FarFlame: Chapter One - A Thousand Faces
The sun baked the tarmac of Mexico City International Airport as a sleek black sedan glided into the arrivals section. Inside, silence. Outside, chaos—horns, shouting drivers, tourists scrambling with luggage. From the backseat emerged a man in a crisp grey blazer, hair combed precisely, black gloves on his hands. He adjusted his sunglasses and walked with ease into the crowd, disappearing before anyone could look twice.
His name wasn't on any registry. He traveled without a trace. His face? Just one of a thousand. But today, he wore the name Victor Mendez, a wealthy Venezuelan investor looking to relocate his assets to the United Kingdom.
But he wasn't any of that.
He was Kenny. Codename: FarFlame.
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Inside a high-rise in downtown Mexico City, a mission was unfolding. Kenny stood in a luxurious penthouse suite, sipping an espresso as a wall-sized monitor displayed the profile of a Chinese arms dealer named Gao Zhun. Intel said Zhun was arriving in Mexico to negotiate with a cartel representative. What Zhun didn't know? The cartel contact was Kenny himself, in yet another disguise. The goal: intercept the information about a rogue gas shipment and eliminate Zhun quietly.
"You sure this face fits the cartel profile?" a voice chirped in his earpiece. It was his handler.
Kenny smirked. "I've worn worse."
At precisely 5:34 PM, Gao Zhun entered the building, escorted by two local bodyguards. The penthouse's sliding doors opened, and Kenny, now with slicked-back hair, tattoos, and a gold tooth cap, greeted them with a hearty laugh.
"Senor Gao! Welcome to my humble palace. The tequila is ready, and so are the numbers," Kenny said in fluent Mandarin.
Zhun looked pleased, but his guards remained cautious.
For twenty minutes, they spoke business. Zhun grew confident. He poured himself a drink. And that was the cue.
Kenny leaned back, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of the hidden blade inside his wristband. He pressed a small button on his palm.
The power cut.
Chaos. Screaming. Lights out.
"We're compromised!" Zhun's bodyguard yelled.
But it was too late.
Kenny, now just a blur, slid between the guards. One elbowed strike crushed a windpipe. Another blade silenced the second. Then Zhun tried to run.
Bad choice.
The door burst open and Kenny tackled him. In a swift movement, he pinned the man down, pulling out a silenced pistol and holding it to Zhun's head.
"Who are the buyers in Canada? Answer, or you lose more than your dignity."
Zhun whimpered. He talked. Names. Locations. Codes.
Kenny recorded everything with his microchip lens.
"Thanks," he whispered. Then a quick shot ended it.
He walked out of the apartment in a janitor's uniform, already wearing a new face.
---
A few blocks away, in a grungy underground cage-fighting ring, another piece of Kenny's mission stirred. A boy named Rael fought his way through men twice his size. Agile, clever, underestimated. Kenny watched from the shadows.
Rael wasn't just a kid. He had something. Enhanced reflexes, maybe something more. Kenny didn't yet know. But the mission required adopting him—not as a child, but as a weapon.
Rael won the fight. The crowd roared. But he just looked around, unamused.
Later that night, as Rael sat nursing a bruised arm behind the ring, a man approached him—casually, with a bottle of cold water.
"Nice work, champ," Kenny said.
Rael looked up. "Who the hell are you?"
Kenny smirked. "Your future."
---
Hours later, a car chased through Mexico's rainy alleyways. The mission had changed. Intel showed a Chinese agent was tailing Kenny. He needed to go.
Gunfire riddled the back of the vehicle. Kenny yanked the wheel. Screeching tires. He reversed into a dead-end alley, killed the lights.
Footsteps.
One. Two. Five.
As the agents moved closer, Kenny stepped out, calm.
"Drop the act," one barked. "You're FarFlame."
Kenny gave a single nod. Then exploded into action.
He disarmed the first with a twist of his arm, using the pistol to shoot two more. A knife flew into the neck of the fourth. The fifth tackled him—a mistake. Kenny spun, drove a knee into the man's chest, then finished him with a close-range shot.
All this in under sixty seconds.
Blood trickled down Kenny's cheek. He didn't even flinch.
He walked to the car, pulled Rael out from the trunk.
"Welcome to your first lesson," he said. "We kill, we vanish."
---
Back at the safehouse, Kenny handed the microchip to HQ. A female voice on the encrypted call line responded, "Confirmed. Target eliminated. Intel received. Awaiting secondary objective."
Kenny turned to Rael. "School time."
Rael frowned. "You just murdered five people. Now school?"
Kenny smirked. "Espionage is education."
Rael didn't answer, but his eyes glowed faintly. Unseen by Kenny.
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In the shadows of a world spinning with deception, governments collapsing behind curtains, and wars being prevented before breakfast, FarFlame had begun.