Vol. 1: Prologue part 1 – The Night is Young

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Heads up, readers. This novel was started by sheer laid-back hobby and casual writing by the author. The language of the beginning volumes might be childish and naive. I have tried my best to fix this fact with my limited knowledge of English. As the plot proceeds, the language will grow mature with it. Bear with me, please.

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Translated by Tianic, edited by LtBeefy

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Earth, 2106 DC

[dropcap] N[/dropcap]ight, the night seemed so bright under the moonlight. After exhausting myself on a young and attractive body, I was sleeping.

“Boss, it’s time.”

It was Rat knocking at the door.

Due to his unique way of life, Rat possessed a carefulness that’s not shown by an ordinary person.

I saved him while he was about to be beheaded by a drug dealer. After that. Then he swore his loyalty to me. Within in 6 months, he had become the second most influential person within the gang.

 I rose up from the bed, put on my clothes, and threw a lazy look back. The white moonlight projected on a woman’s body, a perfect body, a body that was left with the residue of love and sex.

Then I put my second life, a pair of P7 pistols, into the holsters underneath my arms.

“Stay here, baby.”

“Hurry up, I still want more!”

I grinned, opened the door, and walked downstairs.

Rat and the other brothers were waiting in the lobby. He rushed to me saying, “Boss, we have intel from the other side. The package is being delivered en route, and the deal will be on schedule. Give it 2 more hours.”

I stepped out of the lobby, then took a deep breath, and looked into the sky.

Tonight’s full moon was shedding its magical silver light everywhere on this peaceful mid-autumn day. 

“Time to go.” I jumped into a van, “Tell everyone: kill all and be careful. Let’s hit the club when we’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Several bulletproof vans took off then left the mansion. The guards at the gate saluted to the one I was riding.

To them, I was the center of the universe.

(Now you know what I am?)

I was the alpha dog, a gang leader.

(Wait for it…)

I was also a secret FBI agent. Leading a gang was merely a coverup.

On the FBI record, my name was Westley.

In this seemingly-highly-developed but in fact full-of-dirty-crap world, crimes happened in every corner of the world. In the meantime, the advancing criminal techniques had made it harder for the authorities to execute justice. As a result, god-know-who from the government suggested fighting crime with crimes by selecting a team of elite special forces and putting them undercover.

Westley, a 21-year-old sub-lieutenant who got straight A’s in the strategy and tactics evaluations, hit the jackpot, unfortunately.

To rise in rank, and travel around the world with an early pension, Westley had to finish his boring army life early and instead step onto a gray path.

As for his mission, simple enough: nothing more than to eliminate the target quietly by doing what he was best at. Within three years, orders from Westley’s supervisor had tossed him in various cities. He spent his time chasing gangsters listed on the FBI’s hit list. Without exception, those people’s evil lives ended under the guns of Westley and his team.

Seeing lives disappearing in front of his eyes had made the innocent Westley numb and cold. As if those that died were worthless trash instead of living souls. 

Every time Westley thought about his first mission as a gang newbie, that 120 bpm heartbeat still made him want to vomit. Nevertheless, for a young man in his 20s, it was not easy. As a tool to execute the law, even though the target was a disgusting human being, the red liquid and gray matter that came out of the target’s broken brain after Westley had fired his gun, and the twitching body lying in blood, made him throw up and stay frozen for a week.

Unavoidably, Westley was getting tired of this life, but his boss couldn’t stress enough that those people deserved it. Still, Westley felt he was a blood-stained human being partly because he was not a person who worshiped violence; however, his lack of sensitivity had made it difficult for him to distinguish good and evil.

There was only one thing he knew: he was a tool, a pretty handy and under-supervised tool. The existence of over-classified terms and conditions had made Westley’s commander do what he wanted without concern. Who knew what a tool like him is capable of, executing the law or creating new crimes.

But to Westley’s brothers, he was more than their boss. If one had to say something unique about this boss, he showed excessive passion in killing drug dealers. They had no idea that Westley’s boss was the commanding officer of the FBI’s narcotics control department.

Before signing that god-forsaken document, Westley had thought he could stay in any environment. However, he had found himself so naive once he indeed had spent some time in that environment. What he’s gone through had made him from a reckless soldier to an entirely cold-blooded don. No matter what he carried in mind, in order to survive, he had to change. And precisely because of this change, led him to his fall.

The gang he founded had a couple of luxurious businesses in town which made Westley’s bank accounts richer as well. For this reason, Westley somehow started to like this job. He was capable of doing whatever he wanted and getting whatever he wanted. Westley was a leader, and nobody expected a gang leader to do things like a college professor.

“Boss, we’re receiving a third party transmission, it’s the military’s frequency.” Rat turned to me and said, “Sounds like a cipher.”

Westley took the headset Rat handed over peacefully, put it in his ear, and overheard a quiet voice saying, “…tit, tit, the rabbit is out…” A while later, a second voice said, “Roger, carry on.”

Hearing this, Westly couldn’t help but be confused. This device was capable of receiving any communication within a radius of 50 km. Was there another operation happening tonight?

With this in mind, he took out his phone and dialed an unpleasant number, his boss’. The only person who knew his real identity.

Westley unavoidably shrugged, because sometimes even himself couldn’t tell what his true identity was.

“Shweker’s office,” the call went through several military satellites, a husky yet sore voice came into Westley’s ear, “ Identity please.”

“My prodigal son, it’s your old man,” Westley tittered, not caring if he irritated him, “How have you been? Are you closing down the office and joining me or what?”

 “This is a public channel, and I don’t want to remind you of that again,” the voice snorted and asked, “Problem?”

“No biggie, my men told me there are outsiders doing business in my territory,” Westley put away his arrogant voice and spoke coldly, “This is a holiday, and I wanna spend it in silence.”

“Hold on,” After a few knocks on the keyboard, the voice said, “The Wildlife Authority has a team monitoring whales if they are the outsiders you’re talking about. I suggest you apply for an endangered animal license in case I wanna break your arm someday.

“Anytime, you old dog.” Putting down the phone, Westley told Rat, “Irrelevant.”

In the meantime, in a floating vessel hovering 10,000 meters above, a man in a suit put down his phone, pondered for a moment and told his deputy, “Tell the fleet, change the transmission frequency to private channels. Put the first squad out of the mission and let them talk about whales using the old frequency. The second squad will do the monitoring… keep me posted.”

In less than 20 seconds, subsequent commands began echoing.

“Armored Squad report, tanks, and battle vehicles in position, normal.”

“Air Squad report, gunship and transporter in position, normal.”

“Second squad report, we have locked the target, 16 vehicles, 87 personnel. The analysis shows they have massive firepower. Possibly armed with portable SAMS.”

“A prepared operation, that’s truly you,” the mid-aged man looked at the roof, not caring about any surprised looks from other officers, he smiled, “I was right in choosing you.”

The vans were parked inside the ruins of an abandoned dock, a guy came and opened the door for Westley. The moment he stepped his foot outside, the laid-back Westley was gone, instead, it was a cold-blooded, grim-looking man.

The early-arriving team had prepared everything. All men were handling their weapons with cold yet exciting faces. 

He walked down the dock, squatted, and looked at the water with the night vision goggles handed over by Rat.

“Boss, nothing unusual, the deal is on.”