October Writing Prompts Day 1

It was almost definitely the adrenaline. Or perhaps it was the four iced coffees on an empty stomach– though, what was that but a false bravado? He swallowed, resisted the urge to buy another coffee. Five minutes until he had to leave the coffee shop, fifteen before the meeting. This could change things. Would change things. He hadn't thought before accepting the offer. He rarely thought through anything anymore, preferring to jump from one thing to the next without much planning. It was easier that way. When they'd contacted him, asking him to come out of retirement– well, he couldn't exactly say no. Not to them. It had been fun, when he was younger. The intrigue, the galas, the suits and the wining and dining. It got old at the same pace he did. When you're constantly becoming something new, you never have a chance to settle into yourself. Maybe that's why he was this way now. Maybe he would only ever have this. He still watches the people at the coffee shop closer than necessary. Not closer than once was necessary, but closer than necessary now. No one here has a gun. That's a luxury he won't have after today. From now on, he'll assume everyone is armed. He'll be armed too. He didn't miss that. (Didn't miss much at all, doesn't feel much at all.) His watch beeps. It's time to leave the shop. He tosses the plastic cup into the trash can, tosses his napkin in behind it. Walks out of the coffee shop, onto the sidewalk. Turns his collar up without thinking, pulls his scarf over the bottom half of his face. He's spent his life invisible. It's best that he's unremarkable– no birthmarks, no tattoos, no identifying marks. Plain as can be. The meeting is in a nondescript building in an office park. No one would ever suspect this place of being more than a small accounting firm. No one ever looks at the mundane. (That's why he's perfect for this, he muses. He is nothing if not mundane.) He arrives two minutes early. In this business, on time is late. He remembers the secretary. She hasn't changed. Has he? She recognizes him immediately. "Welcome," she says with a sardonic smile. "I thought you were out of this business, Smith." He shrugs. "Nothing else stuck." "Did it not?" she muses, tapping a pen against her lips. She's wearing blood red lipstick. Of course. He resists the urge to shrug again as she looks him over, a predator assessing its prey. He hates feeling like this. This is why he left. This is the tip of the iceberg. Whatever she's looking for, she seems to find him lacking. But she's not making the decisions here, so she smiles again, and it's feral. "They're expecting you," she says. "Third door on the right." He nods, makes his way down the hall. He's at the door before he's ready. With shaking hands, he knocks on the door. "Come in," a familiar voice calls. And he does.