010 - From the ashes

The intruder sensed the change in attitude and hurriedly bowed:

"Thank you for the advice, sir. I will keep it in mind. Please, take care."

No matter the supervisory role of the "Inspection", only when people like Daemon went overboard would they have any power over them. But before that, they could only give them the deepest respect for everything they had sacrificed for the country. Not everyone had what it would take to survive the dive into the dark depths symbolized by the "D" of "D Section".

When Daemon was alone once again, he looked at what he had in hand.

It was a foldable badge with a hard cover covered by black colored leather. The badge seemed nondescript, but for those in the know, it commanded respect. It was a symbol of recognition, status and identity.

And beside those points, the most terrifying aspect of the small object was the immunity it granted to its owner, so long as the latter didn't betray the country, nor do anything that would jeopardize its security. Immunity, and the right to kill.

A terrifying little thing indeed. A terrifying little thing that couldn't be given to just anyone.

There was nothing to identify its owner inside. Just the symbol of the country on the left side, inside, while the right side sported a string of numbers following some letters, and a barcode beside a phone number that seemed peculiar.

After scrutinizing the thing for a while, Daemon threw it on his bed with disinterest.

What that thing could do was only extend the privileges he had been enjoying before leaving his job for retirement, so it was nothing new that required him to be excited over.

Actually, that was not something to give to someone it could excite. It was quite logical, but also paradoxical, that only those who would feel disinterested by the privilege could be awarded that thing without making the country lose its peace of mind.

He shook his head. If that had been where his ambition resided, he wouldn't have retired.

Soon, the new day started for the people of the city, and Daemon cleaned himself before wearing the clothes that had been placed in the wardrobe.

He left the room and went through the procedures to leave the hospital. At the counter, after his file had been checked, he was given drugs prepared for him.

"These are antibiotics that you will need to keep taking for a while to prevent any possible complications, and this one is for the occasional bouts of pain."

"Thanks."

"Don't forget to come back for regular check ups."

"Alright."

After that simple conversation, he left behind the nurses who sighed at his ruined face before continuing their work.

Without anything else to do, Daemon left the hospital, and stopped at the entrance. He looked at the painkilling drug as he remembered the first day of training after his recruitment.

_ _ _

_ _ _

Six years ago, in an undisclosed location.

The well groomed middle aged man who was informed when Daemon woke up, Henry James, stood before a crowd of young people in their early twenties.

Instead of a suit, he was wearing a camo outfit, looking less composed and more iron blooded. He gave the feeling of a man-eating tiger as he spoke in a grave voice:

"From now on, you have no identity. From this moment, you cease to exist for the outside world. I will break you and rebuild you into the sharpest weapons and the sturdiest rampart for the country. Pain will be the only constant during your time here, as I will grind any weakness out of you. From now on, either you succeed, or you die."

A younger Daemon was among the crowd of twenty years old young men and women standing in front of the man, with their hands crossed behind their ramrod straight back.

They all sported serious and dedicated expressions, with chin up, chest out and gaze forward, unflinching even when faced with the promise of suffering and death, oozing the pride of the elite.

A true crowd of elites indeed.

_ _ _

_ _ _

After throwing the painkiller to the trash, Daemon stood by the roadside with a vacant look. He didn't know where to go, and he had not really made any plan. Even his resignation had been a spur of the moment thing motivated by disappointment.

He was an orphan, one of the criteria for the place he spent the last six years in. Only people like him would have the least attachments outside that could become a liability. Hence, with no family to go to, he had to decide what to do.

He looked around and spotted an ATM. It was normal, as with the hospital at the side, many would need to withdraw money to pay for the expenses.

He went there and put his credit card inside to check the amount he had.

When he got the result, he showed no surprise. He was not rich, but the amount was more than most would be able to save in their life, and that was enough to live the rest of his life, though without extravagance.

Still, he didn't show any joy. His comrades and him had decided before that if any of them was to die, the money they had would be shared among the rest, as they had no one else to give it to. And now he was the sole survivor.

He unclenched his fist and withdrew only one hundred dollars.

Going back to the side of the road, he called a cab.

"Where to?"

"Take me to a hotel."

"Alright, mate."

The taxi driver didn't seem fazed by his face, but with a bit of thought, it was normal. With a hospital at the side, why be surprised when the passenger seemed sick or wounded. There was a low chance that he was a criminal since it was not an alley in a dark night.

After ten minutes, Daemon got down from the car after paying the fare, and entered into the lobby of the hotel.

It was not the best, but it was not the worst either. Here, his face attracted attention, but there were not many people around, and he didn't care.

"Welcome, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

"No, just give me something clean and spacious. With a good view."

"Alright, sir."

The process was fast, and soon, he found himself in a clean room like he asked for, at least as clean as a room of the kind could be. But he had seen worse, so he didn't make a fuss, and went to check the window after checking the room. After all, habits die hard, and he didn't feel like killing the habits that had allowed him to survive the last few years either.