FBI Detective

New York, 26 Federal Plaza, Manhattan, Jacob Federal Office Building, 9 a.m.

Floors 23 through 26 serve as the exclusive headquarters of the FBI’s New York division.

Inside a small conference room.

“I never imagined I’d become a legendary FBI agent.”

Seated in a back corner, Roan glanced at his impeccably tailored suit and the golden badge pinned to his chest, his expression wooden. He remembered he’d only gone to the island nation to study its customs and local culture. How did closing his eyes on the plane result in waking up here?

Bang—

The conference room door swung open. A middle-aged white man, with a receding hairline and dressed in a suit, strode in holding a folder. After scanning the room and confirming everyone was present, he wasted no words and went straight to the point:

“Attention, this time it’s a shooting and murder case in a park.”

He opened the folder, tossed a stack of photos onto the table, and introduced the case:

“The victim’s name is Mike Roberts, age forty-three. On the night of April 11, 2005, at 11:34 p.m., he was shot dead on a path in Central Park…”

Upon hearing the case summary, the intern agents on both sides of the table reached for the photos. Roan didn’t move; he was trying to sort out the tangled memories in his mind.

In his previous life, he’d been raised by a dying old assassin. Naturally, he’d learned every skill needed, becoming highly competent and technically adept, never failing a mission… though, in truth, he’d never actually received any outside orders.

The