I put the keys into the locks of my shitty apartment and turned it. I went to push open the door, but the shitty piece of wood was jammed per usual. I leaned back before I slammed my shoulder into the door, forcing it open and sending me stumbling inside.

I threw my backpack onto the cracked countertop, and unzipped the front pocket. I grabbed the pack of American Spirits and a lighter before opening up the main pocket to grab the file from Hobbs.

I walked over to my living room, and flopped down on the old black leather couch. I tossed the file onto the small wooden coffee table, and brought the cigarette to my mouth. I lit it and took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke into my lungs. I exhaled as I carelessly tossed the lighter onto the table.

I looked around at my old, rundown, and shitty apartment. For one of the best agents in the damn CIA, they should really fucking pay me more.

I looked down at the file resting on my coffee table, and started to seriously think through Hobbs proposal. I always felt out of place in the CIA. Their love for rules, dullness, and regulations always made me nauseous. But part of me loved it. I loved the action, the thrill, the chase, putting criminals behind bars knowing that I was the last face they saw before being locked up until death takes them. Putting criminals away gave my life purpose and meaning, to live in the service of the public and my country.

From a psychology perspective, I grew up with a dark and troubled past, which was the underlying cause for my depression and anger management issues. I started studying criminal law because of unspeakable things that have happened to my in my adolescence, and made a vow to myself that I will spend my life fighting for justice, to make sure that the worst criminals get the punishment they so rightfully deserve: either spending each and everyday behind bars, or death by my weapon.

I grabbed the file from the cheap coffee table as I bit the cigarette between my teeth. I closed my lips and inhaled as I opened the file with both hands, exhaling while still holding the cigarette between my teeth.

The first page was fucking useless, just vague information on the mysterious and infamous Ryder Calderon. No medical records, no previous convictions, no personal information, not even a damn school record. It's as if this guy didn't even exist. The only reason we suspected that he was the Don was because every suspect we apprehended that had ties with the European Mafia would always beg for us to kill them, saying that death would be nothing compared to the wrath of Ryder Calderon.

I flipped over to the next page to see a list of names, and a distant picture of man with sunglasses on, and a hat covering his faces. Matteo Black, the man who we assume was the Capo, and right hand to the Don of the organization. This blurry and low resolution from a street camera is all we got on him. Like Ryder, no information was listed.

Underneath his picture was another picture of a man, who's face was covered in scars. This was supposedly ran most of Ryders operations, James Brovonski. He had a scowl on his lips, and a toothpick held between his teeth. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties. He was tall, probably around 6'0 or higher, and was so muscular that his clothes clung tightly to his skin. James was defiantly a man not to mess with.

I flipped over another page to see lists of the crimes they were suspected to be involved in: Murder, Drug Distribution, Sex Trafficking, Arms Dealing, and Assassinations. They were all over Europe, striking fear in the hearts of citizens for decades. I'd assumed they had legal business to cover these up, legal businesses that we have yet to uncover.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I flipped through the case reports, my eyes scanning the pictures of lifeless and mutilated bodies that were left in the wake of the European Mafia. They were merciless, calculated, and fearless, some of their hits on rival Mafias were even in broad daylight. Nervousness filled my body as I scanned over the pictures. Even though I'm the best agent in the CIA, this mission was impossible.

I closed the file and took another long drag of my cigarette as I tossed the manila folder back onto the coffee table. I grabbed the remote for my cheap shitty television, and clicked the power button with my thumb, trying to take my mind off of the impossible mission at hand as I leaned back onto the cushion of the couch.

"BREAKING NEWS: A coffee shop in London exploded today, killing at least 15 people." The female news reporter said through the speakers. Behind her was a destroyed coffee shop. The windows were blown out, the brick walls were crumbling, and debris was scattered throughout the street. Police tape lined the front of the building, and firefighters were working to quickly extinguish the remaining flames of the explosion. I quickly changed the channel, trying to ease my mind, as I watched the television flash with static before switching to another news report.

"We believe that this incident was yet another strategic attack executed by none other than the European Mafia-" A male news reporter from another station said as he talked into his microphone and stood in front of the destroyed coffee shop. I furrowed my eyebrows as I quickly changed the channel again.

"Police, yet again, found no evidence on the scene." Another male newscaster said as he stood at a different angle in front of the same coffee shop. I growled in annoyance as I flipped the channel once again.

"15 are dead, and 3 are in critical condition-" A female newscaster said as a picture of the demolished coffee shop was displayed on the top right corner of the screen. I took a drag of my cigarette and scowled as I flipped through the channels quickly, trying to find something else to watch besides the fucking news.

"The European Mafia-"

"Dozens of attacks throughout Europe over the past few months"

"Hundreds have been killed during their rampage-"

"Police are dumbfounded-"

I growled loudly in annoyance as I threw the remote across the room. It hit the shitty wall and shattered, causing the TV to switch channels one more time before the pieces of the remote fell onto the cheap carpet.

"Which begs the question: How is our governments going to respond to these attacks? How is our government going to protect us?" A man said on the screen as he motioned dramatically with his hands.

Apparently, the government sent me to protect you all... so you're all pretty much shit out of luck. Sorry.

I walked over to the television and turned if off manually, filling the apartment with some much needed silence once again. I walked over to my room. It was barren, with nothing but a queen bed that sat on low on the floor, and a desk that sat in the right hand corner. The black bedsheets contrasted with the white walls and cream colored carpet. There was a large window that sat on the left side of the room, with an unpleasant view of concrete buildings and the busy street below. Sirens wailed in the distance, making the faint echo fill my apartment.

I walked over to the cheap wooden desk in the corner, and looked up at the only thing that adorned my empty walls: the oath I took when I became a CIA agent. I looked up at it for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off the glass of the piece of paper I signed and vowed to live by. I looked down at my belt, and took my gold CIA badge in my hand and looked down at it.

Towards the top of the badge, was an eagle with its wings spread. Underneath it, was the letters "CIA" engraved on a stretch of blue metal. The circular CIA logo was directly in the middle, with "U" and "S" on the left and right of it. "SPECIAL AGENT" was engraved across the bottom, with the numbers "525" on the very bottom of the badge, my agent number.

As I looked down at the badge, I realized that I made an oath, not just to the agency, or my country, but to myself many years ago. To bring the lawless to justice. To protect those who could not protect themselves. To make sure those who commit crimes were held accountable for their actions. I clenched the badge tightly in my hand before looking up at the oath that hung on the wall.

I'm going to bring down the European Mafia, if it's the last thing I fucking do.