Max Colby was just a simple man with simple needs. The life he’d left behind was a confusing mess of payments and appointments and all the things the average human being had to deal with. But for him, those things lived only in the past. There was only one thing he cared about: living long enough to see all those other men die.
He had sold his house and did nothing with the money. He had given up his job and spent his days doing nothing but research or weight training. Even the place he lived in – a filthy opium den where he could blend in unnoticed – was so simple it required no effort or concentration. Everyone around him was high as a kite, and he used that to manipulate them. He’d quickly recruited them among the ranks, acquiring their loyalty for the small price of another hit. It was pathetic, really.
But today, on this gloomy afternoon, his life changed once again.
The cars outside were hardly subtle. Their tires screeched as they ground to a halt. This drew Max’s attention, and he stared out the window with his heart dancing in his chest. There were three vehicles in total. A Porsche, a Ford, and something else in black. More important than the cars were the four people who got out. There was Helen, Logan Fox, and two men who looked big enough to move mountains. It was obvious they were here for him.
“Shit,” Max mumbled, looking around for his gun. He found it quickly on the mite-bitten chest of drawers, slipped on some shoes, then ran through the house that had become an opium den. “Listen up, everyone. Those of you who are awake all have a job to do.”
There was very little time to explain.