The metallic tang of fear coated my tongue. Lambda. The name itself was a viper's strike, coiling around the good intentions I might have once possessed. Mateo and I, bound by shared incarceration and now this dubious reprieve, exchanged a look that spoke volumes of unspoken dread. Twenty-one years… wiped clean with a signature and a shadowy promise. It felt less like freedom and more like a leash, albeit a longer one.
The fifteen minutes evaporated with the urgency of a ticking bomb. We were hustled through the sterile corridors of the airport by men whose suits seemed to swallow the light. Their faces were impassive masks, revealing nothing of our destination or the tasks that awaited us. Mateo, despite the blood still faintly crusting around his temple, moved with a coiled intensity. I, on the other hand, felt a strange detachment, as if watching a movie where I was a reluctant actor.
The private jet was sleek and menacing, a black arrow poised for flight. Inside, the plush leather seats and hushed atmosphere did little to soothe my frayed nerves. A woman with eyes as sharp as shattered glass and an air of cold authority introduced herself as "Silas." She laid out a briefcase on the polished table between us. Inside, nestled amongst layers of foam, were two new identities – crisp passports, driver's licenses, credit cards – and two silenced pistols, their matte black surfaces gleaming under the cabin lights.
"Your past is erased," Silas stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "You are now Daniel Hayes and Marcus Thorne. You will operate as a team. Your first assignment awaits you in Lagos."
Lagos. The name conjured images of bustling markets, vibrant chaos, and now, a looming threat. Mateo's gaze flickered towards the weapons. "And what exactly is this assignment?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
Silas's lips curved into a thin, unsettling smile. "Let's just say there's a loose end that needs… tidying up. Someone who knows a little too much about Lambda's recent activities." She slid a file across the table. A grainy photograph stared back at us – a man with tired eyes and a receding hairline. "Mr. Alade. He's proving to be… a liability."
My stomach churned. "Tidying up?" I echoed, the euphemism chilling me to the bone.
Mateo picked up one of the pistols, its weight settling in his hand with a disturbing familiarity. "And if we refuse?"
Silas's gaze hardened. "Then your twenty-one years will suddenly seem like a vacation. Lambda offers opportunities, gentlemen. It does not offer choices."
The engines whined, a prelude to our forced journey. As the jet accelerated down the runway, leaving the dry grass and the ghost of our past behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were not flying towards freedom, but deeper into a darkness from which there might be no return. The weight of the new passport in my pocket felt less like a new beginning and more like a brand, marking me as property of a shadow organization with a sinister agenda. Beside me, Mateo stared out the window, his expression unreadable, but I could sense the same grim understanding settling within him. Our sentences might have been commuted, but our true imprisonment had just begun.