Levi used to think nothing could be worse than working for his dad as an assistant manager of his hardware store. He'd never cared for it at all. His dad just gave the job out of family courtesy. He'd worked for him straight after he'd left rehabilitation. Thinking of a boss worse than his dad had been impossible. Maybe because their relationship had always been rotten as far as he could remember. He never took being ordered around like a servant very well. The CIA had saved him from his life of misery.

But it seemed fate was playing a cruel joke on him. Cleaning after sloppy eaters was the climax. Was this the only job the CIA could place him in? There had to be other ways. He almost cast a dark blue glare on the kid who squirted the whole bottle of catsup on the fast-food restaurant's lively colored floor. "Murdah! Murdah!" the kid who was probably around six or seven screamed over and over, hopping around the blood-looking mess.

Levi went down on his haunches to clean up. He tried giving the boy's mother a clean questioning look.

She gave a skew apologetic grin. "Apparently he's been watching way too many crime movies. I'm so sorry," she said in her cockney lilt.

How he wished he could spew out, "Sure, but learn to restrain your brat." He was surprised that he was actually able to smile and say in kind tone, "It's okay ma'am. It's my job to serve."

"Hmm. You sound American," she mused.

Dang, I was sure I sounded French. He looked up briefly, giving a polite grin. He continued wiping up the bloody-looking mess.

"I have a second-cousin-twice-removed who lives there. He lives in Texas but by your accent, I can tell you don't come from there. I bet it's a beautiful country—but I know we have more class here. Anyway, what brings you to the land you broke up with hundreds of years ago?"

"Work." If he'd say anymore it may make this chatty woman leave a complaint about the service here. He actually felt relief flood him once the colorful flooring was free of "blood."

He felt like he needed some time in the janitor's storage room just for some solace from the noisy all-Brit patrons. He knew full well it as against the rules, yet he knew he would explode into the worst waiter London had ever known if he couldn't hear himself breathe for a while. He'd probably get fired, but who cared? He was put here to snoop some things out, right? Well, after three days of slaving as an employee in this greasy place, he'd found nothing amiss—except that the manager was terribly skinny.

The window-less room possessed the denseness of a variety of smells of different cleaning fluids. To add to its chaotic appearance, a new stock of boxes was haphazardly dressing the floor of the tiny room. To shut the door, he nudged one out of the way with his foot. Surprised by its stubbornness due to its weight, his curiosity was aroused. Something in him revived.

Maybe this is it!

He went over every single box and package; every flap and fold was taped shut. Slicing anything open was out of the question. He'd have to get back to it later. Now he felt like he was working.

...............................................

The MI5 agent silently watched his fellow agent prep up for his late-night expedition. After being a police detective for five years and now an agent for three, he'd come to be able to read humans to some level. The guy's demeanor, his zeal, his emotions all spoke of something in him that pushed him—something that refused to let him go.

"Were you once a military man?" he'd asked Levi at one point.

His deep blue eyes had darkened considerably before he lowered them to his food. "Why?"

The singeing tone of his voice and the different protective emotions that flashed across his features answered a lot. Silence on his part had been his retort. He'd been involved with the law for over ten years. He was very familiar with the emotional scars it left. Sometimes all the bloodshed, violence, and the lives of the colleagues he'd lost would rise up from the mental grave he'd buried them in and haunt his nights. He'd gone for psychological help earlier in his career when sleep eluded him or only brought back to life horrors more vivid.

But at some point in his career, he'd numbed up. A body riddled with bullet holes or pieces of brain and shattered bone scattered all over the scene of an act of suicide could no longer make him flinch. For that, he was grateful—yet other times it rocked his very core with worry.

At thirty-three years of age, he sometimes found himself yearning for a simpler life. What did it feel like not having to constantly watch your back because some criminal who was out there to get revenge? Unbidden thoughts of truly loving would raid his mind at unshielded moments. True, he'd had relationships here and there, but he could never bring himself to be serious. He could die any day. He'd seen it happen enough times. He couldn't do that to her—and the rest—if he'd even dared go down that road. Then again, what if he lost them? He knew he couldn't bear doing that—to himself.

So basically this was his life. He had to wonder what made Stevens take all this stuff head on. He was young and full of passion. He could probably choose something else for himself—if whatever ghost that haunted him would leave him alone. Yet William Thomas knew it wasn't that easy. At some point, the hum of the blood in a man's veins and the battle drum rhyme of his heart became as essential as the air he breathed. And by the looks of it, the man was probably already there. CIA probably had nothing to do with it.

..............................................................

The night had a way of changing familiar places to something unknown. Humanity had quieted down and the street lights illuminated everything directly under them but cast eerie shadows on everything else. The soft patter of the rain deadened out the determined strides of a midnight stroller dressed in dark sweatpants and hoodie pulled over the eyes. He stayed near the shadows, sensitive to every sound around him. He felt no apprehension—he was used to this.

Weaving his way down alleyways, he kept his steps sure and his ears and eyes open. He felt anticipation course through him as he reached his destination. He took a couple of calculated paces back then to the side. Reaching up but keeping his head down, he spray painted the camera lens. He pried open the electricity transformer with his pocket knife. Someone was about to experience a power-outage.

Levi barely made it through the staff room's back window. Satisfied, his feet flat on the ground, he pulled out some "gum" from his pocket. He put on Michael's second-skin gloves, suddenly almost grateful. He didn't want to leave anything that would point to him. He'd even taken care to get a larger shoe size—just in case.

The darkness of the place was almost tangible, but he knew where he was headed—the janitor's storage room. He had a slim laser light that only indicated a wall, door, or some other obstacle ahead.

He could hear the beating of his heart as he went down before the sealed box that probably held a secret ready to be cracked—or in that case, sliced. The blade made almost zero sound as it gracefully separated the tape. He almost trembled as he opened each of the four flaps.

He pulled out his tiny flashlight and scanned the white powdery substance that was securely wrapped in palm-sized clear plastic.

His heart sank a bit in disappointment—it wasn't what he'd hoped. But one thing was for sure—dirty stuff was being run around here.

His sensitive ear catching the sounds of someone else on the premises, he quickly pocketed it and rose to his feet. He felt panic rise in his chest, but he suppressed it, knowing it did no good anyway. He took comfort in that there was no way he could be seen unless whoever was in here shone a light on him or turned on the lights. He was glad he'd memorized his way out, for there was no way he was going to turn on even his laser light.

Whoever was there had made a conscious decision not to make a sound. Maybe they were trying to find him—or maybe someone was there with the some illegal intention. Maybe he'd dare check it out. He made his way back to the staff room and waited—in the corner next to the door.

He couldn't have been more surprised.

The tiny figure almost made a beeline to the window—before Levi seized the little thing and clamped his hand over the mouth ready to send forth a bloodcurdling scream.

Since when did females get so interested in breaking and entering?

The girl twisted and writhed, kicking and flaying her arms. Levi held on with almost no effort—until her teeth dug into his palm. "I'm not going to hurt you." he tried whispering as close to her ear as possible.

However, she stiffened and fought on.

He resorted to a gentle threat. "Look, you scream, and we both get caught or you get caught alone. I won't stick around to get stuck with you. Teens got to face the law harder than those below that age."

He felt her ease up slightly, and he let his hand drop from her mouth—but he didn't let his arm loosen around her shoulders.

"How much are you willing to negotiate?" She whispered the question in her dense cockney lilt.

Levi was taken aback. "Negotiate?"

Author's note:

Okay, I know! It's late AGAIN. But what kinda made me more lazy was the fact that our daytime data finished soooo I couldn't post at midnight because I gotta get up in the morning...even though I'm homeschooled. XD I haven't gotten around to editing either, sorry.

Thanks for understanding...that is if you understand. Anyway, this is my tired mind rambling...

Anyway, thanks for bearing with this chapter. Your honest opinions are totally welcome. 

P.S. How are you all enjoying the characters? (Random. I know.)