Thanks to Ash, him and his aunt had Zay-Maps. They somehow injected something inside me that pinged my location at all times. One important asset an assassin uses is concealment. An assassin strikes when you least expect it.

But with a GPS screaming my position at all times, I lost that major asset.

The feeling in my legs had mostly come back to me. I limped alongside Ash as he brought me back to the tattoo parlor where I was tattooed with the symbol of a single locust on my upper right arm. A soothing ointment was layered afterwards, followed by a layer of skin that matched my complexion.

Next came the buzzing noise of the razor and I shooed it away from the barber. "No, I'm not having my hair cut."

Ashton stepped in and tried convincing me otherwise with a smile. "Zay, everyone in the gang has to do this part. It's to distinguish the real members from the fakes."

"Well I'm not everyone, and I can't just show up to my home with no hair on my head. My father will know something is up and he'll get me talking." I sized up Ashton and smirked. "You might've brought me down easily, but I can assure you if he comes after you guys, well, let's just say the Farmer leaves no crops un-reaped."

Ashton's smile faded. Even he has heard of the rumors of how my father, born and raised on a farm, culled his victims. He really did put the reap in Reapers. "Fine, but it's bound to happen sooner or later. Before this process is over, you will have to get your hair shaved and your scalp signed by Auntie."

"Let it happen later rather than sooner," I advised as the barber put away his razor and started tidying up. "Now, what's next?"

"The action," Ashton told me. "Each stage has a ritual and an action. For stage one, you must acquire $5,000 in 24 hours."

My fingers started fidgeting. Acquiring $5,000 in less than a day will be tough even for me, the daughter of an affluent criminal organization that keeps the rich wealthy. How the heck did these people get all that money in a day?

"Robbery," I concluded out loud. "You guys rob your way to $5,000."

Ash shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on the initiate. Some acquire a loan. Others load up their credit cards. Few sell a precious family artifact. But yes," he smiled. "Some rob their way to $5,000 and they target those who have the money."

He grabbed onto my hands and helped me out of the chair as the numbing effects of my legs were still wavering off. I felt like I had sat on the toilet for hours and my legs had fallen into a slumber. I collapsed forward into his arms as he kept me steady. Our faces were inches from each other, and his breath smelled like stale meat. "I'd imagine acquiring the money won't be hard for a girl like you. Now come, I'll walk you to the bus depot."

***

I was surprised that I was somehow on the bus heading back home without blood stained on my hand or conscience. I was sure that along the way to the bus I would've knocked Ash unconscious, maybe cut off his arm and slap him with his own hand, or simply knee him in his rocks until he rolled over dead. The nerve of him to draw me into another gang. I already hated this one.

I also slapped myself for not seeing through his disguise. The minute I understood that he knew I was in a gang and still wanted to be friends with me, I should've cut off the relationship right there. Then again, that was like a couple of days ago. The guy sure does know how to make a quick move on a girl.

For starters, he apparently stalked me to Washington Park after school and found out that I was responsible for the 'Basement Death Brawl' as the media had labeled it. People had watched a little too much Fight Club and took it to an extreme.

Then there was the fact that Ash's father was the mayor of Chicago. Did he know that Ash was a part of a gang? The mayor spoke highly of ending corruption and putting an end to gang activity. But he was probably another political hypocrite being controlled by a deep-state organization.

I mean, the Reapers did it all the time. Police officers, judges, councilpersons, we had all of them in our pockets. Either way, my interest in the mayor suddenly peaked. And I knew who would have all the details I needed on him.

And I'm not talking about his son. I couldn't trust that traitor. But I needed that traitor to get to the source.

First thing's first, I needed $5,000.

When I got home and put in the code for the security alarm, I was greeted by my mother who was baking. Occasionally, she liked to step into the kitchen to cook and bake from time-to-time. The smell of her delicious cookies fumigated the house.

"Ah, you're home darling. How was your day?" She asked while licking the leftover cookie dough on a spoon. She could be a kid like that sometimes.

"Fine," I said as if I wasn't kidnapped and forced to join another gang. "Just a regular day. Is dad here?"

"He should be finishing up on his project just now. He'll probably be home in an hour." She paused for a second and dropped her spoon as she waltzed towards me. She examined my neck. "Darling, did you get bitten by a mosquito?"

My mom noticed tiny details like that. I was glad I put on a long-sleeve shirt on the bus ride over here. Otherwise, she'd probably pick out the false skin too grafted onto my tattoo.

"Something like that," I said trying to shoo away her hand. "I'm going to go wash up. It's been a long day."

As I made my way up to the bathroom, multiple routes veered off in my mind as to how I could acquire the money for the Locusts. Option one, I steal it. It wouldn't be hard to do so, but I had to be careful. My mom would notice $5,000 missing and although my dad may not be so meticulous, he will have security cameras covering the safe where he keeps his cash.

Option 2, I wait on the allowance from the Casey contract. As kids, we get a 10% cut of the money. And while that seems like we're authors being scammed, the money goes towards the equipment we use on contracts, the training exercises, our elite schooling, and the personnel that keeps our estate running. Meanwhile, our parents encourage, and by that I mean force us, to save a majority of our cut in a college savings account because private universities were still expensive. And God forbid we go to a public university. That's where all the poor people go. My parents wouldn't have allowed that.

And when I checked my bank account, I saw that I was $3,231 short. The payment for the Casey contract didn't come through on my end yet. Of course, I had thousands saved up in the college account, but I'm forbidden to even look at that account until I'm 18. Once I mistakenly pulled out $5 to buy some chocolate at a school fundraiser and my parents found out. I was barred from an allowance for a month. Imagine if I withdrew $3,231. I'd be forced to tutor my younger cousins on how to kill, and I was not about to go into teaching little spoiled brats how to kill.

No, the only way to get these funds was through option three, ask a family member to spot me. I could do this through one of three ways. One, I ask Lay to spot me. However, the last time I asked her to spot me she made me take her least desirable contracts while giving me handicaps to teach me a lesson about interest and borrowing. Not sure how murdering someone with a spoon was a proper lesson to borrow less, but in either case it was torture for both me and the victim.

Two, I ask my mom. However, she would grill me until she uncovered the exact reason why I needed the money and would want a receipt for whatever it is I used it for. You try asking for a receipt from a guy selling M&M's on the train. It's impossible; and I doubt the Locusts will write me one either.

Three, I ask my dad. As the youngest daughter to a dad, it's mandatory for dads to spoil their little girl with gifts. Money was no exception. But a sum of over $3,000 will get my dad wondering who I owed such a large sum of money to. He'd probably investigate, find out, and convince the people I owe the money to that they should forget about the debt. I still get free burgers whenever I walk into my local McDonald's because of that one time I asked my dad to spot me a twenty for some nuggets and he thought I was being blackmailed $20,000 by the owner so he had a nice little "chat" with him.

A fourth option would've been my oldest brother, but he was away on some international mission and couldn't be contacted easily.

In solidarity with my contract victims, I chose option three.

Surprisingly, my father did not question me about the large sum of money when I asked him about it in his study when he got home. He was, however, interested in the Royden branding center, and wondered if I finished the job.

Now, as much as I hate to admit it, my father was not dumb. He was a master at deception. He was an assassin who raised a family of assassins. He knew whenever someone was lying, even if it was a little white lie. Concealing facts from him was difficult. The only way to do so was by simply avoiding him altogether, which wasn't an option now.

My father turned around in his black leather chair and bent over to scan his fingerprints and punched in the code to open up his money safe. He pulled out a couple of large bills from the pile, and it looked like it hardly made a dent to it. He sealed it shut and slowly started to count the money in front of me.

"So, no one was there?"

"Not at the address you sent me," I said, omitting some valuable information.

"Interesting," my father tugged at his chin. "But I doubt you gave up right then and there. I'm sure your mother and I didn't raise a quitter."

He was onto me. "I looked around and couldn't find anyone in the abandoned factory."

My father was mouthing out the amount of money he was counting. "$4,800, $4,900, $5,000. This is the true amount you needed, correct."

I told you he was good.

"How did you..."

He sat back in his chair and smiled. "Za-Za, when you come asking for $3,231, naturally my mind will start investigating. I noticed you had $1,769 in your account already, and $3,231 was an oddly specific amount that added up to $5,000. Now, why would my daughter need $5,000 out of a blue when she already has everything she could ever want at home? And what person or organization would require such an amount from my daughter?"

My father started to fan himself with the money as if it started to suddenly get warm in here.

"I hate you," I sighed crossing my arms. My father smiled and I rolled my eyes. "Fine, I need it as a down payment to join the Locusts."

I rolled up my sleeves and ripped off the skin exposing the fresh tattoo that still left that area of my arm red from the procedure. I prepared myself for my father's eyes to jump out of his sockets, to threaten to talk my ears off with a long speech about how I was crazy to join the enemy's side.

Instead he reached for a dagger beneath his desk and my heart started pounding. I needed to get talking fast or else I'll have a new scar across my face.

"Wait, before you cut me it's all a part of my plan," I talked as fast as I could. "I'm trying to infiltrate the gang, gain information, so that we can destroy them from within. It's the only way to see them done for good."

My father reached into another drawer. I heard metal clashing. Oh God, what weapon was he planning to take out next?

He pulled out a ceramic plate. My mind raced to John the Baptist for some reason. Was he planning to cut my head off and serve it on a plate to the Locusts for corrupting me? No, he wouldn't do that to his beloved daughter.

Then he pulled out a second object that was green, round, and glistening.

It was a granny-smith apple.

He used the dagger and started cutting off slices from the apple and eating it. My heart probably imploded inside me.

"Sorry Za-Za, that last branding center was a hassle. I couldn't wait for supper before snacking on this. Please, continue."

I thought I was dreaming. Was my father buying into this? Then again, why not. This was an excellent plan, and I was the right age to conduct such a mission.

"I've started the initiation process."

"But," he said scratching his hair with the dagger's blade. "I thought there was no branding center at the location?"

"There was," I admitted looking off towards his bookshelf on the side of his room stacked with volumes of military manuals, biographies of famous assassins, and even strange manga and comic books that dealt with assassins. "They had it underground."

My father took another bite of his apple and swallowed. "Interesting. So now, you're on the path to becoming a Locusts' member?"

"Yes," I turned back to the portrait of the farm behind my father's desk. It was a memento that reminded him of his roots. Beneath it hung a scythe with a diamond blade and a golden handle. "The first stage of eight. I have to acquire $5,000 within 24 hours and pay it to the Locusts' fund."

My father tapped his chin with the blade of his knife, somehow managing not to prick himself. "That'd explain the many robberies of rich folks down in the Loop after midnight." My father sat up in his chair. "So this $5,000 will go plump up the pockets of my sworn enemies. Then what?"

"I don't know," I said with complete honesty. They didn't explain what the eight stages were, and even when I tried getting it out of Ashton on the way to the bus station, he wouldn't tell me.

My father threw down the money on his desk. "Za-Za, I wish you had consulted with me first before making such a rash decision."

I pretty much had no choice, I thought to myself.

"However, it is a brilliant plan if we execute this well." He stood up from his desk and walked around to my side slowly, savoring each step.

"The information we can gain on the strongest Locusts' hive will be extremely beneficial to taking them down and paving the way for the Reapers to be the sole group in possession of power in this city."

He knelt down by my chair and kissed me on my forehead, scuffling his mustache across my head and tickling me with it. "If all goes well Za-Za, you'll become the successor to the RC in no time. But please, stay safe, and let's keep this little side project of yours between you and me. We don't want to worry mommy."

He stood up and opened the door of his study. "I will lighten your contract load from here on out. Your main focus will be on this project. Now, let's get ready for dinner."

I grabbed the money off of his desk and made my way out of the study with him, wondering if I really did want this plan to succeed, because I had no intention of becoming the successor to the RC at any point in my life.