I grew up with no games.

While other children searched for the best spot for hide-and-seek, I learned how to track criminals. Simulation battle tests were the closest I had to games. When others went to school and studied how to survive, I studied how to kill. Fun did not exist in our bible. We're not supposed to feel envy. After all, I was told that I had a higher purpose among the ignorants.

So I didn't know how to play games. Adam Orleonne did, and he wanted to play with me. "Asshole."

"Vy znayete, my ne pozvolili zdes'." (You know we're not allowed here.)

Eve4 interrupted my little 'me time'.

"Going out?"

She was already in her combat suit. "As usual, clean up duties."

"Protocol says one must not reveal any mission even to other Eves."

"Same to you and your usual visits up here."

"Nobody would know if you keep your mouth shut."

Behind us was the blinding signboard of Noble's Palace, a casino hotel at the center of Las Vegas. A front, of course. The highest floors were used as the Commission's main headquarters. And the floors below the basement were for the Ad Hoc Agency. Agents and parts of the Agency weren't allowed to go up unless given permission, which never happened. Our existence was top secret; even some Commission members didn't know we existed.

"I find it fascinating," she said. "We can talk in different languages but still understand each other."

"Because we are trained to."

"But, I am most comfortable in Russian."

In a few instances that we had talked, she too had her doubts. The lights highlighted her aristocratic jaw, with features looking like a feline if ever it took a human form. She's one of the tallest among the ten Eves, and most nosy of all.

Though our instances of casual communication, friendship was out of the question. Attachment was unnecessary in our line of work. If one Eve dies, she would be replaced. No tear should be shed; we were taught not to.

"Does this mean I'm Russian? I look like the part."

"Curiosity will get you in trouble," I warned.

"Says someone who comes to the rooftop even if it's against the rules."

"At least that's the only rule I broke," I lied.

"As expected, it's a big bore talking to you, Eve5."

"And you are as nosy as usual."

"Hey, respect me. I'm ranked higher than you." She crossed her arms in fake contempt.

"If you die on a mission, I'll be Eve4," I bit back.

"Bitch." She made her signature smirk that lower-numbered Eves hated. "Savage comebacks as always."

I didn't know why she found my answer humorous. I was not even joking.

"Well, I won't die yet, I assure you," she said, preparing herself to go. "You'd be ranked 5th for a while."

She faced the east. "Do svidaniya (Goodbye), Eve5." Then she blended into the night.

I also disappeared next. If I were to play with fire, it would be dangerous to get burned. A good player should know the opponent, and I knew the perfect place.

—————

Relevant people were not the only ones with an office. Some were at the bottom of the food chain— running things underground, like The Triangle, somewhat similar to the Agency. We were working in the shadows, so were they, providing services for the good, the bad, and even those whose purposes are questionable, like me.

It was said to be owned by what they call Anon, from the word Anonymous, who had been reigning in the intel business for two decades now. As their name suggested, nobody knew their real identity. Some said it's not one person but a group of ex-Mafioso's who went rogue and sold intel as a business or expert hackers. Some said they were retired special forces officers from different countries. A recent buzz said she's a woman. Whoever or whatever, Anon's identity wouldn't be divulged that easily.

It's not a farfetched statement that The Triangle was the most special in the city. Even the Commission left them off their radar, or at least they say. The Triangle was no mafia, after all. Behind the bright lights and loud music, they offered specialized services for special guests.

The Commission would never destroy the things they need. And they required Anon's services, a faceless identity who made a fortune selling and researching information. Pricey correct information that couldn't be found on public records.

I bypassed the line, ignored the annoyed waiting patrons, and whispered to the bouncer for the code. "I'm here for the call."

Another man with him led me to the back of the establishment. We passed by figures lurking in the shadows as guards that protected the building.

"Guest," he said to the man peeping on the hole from the inside. It was part of a coded conversation, to prevent wiretap recordings if ever.

Despite being a regular, they never slipped their tight watch. I surrendered my gun and knives. They also scanned and searched me for any weapons. Cleared, I was brought up to the winding halls of a VIP room. It was small, twice the size of a public phone booth, with a single couch and a table. The walls were made up of dark glass. There was an old telephone at the center of a small table.

I was all too familiar with the method. I came here for information about my past, all unanswered every time, a rare occurrence for Anon.

The phone rang after a few minutes.

[Language?] an electrically distorted voice asked.

"English."

[And what alias may I call you, dear guest?]

"This time, you suggest."

[Let's call you Rose, after my favorite flower, yet your hair has a lovelier shade.]

It's not a surprise. CCTVs were strategically placed to cover every angle. Not a sound from the outside could be heard and vice versa.

[How may I of service, Rose?]

"Tell me anything about Peter Adam Charleswin. Member of the Southern Mafia."

As usual, the call ended temporarily. Whoever the person on the other end was working his magic, maybe browsing through files, memory, and databases, any kind of source to give me what I want.

The phone rang, and I was told of the things that I already knew. Even the time Adam Orleonne was last seen in Beaumondville City.

"I already know all of that."

[He was initially named Peter Adam Charleswin. Did you also know he is a son of Arthur Orleonne? That's why he renamed himself Adam Orleonne, using his father's name to rebuild the mafia as the rumors say.]

"I do. How did you know that?"

[Anon knows everything, Rose.]

"Not everything," I corrected, referring to my past.

[Touché. Do you have other inquiries?]

"Yes." I placed the photo from the Red Light District. "This is me. Can you tell me anything about this picture?"

[No,] he answered quickly. [Anon couldn't find any clues. No dates. And if there is, they are removed on purpose.]

Damn that man. Adam Orleonne knew how to play. My only lead so far ended. "Understood." I returned it to my jacket.

[As always, you don't need to pay for my services as my intel were of no help.]

Lifeless, I replied with the intent of sarcasm. "Gee, thanks."

[I value my guests. Loyalty, Rose, loyalty. This meeting will be forgotten. Your identity will be kept secret as all my other guests. Come back with another question. I might give a proper answer and be paid.]

Then, the call ended.

I was led out, my weapons returned, and I left the building in the dark. I walked faster, so did the figure meters away from me, who had been following a block ago. I turned another block, grabbed him when he followed and slammed against a wall.

"Oh my god, chill!" said a feminine voice, hands raised in surrender.

A passing car's headlights revealed a woman's face in a pink trench coat and black stockings. Her shoulder-length black hair was straight, with full bangs that made her face smaller than it already was. Her grey eyes were partially annoyed, not bothered by the threat. It was a familiar face, now all grown up.

"Can you like... move back a little? I swear I won't do anything funny. We're too close, and your arms are hurting my boobs."

I gave her a little space without lowering my guard.

Slowly and cautiously, she bent down to pick up her purse and another fallen fruit. She wiped it clean and offered. "Do you like apples?"

"No, thanks."

She dismissed my curt tone and bit it. "Seriously... the quality of apples here is top-notch," she said in between chews. "Maybe it has something to do with the weather."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I pushed her back on the wall. She isn't just anybody to casually strike a conversation.

"Geez, fine!" She let the apple fall, rolled to a puddle on our left. "I'm here to ask where Pete is. I mean Adam... whatever. That prick calls himself Adam now. As if it makes any difference."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't be here if I knew where he is, am I? You're the last person he talked to. So, any idea?"

"Do I look like a lost and found center to you?"

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath and stomped her feet. "After I chased him in Beaumondville, he just left me with those idiots. I'm not a kid anymore. He's dead if Zak—" She stopped herself before he could say more. "You don't know, Zakie, right?"

"I do."

"Oh..." She nodded guiltily. "Oops then." She made a not so subtle step on her right. "So... I couldn't get anything from you, gotta leave now."

As if she could saunter away just like that. I cornered her with my arms. Lilo Orleonne was crazy. Annoying. And again, really crazy. Despite the dangers and the long years of headhunting towards them, she followed me and casually struck a conversation. Is she even for real?

She sighed. "Let me guess; you're gonna use me as a hostage to lure Adam out."

"You're siblings. He'll come for you."

"We don't like each other. That maggot will probably throw a party if I die. And the same goes for me. One more thing..." She smiled, and it's nowhere innocent. "...You're harmless."

Excuse me?

"You made a deal with him, right? You'll be wrapped around his fingers soon."

Never mind her prediction, as if it would happen. "How did you know about his offer?"

"I was there. I was the one who shot you."

"You little—!" I couldn't finish. The familiar stinging pain pierced through my stomach. It was too late to realize she was holding a tiny needle gun, probably hidden on her long coat sleeves.

"It's a lighter formula this time."

I couldn't pull the trigger. I was already on the floor. My body jerked in rhythm to the music of vehicles and the city noise. In my blurring vision, the pink shade was casually walking away from me.

Not this again, I thought then darkness.

I woke up shivering in the cold early morning. My phone vibrated from a call.

[Eve5, be here at 0700hours. Case: Alpha.] Then it ended.

It was a summon from the Agency. Case Alpha is the code for the highest summon priority, calling all Eves.

Ten fatal women in the same room, what could happen?

—————

"You're late." Of course, Eve4 was always ready to strike a conversation, friendly or not. Unfortunately, only the seat next to her was available.

"You're noisy."

"At least I'm early."

I took my place and waited quietly like the others. Eve4 broke the silence with her faint whistling.

"Hello, ladies..." Eve1 entered and walked to the front. Just like us, she was in her suit, vest, and boots, ready for action. She's tall, blond, and had the bluest eyes. She's been ranked first as long as I could remember, and definitely for a reason.

Her briefing at the meeting means that whatever we were about to do was a joint mission, ten of us.

"This came in." The big screen lit up. "The system caught her face on camera within the city."

It was a picture of Lilo Orleonne, walking casually on the street of Las Vegas. One picture even showed her looking at the CCTV, biting her god damn apple with a smile, the other hand raised the middle finger, a very bold way to say 'F-ck you'.

Discreetly, I relieved a sigh. No picture of us together was taken.

"You all know who she is. Lilo Orleonne, appearing now after three years."

Surely, everyone in the room was pissed, including me. Orleonnes sure know how to mock people. They're on a fine line between daredevils and suicidal.

"I was pulled out from my mission in Paris, for... this?" Eve2 grumbled. "All for a cocky teenage brat?"

Eve10 said otherwise. "Well, I'm thankful." She's the latest addition, for about a year, a replacement for another dead Eve. "I'd chase a brat over spying a politician—suspected mafioso—humping women as young as his granddaughter."

"Missions are confidential, sharing intel isn't allowed," Eve1 said disapprovingly.

"As ranked 10th, what do you expect?" Eve7 taunted.

"What did you say?"

Eve4, saw it as an opportunity to see something fun. "She said, you're ranked last that's why easy and terrible missions go to you, the weakest." She even shook her head in pity. "Mean, isn't she?"

And so a catfight began between Eve7 and Eve10, a common occurrence every meeting. Maybe, in whatever line of work, women are still women. Deep down, we have our inner bitch, unleashed from time to time. It's instinct.

A man walked in before Eve1 could step in—no other than Darius Larking with the second-in-command, Terra Ebony.

There was no need to be told; we all dispersed ourselves and stood. Terra approached Eve7 and Eve10 for a twin slap. Obviously, it hurted like hell. She never slapped like a girl. She didn't even look like one.

Feminine as her name, it's the opposite of who she is—a bulky, tanned figure in a soldier's cut, clothed every day like it's war. She's a reminder that Darius Larking wasn't the only one to be feared of.

"No father would like his daughters to fight among each other," Darius said, with no warmth in his words. Only in a black suit, he came as he was. No jewelry, hint of perfume, badges of accomplishment, nor humanity was left in him.

"I'm here to send you off personally. Capture the target alive. We can obtain valuable information from her. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, he just left. Terra followed him after a warning glare.

"You heard him," Eve1 said. "Let's move, ladies. Target shouldn't escape the city."

We were assigned by pairs on the different parts of the urban, moving separately from the Commission. To not alarm the public, we wore long casual coats to blend in.

"This is a good bonding, girl time, don't you think?"

And for some annoying chance, I was paired with Eve4.

"I don't have to work alone," she added.

I did my job, scouring through the crowd looking for the target. Eve4 had another idea. She stuck to me all this time, initiating a conversation from time to time while I told her to do her job.

After half an hour of helpless search, we ended at the train station, when we received a call. As the higher-ranked, Eve4 answered it.

"Understood," she said after a long silence and ended the call. "This is going to be fun." Her grin stretched wider, hands on her pocket. "Change of target." She scanned the crowd.

"Who?" I asked, following her gaze.

She then aimed at my face.

"You."