“In position and awaiting orders, Sir.”

The man in the receiving end of the transmitter paused for a moment, straightening his already immaculate tunic before replying: “Flush him out.”

Transmission over, he slipped the device into his belt and sheathed his sword with a hiss like an angry snake. Face devoid of anything even resembling emotion, he walked slowly to face the door of the house they surrounded, so that he would be the first – and only – thing the fugitive would see when he burst from the exit, flushed out by the man’s soldiers.

The man was an operative. He had no name, no family and no past. Best of the best, he was one of the Alliance’s best-kept secrets. He was assigned to hunt down high-profile escaped prisoners, enemy spies and traitors to the Alliance. The names and offences differed, but they all had two things in common. They had all angered the Alliance, and they had all met their deaths at the hands of an Operative.

This offender was no different. He had supposedly been passing valuable information regarding the Alliance to the fast growing group of rebels who called themselves the Independents. What exactly the information concerned, the Operative did not know. All the Alliance had told him was where Derrial Cobalt could be found, and that he had to die.

A shadow of a frown flickered across the Operative’s face. It should not be taking this long. He raised his hand slightly in a signal and a young soldier hastened to his side.

He was a new member of the Elite Guard, and understandably nervous. Every Operative had an Elite Guard under their command: a crack team of a hundred or so soldiers, aiding and protecting their Operative. It was a dangerous and select job. Few ever made it into the Guard, and even fewer survived to a retirement age.

“Where. Is. He?” the Operative hissed, his face mere inches from the soldier’s.

Elite Soldier No# 767932K fidgeted, more out of fear of his commander than a need to keep warm in the chilly, pre-dawn air. Like the Operative, he no longer had a nam