pro·le·gom·e·non
ˌprōləˈɡäməˌnän,-nən/
noun
a critical or discursive introduction to a book

A body had washed up on shore that morning. It attracted a lot of unwanted attention, which was nearly impossible to avoid in general, the nasty cuts and deformed parts drawing in an even larger crowd than the usual.

The oversized cluster of people surrounding the recently surfaced body was much more overwhelming than most others, however. Again, the turnout was expected. Especially when the lifeless eyes and shredded skin belonged to a well known celebrity of some sorts - if being a rich and narcissistic charity donator counted towards a celebrity status.

I'd searched his name from the roof of the apartment complex closest to the beach with a decent view of the drama unfolding. Oliver Jones was of little to no importance to society, spare the millions he'd donate to non profit organizations that deserved the support. Surely the extra hundred million or so left behind in his bank account would be dispersed between his most beloved charities. Poor Oliver wasn't too heartless.

Aforementioned opened a compelling case as to why he'd been gutted like a fish, sliced to bits hanging together by thin strings of flesh, and deserted in the Atlantic to wash ashore and undoubtedly scar some innocent beachgoers for life.

His file was displayed at the end of the page on the screen of my laptop, set carefully on my legs dangling off the edge of the building. Less than a half hour before Oliver's body was found, a couple people asked if I needed help. Some woman going for a morning jog even said she'd call a suicide hotline for me if I needed it. I declined her offer, and insisted instead that I was only out for a breath of fresh air.

Oliver Jones had hoarded an absurd amount of money after successfully launching a business dedicated to the production of HD flat screen televisions. Everyone quickly knew his name soon after he debuted on the big screen in movies and late night talk shows for his large donations to charitable organizations. Anybody that had social media or even knew someone, knew about Oliver and his legacy. Or, more likely now, they knew who he was and the lack thereof.

Sirens echoed down the street, followed closely by what I could only assume to be fire trucks. Maybe an ambulance to collect Oliver's body and send the lightly mutilated remains to a morgue stationed nearby. I could only pray he stay at peace so we wouldn't have to call in the paranormal sector of the agency. Those people were nutjobs, to phrase it both loosely and kindly. Their crystal bullshit was a fraud, as was most of their career.

The files pulled up on my laptop screen shut down automatically as the top locked to the keyboard and the entire device was strapped into my backpack, staying in place the entire ride down the fire escape of the building. The curtains all the way down had been drawn shut, same for the structure opposite.

Heavy footsteps stomped in tune to mine, the reflection of store windows showing a man in the same jacket as mine with the same backpack style. I stopped and waited for him to catch up.

"So, Weekes. Any ideas as to how Jones bit the bullet?" He asked without glancing up, hands in his pocket and eyes on the street ahead.

"As much as you do, Wentz. He did recently inherit a large sum of money from his distant cousin in Madagascar. He became a prime target as soon as the news leaked to the public."

Pete bit his lip and followed alongside me around the corner to another road where our bus stop was stationed at for the scouting expedition. "Not only that, but also he was recently delivered a couple carats of Grandidierite. I've heard it's about twenty grand for a single carat that some people would murder for, let alone twenty seven separate carats of them all in one place. It's a hell of a lot of money in a single spot - I'm surprised he wasn't offed earlier." [yep, it's a real mineral. Those are legitimate prices.]

"Do you think that's enough of a motive for a killer?" The possible stereotypical murder for cash passed my mind, but there were many others to easily take down for a significantly larger sum of money.

"Nobody would be daring enough to sneak through so many security protocols and completely dismember Jones on top of everything already risky enough. It's like begging to get caught red handed."

Pete shrugged and took a seat on the bench, watching the cars speed by through his sunglasses. "Not for anyone I could think of besides Animosity and Virulent."

"The Mercenary Lovers? Don't be even start, we haven't heard from them in a while. I've begun to believe they're either officially AWOL or dead somewhere off in rural Alabama."

"Alabama?"

"Alabama. They're probably dead - it's hell on earth over there."

Animosity and Virulent were more commonly known as, well, The Mercenary Lovers. They committed unspeakable crimes for any amount of money they could grab on to, no regards to anything other than the price. Anybody that even tried to trace them either ended up with nothing or they simply never returned. They both were rich beyond their wildest dreams, human hot spots to buy and sell anything with value, stone cold killers with the hots for the other. Nobody'd heard from them recently, possibly better for everybody at risk. Which was everyone.

He nodded and pointed to a small black hummer limousine gliding down the street. "I've heard they've been keeping on the down-low purposely, that they're planning on using most of what they already have for a show coming up soon. But Grandidierite would be a perfect addition. It's a difficult opportunity to pass up."

The vehicle slowed to a stop, the passengers side window rolling down to reveal the usual driver picking me up. He smiled and saluted with two fingers. "Good morning, W squared. Did either of you get a good glimpse of Oliver's body?"

Pete climbed into the back without hesitation while I stuck my head through the window to chat for a couple seconds longer. "Good morning, Ross. I did, Wentz didn't. Pretty nasty one, if I do say so myself. I would've taken you out on the field to see if I could. I'll show you the photos I took later if I'm allowed."

Ryan grinned and flashed a thumbs up before sliding the tinted window up and lurching forwards the second Pete yanked me into the sitting area of the car. Deep purple lights faded to blues and greens to warmer colors before reverting back to the original shade, illuminating the seats and gadgets lining the walls. Pete had already pulled out his laptop, typing away to find out for sure whether or not Animosity and Virulent were hosting a show soon or not. There was no doubt in my mind that they would; any opportunity to make some extra cash was a chance neither of them would turn down.

"Have you heard about the Evan's case too?" He tilted his screen to reveal another file I'd vaguely heard of while heading out early to catch a glimpse of Oliver. I shook my head no and waited for him to elaborate.

"Oh," Ryan called from up front "isn't that the up and coming millionaire that jumped his way to the top of the social ladder?"

"Yes. He used to be, though. Cops found him in the same condition as Oliver Jones about last week on a beach two miles away from this one-"

"Before us?" Usually our organization was first to the scene. It was a rare scenario if anyone was ever running late.

"In a way. An agent was posing as a local cop to get close since the FBI had tracked down the body first and notified the force for removal. He'd just been imported a selection of artifacts from a recently uncovered Egyptian site for some new history museum he'd been sponsoring to be opened in Southern California."

"But that's nearly all the way across the country-"

"Animosity and Virulent have sources and allies all around the globe, Weekes. The concept isn't too farfetched, especially since their next venue is supposedly hosted in Los Angeles and expected to kick off in less than a week. The two venues are so close in proximity, it's not even unlikely to begin to assume a connection."

"Don't they usually set up months in advance? This one would be a little out of place." They were well known for planning out their events and sending out invites to anyone with some cash and a personal vendetta against anyone they'd killed or stolen from. It was a wild night for everyone that attended.

Pete shrugged and shut his laptop, glancing behind me to what I assumed to be the entrance to HQ. Ryan somehow always knew the quicker route back from anywhere. "Usually. It's a special occasion, I guess. They might be expecting somebody important."

"A special occasion we could crash this time around?"

"Not this time. Too risky again. They've tripled their already heightened security once again; it'll be far too dangerous to send anyone in there."

The car continued to glide through security gates and a quick scan to make sure there weren't any tracking devices or explosives strapped to the bottom of the vehicle. It happened more often than we anticipated.

"Well, this is where we part ways," Ryan turned around with a smirk as the doors opened for us "until next time, my friends. Weekes, it'll probably be in a few minutes to be honest. We both got called to see Prince in her office by ten."

I checked my watch to see the second hand slowly tick by the hour hand just beginning to pass to ten. My heart dropped - Prince hated people being late. The last person to be even one minute tardy lost a finger.

I said a quick goodbye to Pete and sprinted to the elevators to the right, waving to the other people watching over the extra vehicles stored for emergencies and a few other agents taking a much deserved relaxation day.

The button to the thirtieth floor underground took me a hallway away from her office with just about twenty seconds to spare, ten seconds remaining as soon as the security door opened to let me in.

Diana Prince spun to face me in her chair, fingernails clicking together with each movement of her hands. Her hair had been pulled into a tight ponytail, the recently dyed black contrasting with the red frames of her glasses. "Take a seat. You were almost late."

I did as she said and sat in the blue cushioned chair to her right. "I, uh, got caught up in some extra details regarding the murder of Oliver Jones. The case might take a little longer if Wentz was correct regarding the direct involvement of Animosity and Virulent-"

"That's actually part of why I've called you here today. Along with your assigned driver for this, dare I say new, mission, Ross." She gestured to the door beside her just as it hissed open to reveal Ryan, grinning happily and brushing off the lapel to his suit. He stole the chair to her left and watched with wide eyes.

New mission? No, I just started the case with Oliver Jones, I'd just acquired the new position. "A new mission? Shouldn't a more experienced agent start on it first?"

Prince smirked. "I would've assigned a more... experienced agent if any were available for this special case. You won't be alone, though. You'll meet your partner tomorrow morning, when you set out for your destination with Ross."

"Aw, hell yeah," he smiled under his breath "I'm finally the driver."

"Your big break, Ross. Get them there and back safely and you'll surely be doing it again."

I was still confused. I'd already kickstarted the case I'd just worked on, I didn't need to be assigned another to replace it. "Would you tell me the assignment, then? If it's so important, I should be given the details to properly prepare myself for tomorrow morning."

She pulled a thin folder out from a hidden drawer, tossing it across her desk so it slowed to a stop before it fell over the edge. "That's all the information we've accumulated so far. Like I said, it's a new case. There's not much on it."

I could only see a single slip of paper inside the folder. Nevertheless, I held it in my hands and made my way over to the door I'd entered through to return to the elevators, hopefully to take me back to my floor and my room so I could analyze the scarce information in peace.

"Thank you, Miss Prince. I, uh, won't disappoint you."

"I hope not," she said with a straight face "your life depends on this one."

[HERE IT IS IT BEGINS WOOHOO]