’d stayed up all through the night, staring at the ceiling in the dark with a distinct feeling of dread crawling slowly up his spine. In that moment; he just knew. He had to leave. And so before dawn broke the morning sky, he made all the necessary arrangements, stuffed the clothes he had amassed—mostly some of his grandfather's old shirts—into a duffel bag, and packed his boots.By the time morning lig

Reynolds was already on his way to The Johns conglomerate when Jovian answered the phone. Since the vehicle at his house was broken, he opted for another taxi. The driver was North African, and his words came out with an accent like dried magma.Jovian's surprise to hear Reynolds's voice was evident in his tone, but, quickly, he got over his initial shock and explained the state of things to Reynolds. Apparently Kayla had been abducted that morning and taken to God knows where. He and Lei were wounded in the course of the attack, he told Reynolds, and while she was incapacitated, he was not. The family was gathered at the family house. Readying the calvary, Reynolds hoped earnestly. His wife and unborn child where at stake."Change of plans," he told the driver. "Take me to 305 Fifth Avenue."The driver hit the brakes eagerly, reversed the vehicle and rerouted himself, right in the middle of traffic. He spurred the car into a dash. Reynolds decided that he liked the man. There was

The tracker vanished all of a sudden and Jovian's head jerked with a start. He had been watching his wearable monitor almost boredly up till it happened. “What the--?" He spat."What?" asked Ceneau who had also been observant."Do we move?" one of the aides asked. Jovian nodded. He dd not want to say that the tracker had been lost. They'd just drive to where it was last seen.Everybody prepared hastily. Even Ceneau fiddled with a rifle he probably couldn't use. They piled in and hit the gas, hard.****The first thing Reizei did was strike the overhead sensor. He guessed that damaging it could shut the mantap on one end (for both doors) and lock half the guards out momentarily. And it worked. The only people to cross were the three of them, Riker, and about half the escort party.Once Reynolds grabbed the nearest guard's gun, he had acted, ramming his fist into the circular sensor above his head. There were screams, including his.The Chairman scrambled. The guard behind Reizei gra

Hamish was painstaking meticulous at planning. He knew when things could go slow, when they could go fast, and when they needed to go fast. Killing Rey was a fast game. It had to be if it would be played, as it was also a cagey game. Not that he was not a cagey man, or that he doubted his own genius. His master-mind. Rather, because he knew that perfection was not cheap, and if you were going to kill your next-door neighbour without taking a dent, you required perfection.He had two usable routes. One was direct: strike Rey. This required precision and care, seeing as the man had become his father's favourite. The other was a bit more accommodating: Strike Rey through Kayla. That is, strike Kayla, and when it impacted and exposed Reynolds, he’d then put the man to rest permanently.Being the genius that he was, Hamish kept both routes open. It would be like a double barrel, a kill-both-birds-with-one-stone formula. He was almost enjoying the prospect. All his track would be clean.

Doctor Benny liked the concept of a bright future. He had always liked it and other terms like it. Future. Success. Opportunity. Yes, that one. Opportunity. There wasn't very much of it for him in his profession. He wasn't poor or anything—of course he had stuff to be grateful for. But he sensed it could be more. So he tried to get more.Wen he had got the call from Hamish's aide to get a lethal solution ready, he, as any rational person, did not like it. But what choice did he have? His wife was a compulsive shopper and his children sometimes forgot he wasn't a billionaire. So he asked himself what he had to lose and the answer was not much. He didn't know if he had a strong or weak conscience. He only knew he could use the money they were offering. He took the offer. He had hoped it would be a one-off thing. Prepare the solution, have it delivered, get his money, forget any of it ever happened. Now it was staring him on the face. That was the problem with crime. It made for str