Since I can remember, death has been an enigma that lingers in my mind. What is it really? How does that last breath feel, the one that marks the end of our existence? These questions began to arise within me when, at the young age of five, I lost my father. My mother, with her infinite tenderness, told me that his departure was something special, but I couldn't help questioning its meaning.
She used to tell me stories of my childhood, like the time when I was born and didn't cry. I was a curious, quiet baby who only complained when hungry. Perhaps you wonder how I can remember these details. The truth is, I don't know. I simply see, understand, and memorize. Some call it photographic memory, but to me, it's simply my way of existing.
However, not all my memories were sweet. At the age of ten, my world changed drastically. I was kidnapped by an unknown organization. They covered my face and put me in a car. When they finally uncovered my eyes, I found myself in a cold, sterile white room filled with children of similar ages. The oldest among them was no more than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Minutes later, a man dressed entirely in black appeared on an elevated balcony. His rough voice echoed in the silence:
"Welcome to our special government organization. Here begins Plan Alpha. You will become will-less tools, obey orders, and never betray your superiors. You will be trained to fulfill your purpose."
That man, who introduced himself as BLACK, marked the beginning of our torture—both mental and physical. They taught us to handle weapons, design strategies, and survive under the most extreme conditions. Those who couldn't keep up were mercilessly eliminated. Thus, seven years of my life passed.
At seventeen, I graduated as part of the first generation of agents. I was assigned the code name "Agent 0," a title that reflected my excellence in every aspect of training. From that moment on, we began receiving missions directly from the government's top officials. Each task was a test of loyalty and skill. And so, the years turned into decades—more than fifty—dedicated to following orders.
After fifty years of impeccable service, the moment finally arrived that would mark the end of an era for James, known as Agent 0. His last mission before retirement would not be easy, but he wouldn't be alone. He was assigned a fifth-generation agent, a young woman with short blonde hair named Sara. Her beauty was undeniable, but what truly stood out was her determination.
The objective was clear: eliminate the leaders of a problematic organization.
On a hill, under the night sky, James and Sara lay hidden among the undergrowth. James, with his sniper rifle, kept his sights fixed on the cars parked in front of a safe house. Sara, using binoculars, analyzed every movement.
"Target acquired," Sara said firmly after James' first shot.
"Who's next?" he responded without taking his eyes off the scope.
"Francis. Twenty feet to the left, in front of the sedan."
James fired again.
"Target down. Tom and Jeff, thirty feet to the left."
Without hesitation, James pulled the trigger twice, eliminating both targets.
"Target down. Lían, seventy feet to the right, hiding behind the van."
James frowned.
"You should have pointed that out earlier."
Despite the late warning, James shot with precision, hitting the target behind the van.
In a dry tone, he declared, "Mission accomplished. We're leaving."
"But there are still more members of the organization! We could wipe them out!" Sara protested.
James calmly began packing his rifle.
"The organization didn't order the assassination of six men. I'm not going to kill anyone else."
"There are still key people down there. They could resume their activities and—"
"Don't get it twisted," James interrupted, putting his weapon away with determination. "We are not heroic vigilantes, but tools that follow orders."
Sara tried to argue, but James continued:
"If the organization wanted them exterminated, they would have ordered it. Maybe they plan to keep the structure intact to replace the leaders. There could be undercover agents among them. We can't kill them without permission. We've done our job. We leave."
Though frustrated, Sara nodded.
"Understood."
Back at the security base, the scorching morning sun illuminated the path. James, sitting in front of a computer, contacted one of his superiors.
"It's me," he said in his usual tone.
"Congratulations on completing the mission, Agent 0," the superior responded.
"Thank you."
"You can finally retire. Thank you for everything."
James, with a faint smile, replied, "Actually, I have a new mission. I'll be training new assassins."
The superior let out a dry laugh.
"Indeed. I pity your students. You have everything you need. Act as you see fit. Is your partner still alive?"
"Yes."
"Good. Take her with you. I expect you both to return safely."
"Understood."
James turned to Sara, holding two fake passports.
"You're now Nicole Martínez."
Sara raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds pretty common."
"It's better not to attract attention. This time, I'll be Adrian Smith. We have two tickets to Mexico."
Hours later, both were seated on a plane. James, staring into the distance, reflected:
"There's nothing I can do until we arrive. Everything has come to an end—both the mission and my life as the best assassin."
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise. The plane began to shake.
A woman next to him was watching the news on her phone.
"Communication with flight POK-122 has been lost. Its last message indicated a hijacking," the reporter announced.
James frowned.
"Hijacking?"
A flight attendant tried to calm the passengers.
"Please remain calm."
Sara, alarmed, asked, "What's happening?"
James, with a grim expression, replied, "The news came out too quickly. I expected nothing less from the organization."
"What do you mean?" Sara insisted.
"The hijacking is a lie. This is their doing. They want to kill me because they think I'm too dangerous for them. They brought you along to distract me."
Upon hearing this, Sara emotionally collapsed.
James stood up and headed for the cockpit. A flight attendant tried to stop him.
"Sir, you can't be here."
Without hesitation, James knocked her out and unlocked the cockpit door with a clip. Inside, he found the pilots dead.
Through the window, he saw two fighter jets approaching. Projectiles were heading straight for the plane.
James smirked wryly.
"Well played.