in·cip·i·ent

   [in-sip-ee-uh nt] 

adjective

beginning to exist or appear; in an initial stage: an incipient cold.

Each story starts with an incipient trigger. A mechanism activating every single link of a neverending chain. Each link known for its own power and importance. A magnitude of a force one couldn't ever possibly imagine.

This story starts with a house. A house like a mansion, no like a castle. On top of its roof stands a man with dark, gloomy eyes. There are no  tears. There isn’t any air.

A jump follows, like a flight with the wrongest destination possible.

The coffee I drank did not taste as bad as it did yesterday. It tasted better than it did on ordinary days. Maybe  it was indeed the final hour of my vacation and my own apartment wanting to keep me close. They were luring me into staying inside. I never assumed that it actually was my own imagination that was begging me to walk straight back to bed and never come out again.

It was comforting, this devouring silence. It always was like that underneath my roof. There wasn’t any noise, not even the slightest whisper. I was the one controlling the silence. I could break it whenever I wanted to. This mighty feeling left me feeling rather numb.

There were two cups on the table. I always accidentally made coffee for two. I grinned, stared at the wall and felt my smile fade away. I always made dinner for two, yet there was only one person sitting at the end of the table.

I decided that my final hour of vacation should be spent in the most beautiful silence one could ever imagine. While looking at the pictures on the wall, I felt the entropy that kept haunting me decreasing. I always called the sadness inside myself entropy. I could not find any reason behind it. There were words I like and words I loved. Using those words in the wrong context had become a hobby to me.

Sitting on the chair again, I rather disliked it. We called it Busby’s chair. It was an inside joke at work. A rather sad one, though. The legend of Busby’s chair says that anyone that sits on that chair will die soon enough. Most people that sat on it actually died. But I don’t think it has anything to do with the chair at all, for it was nothing but an ordinary chair. We signed up for this job, which meant that we would die eventually.

And with every job there was a boss. Mine walked into the room without me even showing any feelings or reaction. She hummed some tune and sat down on her nameless chair. Not entirely nameless for it was the Boss’ chair. I looked at her and nodded.

“So you’re back. Good.” Hyoyeon curled her lips and closed her sharp eyes. She had dyed her hair in a darker shade again. I liked her better with lighter hair. This made her look...older. The shade was a mask; she hid underneath it to appear tougher than she really was.

“As if I was away for that long. A week is nothing. I didn’t even have the chance to scratch my back.” my voice was hoarse, she was the first person I talked to in a week. What a laugh.

“I had no other choice. You’re the one that has the greatest probability not screwing this mission up.” she grabbed some files and pushed a button afterwards, the screen behind her lightning up. “Sorry. Look, I’ll make sure you’ll get some promotion after this one, I promise.”

“Just tell me what to do.” With Kevin, our greatest undercover agent, dying three days ago, she had no other choice than pulling me out of my vacation and assigning me to do this. I could make some promotion this way. She acted as if I was about to kill Leader Kamenashi, the country's dictator.

“You’re going to stay quiet, don’t move and listen