Cohen of the Rebellion

Chapter Volume 1 Prologue 1

Prologue 1 - The Night is Young

Earth, 2106 DC

The night, the night looks so bright reflected by the moonlight.

After exhausting myself on a young and attractive body, I am napping

“Boss, it’s time.”

It’s Rat, he’s knocking.

Due to his unique way of life, Rat has the carefulness that’s not processed by ordinary person.

I saved him while he was about to be beheaded by another drug dealer. Then he swore his loyalty to me. Within in 6 months, he had become the second most powerful person within the gang.

I rise up from bed, pull my clothes on, and look back. The white moonlight projects on a woman body, a perfect body, a body left with residue love and sex.

I put my second life, a pair of p7 pistol, in the pockets under my arms.

“Stay here, babe.”

“Hurry, I want more!”

I smile, open the door and walk downstairs.

Rats and other brothers are waiting in the lobby. He rushes to me

“Boss, words from the other side. Package is on time and the deal is on schedule. 2 more hours and we are ready.”

I walk out, take a deep beginning-of-the-fall breath, and look into sky.

Tonight’s full moon sheds its magical silver light everywhere. It is mid-autumn, a peaceful day.

“Let’s go.” I jump into the van, “Tell all, kill all and be careful. Let’s go to nightclub when we’re done.”

“Ye’sir.”

Several bulletproof vans take off and leave the mansion. The guards at the gate are saluting to my van.

To them, I am the center of the universe.

Now you know what I am?

I am the alpha dog, a gang leader.

(Wait for it...)

I am also a secret FBI agent. Gang leader is only a coverup.

On the FBI record file, my name is Westley.

In this seemingly-highly-developed but in fact full-of-dirty-crap world, crimes happen at every corner of the universe. In the meantime, the advancing criminal technique makes it harder for the authority to execute justice. As a result, god-know-who from the government suggested to fight crime with crime by selecting a team of elite special force and put them undercover.

Westley, a 21 years old sub lieutenant who got straight As in the strategy and tactics evaluations, hit the jackpot, unfortunately.

To rise in rank, and travel around the world with pension, Westley was forced to finish his boring army life early and stepped on a grey path.

As for his mission, simple enough, nothing more than vaporizing the target quietly by doing what he can do best. Within three years, orders from up top tossed him in many cities. He spent his time chasing those gangsters who are on the FBI hit list. Without exception, those people’s evil lives ended under the guns of Westley and his team.

Seeing lives disappearing in front of his eyes makes the innocent Westley numb and cold. As if those are worthless trash instead of lives that disappeared,

Everytime Westley thinks about his first mission as a gang newbie, that 120 bpm heartbeat makes him feel ridiculous. Nevertheless, for a young man at his 20s, it was not easy. As a personnel to execute the law, even though the target is a deserved, disgusting human being, the red and white liquid that came out of the head after he fired his gun, and the twitching body in the blood, made him throw up and frozen for a week.

Unavoidably, Westley is getting tired of this life, but his boss can’t stress enough that those people deserved it. Still, Westley feels there is blood on his hands. Partly because he is not a person who worship violence. However, his lack of ability makes it difficult to distinguish good and evil.

There is only one thing he know, that he is a tool, a pretty handy and under-supervised tool. The existence of an over-classified terms and conditions makes Westley’s commander to do what he want with nothing to concern. Who knows a tool like him is capable of executing the law or creating new crime.

But to Westley’s brothers, he is nothing more than their boss. If one has to say something unique about this boss, he shows excessive passion on killing drug dealer. And of course, Westley’s boss is the commanding officer of the FBI anti-drug department.

Before signing that god-forsaken document, Westley thought he can stick to himself in any environments. However, he found himself naive once he truly is spending some time in that environment. What he’s gone through has made him from a reckless soldier to a completely cold-blooded gang leader. No matter what one carries in mind, in order to survive, he has to change. And precisely because of this change, made him fall.

The gang he founded has a couple of rich business in town, makes their bank account richer as well. For this reason, Westley somehow starts to like this luxury job. He is capable of doing what he want, getting what he wants. It is what it is, Westley is a leader, and nobody expects a gang leader to do things like a college professor.

“Boss, we’re receiving a third party transmission, it’s the military frequency.” Rat turns and says, “Sounds like cipher.”

Westley took the com Rat handed over peacefully, put it in his ears, and overheard a low voice saying, “...tit, tit, rabbit is out…” A while later, another voice came, “Roger, carry on.”

Hearing this, Westly can’t help getting confused. This device can receive any communication within a diameter of 50 km. Isn’t there another operation around tonight?

Whih this in mind, he took out his phone and dialed a unpleasant number, his boss’. The only person who knows his real identity.

Thinking of this, Westley unavoidably shrugged, because sometime even himself couldn’t tell what his real identity is.

“Shweker’s office,” the call went in and out through several military satellites, a voice that is a little husky and yet soulful came into Westley’s ears, “ Identity please.”

“This is your old man, you prodigal son,” Westley joked, never cares anything that could irritated anyone, “How have you been? Are you closing down that office and join me or what?”

“This is the public channel, and I don’t want remind you again,” that voice snorted and asked again, “Problem?”

“No biggie, my men told me there are outsiders doing business on my territory,” Westley put away his arrogant voice, spoke coldly, “This is a holiday and I wanna spend it in silence.”

“Hold on,” A few know on the keyboard, that voice said, “The Wildlife Authority has a team monitoring whales, if they are the outsiders you’re talking about. Then I suggest you apply for a license for protection in case I wanna break your arm someday.

“Anytime, you old dog.” Putting down the phone, Westley told Rat, “Irrelevant.”

In the meantime, in a flying vessel hoving 10,000 meters above, a man with suit put down his phone. Thought is through, he told his deputy, “Tell the fleet, change the com frequence to special channel. Put the first squad out of the mission and let them talk about whales using the old frequence. Second squad will do the monitoring… keep me posted of their positions.”

In less than 20 seconds, all kinds of voice are coming out of the speakers in che vessel.

“Armoured squad report, tanks and battle vehicles in position. Normal”

“Air squad report, gunship and transporter in position. Normal.”

“Second squad report, we have locked the target, 16 vehicles, 87 personnel. Analyze shows they have heavy firepower. Possibly armed with portable SAMS.”

“An prepared operation, it’s truly you,” the mid-aged man looked at the roof, not caring the surprised looks from other officers, smiled, “I was right choosing you.”

The vans were parked in the ruins of an abandoned dock, a guy came and opened the door for Westley. The moment he stepped his foot out of the door, that tired and laid-back Westley was gone, instead, a cold-blooded, grim-look Westley.

The early-arriving team had prepared everything. What Westley saw were men handling weapon and cold faces with excitement.

Walking down the dock, he squat and looked through the water with the night viewer handed over by Rat.

“Boss, nothing unusual, the deal is on now.