I need a drink.

The problem is that I mean it literally. I need it, and it's becoming a problem.

I know. All agents drink. Or, at least, that's what people seem to think. People who watch stupid James Bond movies to excess. I gave Skyfall a try, just to see who I am compared to all the time because I got the style, the moves, and the vibe.

Hell no. I hope it's a misunderstanding. Dude was hopeless. Being constantly drunk was only the beginning of his problems. He also died twenty times. I counted to twenty, and then I gave up. You can't die twenty times, right? One is more than enough, and that would have happened before the opening credits if the script bore any resemblance to reality.

That's where it should have ended. That'd be a great movie. Short and honest.

Shaken, not stirred, my ass.

The problem is that I'd gladly take a martini at the moment, no matter how much I hate it. And the same goes for rum, absinthe, cotton candy-flavored vodka, and snake wine. I'm still not desperate enough for aftershaves, though.

I need to stop.

The small platinum medal in my hand helps me focus. It's my most precious possession. A simple, austere decoration of honor that wasn't even received by me, yet it's the only material item I'm attached to. I turn it around to read the engraved words for the zillionth time.

~ Codename: Gabriel ~

~ Active service 2013-2016 ~

~ Never lost a man in action ~

Truth. She was the most successful tactical controller in human history. Or, if there's life on Mars, in the whole galaxy. No one could possibly beat that record, ever. Not losing a man in three years is a miracle, no more, no less.

I was a witness to that miracle. The words on the medal, thinking logically, can't be true. Yet, they are.

They gave it to me after she died. Maybe not a hundred percent willingly, because I had to steal it, but it was quite self-explanatory that it belonged to me. I'm sure that's what Gabriel would have wanted.

I'm also quite sure she wouldn't want me to have a drink right now. So I won't have one.

This piece of metal is the only thing she left behind. And the memory of a few words that shielded us from death time and again. I am the voice in the darkness. I'd give anything to hear it just once more.

After she died, of course, I tried to find the place where she was buried. I also wanted to know more about her, and I left no stone unturned, but found nothing.

Well, that's not entirely true. During my investigation of Gabriel's true identity, I discovered another person's true identity.

Sadly, it was the big boss of the Agency. The widely dreaded Mr. Toe.

My unexpected intelligence-gathering breakthrough nearly got me killed. No one knew his face before. But I was grief-stricken, and desperation made me break all the rules in the most reckless way possible.

Mr. Toe, of course, didn't take it lightly. But, in the end, he decided against my liquidation. He made me his secret right-hand man instead, and, slowly but surely, I guess he grew to trust me.

Just thinking about him makes me want to hit the bottle, but I can't. Tomorrow, I'll be facing Mint. And he's not someone you want to meet in anything but your best shape. My only advantage is that he doesn't know I'll be there.

I wish I didn't have to kill him, but I must. I have to kill him, and then, I have to make the identification of his corpse impossible.

He only has himself to blame. He promised me that he would disappear, and yet, here he is, like that batshit crazy son of a bitch in the stupid Bond movie, emerging from the past at the worst moment possible. Except that Mint wasn't even betrayed. I did him good by letting him walk away. And I'm not betraying him now, either. Fuck, if anything, he is betraying me.

He's betraying us all.

But it doesn't matter anymore. I know him.

He'll come alone.