Helloo  wonderful readers of the Wattpad world!! :D

This is the final installment of the short. *wheeee~*  Finally.

So what are you waiting for?? Read on! 

P.S. No gore in this last chapter. We've had enough of that. For now. *wink*

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In a dingy motel room thirty miles out from the city, I sat at the cheap plastic table shoved into the corner of the cell, carefully working on my newest piece of artwork. The table and the rickety chair I'd planted my ass on were one of the few pieces of furniture decorating this shithole. A single bed with a mattress which felt like hard rocks and an old AM radio were about the only other things.

The black leather pouch I'd flipped aside just moments ago began vibrating. The device I slipped out from its folds was a half inch thick rectangle with rounded edges, no bigger than the palm of my hand. To the untrained eye, it looked like any ordinary block of black glass. 

I'd been expecting a call.

"Code - Gold Eagle." 

Voice recognition was the key. There was a low whir and hum of mechanics starting up as the homescreen revealed itself, luminescent, on one side of the flat plane. I tapped the blinking green indicator that lit up near the bottom of the screen. 

" 'ow are you, my dear knight? I eez supposing you are doing well?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, ze blonde...she was your doing? ...and ze leetle baby?"

"Oui."

"Hmm...étonnant ...and 'oo was she? Why eez it zat you were wanting to keel 'er? You know zat we do not spill unnecessary blood..."

"She is not important, not anymore anyway. I just decided it would be better if there were no loose ends..."

"Eh bien donc...you 'ave ensured zat your tracks are covered? I do not want ze grand police dogs sniffing around...though of course I would not be found out. Eef zey do get on your trail...you know what to do, n'est-ce pas?"

"I understand. Do not worry, everything is taken care of."

The person on the other end hung up and the line went dead before the usual incessant beeping came on.

I deactivated the Pod and slipped it back into the pouch. Fun fact - all Pods were bio-tagged to a microchip embedded just below the heart of their owners. If a heart ever flatlined, the chip and its linked Pod would be triggered to self-destruct beyond any chance of reconstruction.

Kicking back in my chair and resting my feet on the table I stared absent-mindedly at the blank wall in front of me as my mind wandered painstakingly down the cold, dark alleyway of bittersweet memories, reliving the past.

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Coming from where I had, being recruited into the Dark Circle was the best thing one could hope for. A privilege even, and more so at the unbelievably young age of 15.

Times were tough and living in a cardboard box on the street meant getting your sorry ass kicked on a daily basis. My parents were long dead and gone. The bloody orphanage was crap so I took my leave before dawn, unnoticed, the morning after that darned tree flattened the life out of them both and the explosion blew them and the car to bits. No one gave a damn. My uncle had decided he had one too many mouths to feed.

Then I met Jon. He was about two years older than me. Told me I could get food, lodging and clean water as long as I did a few errands now and again for his brother, who was 10 years older than him. Best deal I could get, so I took it.

I was a glorified delivery-boy of sorts. Me and a few others around my age. There was even a girl.

I would receive my orders in the form of anonymous scraps telling me to pick up parcels of various shapes and sizes from secluded places then leave it at a certain designated spot. I never saw who left the plain brown packages or who picked them up after. Never questioned. Did what I had to do and kept my mouth shut. 

A "pay packet" would came after each delivery. I never splashed out and got flashy things like the others did. Preferred to stash away most of it below a loose floorboard under my bunkbed (I slept on the lower bunk and no one ever found out bout the cash I hid).

One fine day, I got caught on a delivery. I'd been in the business for almost two years. Living with the hounds as I did, we all learnt to fight. You're weak, you're a goner.  So I was relatively well prepared. Before the masked man could even blink, his gun switched hands and I had him out cold within half a minute. He shouldn't have underestimated the scrawny kid. 

Jon's brother saw me and was suitably impressed so he took me under his wing. Then the real training started. Jon and the rest got jealous but I took care of myself and they couldn't lay a stinking finger on me even if they wanted to.

After more than three grueling years, I was taken to oath, received my Pod and was accepted into the inner circle of forces. They had a network running across different continents with men and women in various occupation fields according to individual intellectual skills. And I? I harnessed medical expertise. The cash I stored up over the years sure came in handy.

Once of age, we left the quarters and head to wherever they needed us to be. Called to service whenever required. I still don't know who the great mastermind behind it all is. Sure, I hear his voice and know that he sounds French but that is as far as I can get. No, I have not been tempted to dig for more information. After all, this was the man who kept me fed and clothed most of my life. He deserved to keep his privacy and had my respect.

We live almost normal lives. Except one requirement compulsory for all Knights - completely zero connections with anyone. No defined relationships and no family of any sort. Nothing that anyone anywhere could track us down with. Essentially, be invisible members of the society.

Or else, you die.

It isn't easy making sure your trails are covered and that you have left absolutely no traces, prints or evidence that you've been somewhere. But all those years living with the Circle taught you to be cautious. It's not like being part of it is a breeze. One pays dearly for their mistakes and their faults are never entirely forgiven nor forgotten. I would know. And I couldn't possibly let it happen again.

Because three strikes, and you're out. 

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My thoughts trickled back into the present. 

I grabbed the bottle of Jack and took a swig before glancing at the table and remembered my newly acquired souvenir. I picked it up and applied the last few strokes of my penknife before setting it down again to admire the mere craftmanship. Then, I got up to remove the old jam jar from my haversack. The carved bone would make an excellent addition to the collection.

I scanned the little fragment of perfection once more, noting the neatly engraved markings with an inexplicable sense of pride and accomplishment. Printed neatly on the bone was:

~ R. HAWKINS - 10.11.11 ~

I slid it into the jar, popped the lid on and screwed it shut.

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This chapter is dedicated to all my amazing readers, whether you've stuck by this story since the first chapter or just read and odd chapter or two. Cheers!!!

I love the buzz of watching reads grow or seeing that one person has voted or left a comment. Without all of you guys I wouldn't have the will of finishing this quickly. Thank you for the wonderful comments and encouragement. 

Hope this wasn't too disappointing an end...but I felt that without this, the story wouldn't be complete. Quite a few people have asked if I'll be doing a spin off and I am considering it. Though it might not be up so soon. C:

So do vote if you enjoyed this story on the whole as much as I enjoyed writing it (I hope you have!!) and comment on what you thought and ways I may improve. And if you have the time, check out the other story I will begin working on again, In A Whirl.

Once again many thanks to all those reading...especially those who are still reading this lengthy note ;DD 

Tons and tons of love,

Nat ♥