Darkness enveloped me as I opened my eyes. Hazy thoughts and fatigue muddled my brain. W-what? Where am I?

Something hard pressed against my back—quite the contrast to lying down on my soft bed, like I should have been—and pain throbbed in my neck.

Ow! I must have slept wrong. I tried to lift my hand to rub the sore spot, but something resisted the motion. Huh? What's going on?

Each jerking movement of my arm made rope dig into my wrists. I attempted to stretch my legs, but my ankles were tethered, too.

That doesn't feel normal. I hope I'm not losing circulation.

I blinked a few times to clear my vision. The thinnest stream of light shone from behind me, enabling me to make out the outline of a desk in front of me. Brick walls surrounded me, and two chairs pressed against either side of the wall. Air escaped my lungs, relieved that no threat was materializing in the darkness. At least, not from the angle I sat at. I didn't know what was behind me—and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

A memory crystalized out of the mental confusion. I had been traveling home last night and had gotten into a cab to take me home. There had been a man in that car, a suspicious-looking man. Something bad must have happened. I could feel it in my gut.

What happened last night in the cab? I searched my memories but had no recollection of going back to my apartment. Did I fall asleep in the cab? No, surely I would have woken up once we arrived at my home. That means that the only other possibility is...

My eyes squeezed shut. This was something straight out from under my bed.

This was my worst nightmare.

I've been kidnapped!

Well, not kidnapped. I'm not a kid, at least not physically. Mentally...that one was debatable.

Why was I kidnapped? Am I about to die? Fear gripped my heart at a worse realization. Or am I already dead, and my soul is in a waiting room before I can go to my eternal destination? I really couldn't be sure of anything at this point. Everything was so weird, so messed up.

I'm not even thirty yet! I don't even have a girlfriend, much less a wife or kids. I haven't reached my midlife crisis, or retired from work and taken up golf as my hobby. How could I be dead?

At a bare minimum, I wished that I could have had some notice. I still needed to update my will. I hope I'm not tied up here for long.

But actually, if I am dead, it isn't as bad as I would have suspected. I mean, being tied to a chair isn't ideal, but at least I didn't have a painful death...

Pain shot through my neck.

Well, almost.

But part of me had a feeling that I was still alive. First, I could feel my heart steadily pumping in my chest, blood rushing through my veins. I doubted that dead people had a pulse. Second, I had a feeling that something far worse was in store for me. Death was too easy, too simple, too painless.

A pattering of leisurely footsteps echoed outside the room, faint with distance. I scanned the room, noting that I could not see any doors.

Is the door behind me?

My neck burned as I twisted it to glimpse what was behind me. Sure enough, there was a door. I sighed. I hated feeling like someone was sneaking up on me. That door is going under my bed, I resolved.

The thought did not comfort me, for the door still stood behind me.

The footsteps grew louder as they came closer. My pulse rose, keeping time with the brisk pace. Whispers hummed outside, followed by the jingling of keys.

A whimper escaped my throat, dissipating into the quiet room. I wasn't sure if I could face whatever was coming down the hall, even though I technically wouldn't see the newcomer right away since the door was behind me.

Deep breaths, Claude. Deep breaths. Everything is going to be fine. Just tell them you're innocent and you won't tell anyone what happened if they just let you go.

That is, if they keep me alive long enough that I can plead for my life.

The door creaked open. Fluorescent light flooded the room from above. My eyes squinted against the sudden brightness. I tugged my hands upward to shield my eyes, but the ropes secured them to the chair.

As white spots cleared from my vision, I could see a dusty-haired man towering over me, staring down at me with beady, steel-blue eyes. I felt paralyzed, unable to blink or swallow.

"I see you've finally come to," he stated. "Long time no see." He clipped each word, like I had offended him.

I gulped. "W-what?"

I looked him up and down. This was the first time I had ever seen him.

The man must have assumed my confusion was over his first statement, for he said, "Yes, you've been out cold for the past hour."

"I-I don't understand. Who are you? What did I do?" My terror shone through every shaky syllable and stammered word.

The man's eyes narrowed to slits. He fixed his attention on something, or someone, behind me.

"What did you do, give him a concussion?" he demanded.

"I didn't try to," a deep voice replied. A shiver ran down my spine. His volume was dangerously quiet.

"Well, no matter," the man with the steely eyes said. "We'll proceed as planned. I'm sure you're used to worse."

I cleared my throat, summoning words from my voice box. "There's been some mistake."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really? How so?"

"I'm not who you think I am," I insisted. My eyes darted around the space, over the white walls and black table in front of me, as panic pulsed in my veins.

I hoped they realized I was innocent, not the person who they were looking for.

"And who do we think you are?"

That was a brain twister. My head hurt as I tried to decipher what he was asking.

"I don't know," I conceded, partially because I didn't understand his question.

"Then how do you know that you're not who we are looking for?"

This was not going as planned.

"Look, sir, I'm just getting back from a business trip to New York," I said. "All I want to do is go home to bed and get some rest."

"You can rest tomorrow. But today, we're going to be needing your assistance."

"What can I possibly assist with? I'm a nobody!"

The man leaned down, squinting at my face. After a moment, he shook his head. "You sure have changed."

"We've never met before!" I cried.

"Not in person..." The man's voice trailed off. He gave me a final, scrutinizing stare before saying, "Right now, you're a nobody. But once, you were one of the most infamous men in America."

Infamous? What? I racked my head for something that I might have possibly done wrong, or of a time that I might have ended up on the news, or for really anything that could possibly warrant the name "infamous."

The worst thing I could think of was the time I burnt toast in my college dorm and the fire alarm had gone off. The fire department had come and everything. They were pretty mad when they discovered that the whole thing was only over a single piece of gluten-free bread. Come to think of it, that event had ended up in the school newspaper...and it was freshman year. How embarrassing!

Without thinking, I blurted out, "You mean that time I burnt toast in college?"

The corners of the man's lips twitched, a twinkle filling his eyes. "No."

And just like that, he was deadpan again, the menace back in his gaze.

"Perhaps we should jog his memory, boss," a cheerful voice suggested.

Oh dear. He just called this man 'boss.' Have I been captured by the mafia?

At least the boss seemed to have a sense of humor. I guess that if things got extreme, I could attempt to joke my way out of harm. It was desperate, but it was worth a try.

"Excellent idea, Parrot."

Parrot? My head whipped to the side. Pain shot through my neck.

"Ah!" I grunted.

My eyes flicked across the brick wall, seeing only two humans—two tough-looking humans, I might add—standing there. It was silly in hindsight, but I actually thought that there was a parrot in the room. Figures. Who would name a parrot 'parrot?'

An even more pressing question came to mind: who would name a human 'parrot?'

I almost asked the boss man this question, but he spoke.

"You may have tried to forget about us, but we never forgot you. In fact, in the past few months, we discovered your new identity as Jordan Bledou...by the way, I'm assuming you want us to call you by an alias, correct? Just to keep your new identity unaffiliated with us." He paused, one eyebrow quirked.

I stirred in the chair, realizing that he was expecting a reply. "No, my real name is fine." It was kind of weird to say since Jordan wasn't my real name.

The Boss' brow wrinkled for a second, but a grin quickly stretched across his lips. "You're still a sly one, Jordan. Trying to keep us on our toes, ay?"

"No, I just want to go home."

He ignored my plea to be released.

"Not so fast. Now, as I was saying, we've been monitoring you just in case we needed you, and that time appears to have arrived. We desperately need your help, more particularly, your skill set. I'm just going to cut to the chase: we need you to pull a job for us."

My pulse quickened. My brain reeled as I tried to process what he had said.

"W-what?"

"Jordan, I understand you have a...delicate past. But our current predicament demands your cooperation. Frankly, you owe us a favor after what we did for you. And why not put your skills to use? You have something we want, and we have something you want."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I forced myself to sound angry—to be angry—since it was the only thing keeping me from a mental breakdown.

"Remember, Jordan, we can easily pull up a plethora of incriminating evidence on you. Just because five years have passed doesn't mean that the evidence expires."

"What evidence? What have I ever done?" I cried. Tears burned in my eyes, threatening to spill down my burning cheeks.

"Don't you remember your glory days? Once, people called you the King of Hackers, the most skilled programmer in all of America. You, single-handedly, robbed over two hundred homes, banks, and businesses. Some were even done in the middle of the day. Our team couldn't even come close to the jobs you used to pull off. But just because you slipped past detection and justice for five years doesn't mean that there isn't evidence to incriminate you. And we posses that evidence and can use anytime we wish."

My jaw went slack. Every muscle in my body went still except for the escalating heartbeat in my chest.

"No use in feigning astonishment, Jordan. We know who you are."

"I'm not Jordan!" I screamed. "I'm Claude Wintsor! I'm a normal, law-abiding American citizen who programs software for a living. I've never broken a law in my life. I've never even gotten a speeding ticket!"

"Must have dreamed up that story while he was unconscious," someone murmured behind me.

"I did not!" I asserted. "I'm telling the truth!"

"I beg to differ, Jordan," the boss said. He flicked his head to the opposite corner of the room. A blond-haired, muscular man, properly a body-builder, lumbered towards him, suitcase in hand. Recognition clicked in my brain. He was the same man from the cab.

The corner of my eye caught on gleaming metal. I inched my sore neck to the right to see the shape of a gun in someone's hand. Nervous energy buzzed in my entire body. Not a gun. Please be anything but a gun.

My suitcase plopped on the ground with a thud. I jumped in my seat. I hope nothing is breakable in there.

"Look at the name tag," the Boss said.

I leaned forward, my eyes zeroing in on black ink scribbles. I gasped. The letters on the tag spelled 'Jordan Bledou.'

I wanted to facepalm. I mustn't have checked the luggage tag when I picked it up and ended up with the wrong bag.

"That's not my bag," I whimpered.

"Sure it isn't," the body-builder said, shoving his shaggy hair out of his face.

"It isn't! I didn't check the name tag!"

Judging by the smirks on the faces of the boss and body-builder, I knew it was a lost cause. They wouldn't believe me.

"I can understand the luggage mix-up," the boss admitted. "But your face is the very image of Jordan Bledou. There's no mistaking it. Same hair, same build, same height, same face. There's no mistake. Understand?"

I nodded, more of a convulsion of fear than in agreement. The world around me had turned to nightmares, the kind that were locked safely in a realm under my bed. Terror overwhelmed me as I considered what jobs I'd have to pull. What could they possibly need my skills for? Worse yet, what would happen if, or when, I got caught?

But they somehow had incriminating evidence against me. If I didn't do as they said, I would still go to jail. My only shot at freedom was helping them.

I exhaled slowly. "What do you need me to do?"

The man's grin widened in the most sinister, terrifying way, revealing bone-white teeth. "I knew we'd reach these negotiations."

"I'm not negotiating!" I cried as tears streaked my cheeks. "I want to go home!"

"And you can go home," he said innocently. "All you have to do is lend us your tech skills for a day, and then we'll let you go."

Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds. Maybe it's not illegal stuff.

I had tech skills. After all, I was a programmer. So theoretically, even if I wasn't this Jordan guy, maybe I could help them. It seemed like the only way to get home.

"What sort of 'job?'"

"It's one big job, with a few subparts," the man explained.

"Such as..."

"Such as hacking databases and security systems, programming a car, ect., nothing you're not used to."

"N-nothing I'm not used to?" I sputtered.

"Look, this really won't work well if you keep fighting us on your true identity. Now quit flapping your gums so I can tell you the details." I bit my lip. Warning sirens flashed in my brain, but I didn't speak.

"Good. Now here's the deal. If you want to get out of here, you're going to have to do exactly what we say for the next twenty-four hours. We tell you what to hack, you hack it. We tell you what to program, you program it. There are no negotiations. We're on a tight schedule. You get three strikes. Every time you don't cooperate, we give you a strike."

I gulped. "And when I get to three?"

"You don't want to know."

That was a good enough answer for me. At least, it was good enough to make me never want to get a strike.

"We have six tasks for you. Most of them will take place in different cities. I'll reveal each task when it is time to do them. You can not make any queries about details we don't provide you with as some information we are not permitted to reveal. I'm sure you understand that, right?"

"S-sure," I stammered.

I hated this so much. I don't know what I wouldn't have given to escape that chair, ropes, and gun—to get away from the mob boss. But that would not happen.

"Now remember, you only have twenty-four hours to complete all the tasks. Given your skills, I have complete faith that you will complete the job. And if you don't..."

The gun clicked behind me.

My head went reeling. It seemed like a monumental task to accomplish in such a short amount of time. How could I possibly finish in twenty-four hours?

But I had to do everything they said within the time they set. My life depended on it.

I closed my eyes, inhaling. "Okay. I-I'll do it. Just one thing: can I get an hour to rest before my twenty-four hours' start."

The boss shook his head. "No can do, Jordan."

My shoulders slumped forward in the chair as if a burden were thrust upon them.

"Why?" I sighed.

"Your time has already begun."