The street was dark and misty. It was no exception to the eeriness that accompanies most dark and misty streets. It was illuminated only by the light spilling out of people’s homes, as well as the single functioning street lamp that kept flickering annoyingly.

Inside a nearby house sat a young boy, staring out of the window. He was quietly contemplating how the eeriness from outside did not manage to seep through this badly insulated piece of glass when an explosion in the kitchen made his ears prick up slightly. At first he disregarded it as a normal occurrence. Then, of course, he realized that this was not, indeed, a normal occurrence and hurried to see what kind of occurrence it was.

An odd one, as it turned out.

There, standing in their kitchen, was a man dressed entirely in black: a black trench-coat, a black, collared shirt, a black tie, a pair of baggy black jeans, black boots – the whole assortment. The only things not black in his garb were the flashing lights coming from numerous devices attached to his arms, one of which he was checking at this very moment.

“Damn,” he sighed to himself, “Eighteen times that’s happened – well, the last time was only partial. Only, like, a third of one counts, so that’d make – oh!”

The boy’s father and mother had congregated next to their son in the entrance to the kitchen and were staring in awe at this seemingly crazy man, as well as their now black and charred kitchen.

“What the bloody hell?” the father (or very manly mother – the man in the black clothes was never quite sure about these things) finally exclaimed.

“Oh – are we in England?” the strange man asked, a grin spreading across his face, “I love it in England! Good lord! Crazy how this thing works.” He indicated one of the numerous gadgets on his arm, his smile still maniacal. He looked up at the gaping family and his smile faded.

“Jamez Blak,” he said, thrusting his arm forward to shake the father’s hand, as well as the mother and the boy’s in turn. “I work for a government agency with the initials, “TOR.””

“Which government?” the mother asked.

With another grin Jamez leaned forward and whispered, “All of them.”

“What the bloody hell?!” the father repeated.

“What the bloody hell indeed,” Jamez responded.

“Would you like some tea?” the mother asked their new acquaintance.

“Don’t you mock me!” the father insisted heatedly at Jamez.

The boy rolled his eyes and returned to examining the street from his post by the window. From the kitchen he heard Jamez Blak yell in an equal tone as his father, “Yes, tea sounds very nice!” He couldn’t help but laugh. He liked this Jamez Blak fellow. He noticed out of the window a cloaked man staring from the sidewalk right back at him.

This made him jump backwards away from the couch he had been sitting backwards on. He hadn’t noticed him standing there a moment before – in fact, the boy didn’t believe that the cloaked man had been there a moment before. Slowly the boy approached the glass again, keeping his eyes on the cloaked man the entire time.

He was mouthing something, the boy realized, the cloaked man was mouthing something.

“Tames’ Shack?” the boy muttered, trying to guess what the man was saying, “Lame Hack? I Hate Macs?”

“Will you let me finish?” Jamez said back inside the kitchen, “Now I have to start all over again!”

“Fine,” growled the father, “Go ahead.”

“My name is Jamez Blak,” Jamez said slowly, “I work for a government agency with the initials “TOR.” I don’t know what it stands for, sorry, I just know the acronym. We specialize in–”

“Jamez Blak!” the boy at the window cried triumphantly. He felt kind of stupid for not understanding such an obvious mouthing. “There’s someone here to see you.”

The man in the cloak smiled maliciously and pulled his hood further over his head, laving his face entirely in shadows. Jamez swore and ran into the living room, where the boy was.

“Where?” he said forcefully.

The boy’s eyes were still fixed on the cloaked man. “There,” he said, raising a finger to point down toward the street.

“Thanks, kid,” Jamez said, and ran down the front steps to stand in front of the cloaked man, as if in a draw. He had an inkling memory of a similar situation from long past, but he disregarded it and focused on the matter at hand. “I’m not here to harm you,” Jamez said carefully, “I just want to reason with you.”

The cloaked man merely continued to stand there, his cool smile barely visible in the dark.

“I just want to know why you’ve killed four people in the last week,” Jamez said slowly.

At last the cloaked man spoke, “I did not.”

“Uh..” Jamez said, “Yeah you did.”

“I did not,” the cloaked man repeated, making the emphasis clear.

“No, but your brethren – or whatever it’s called – did, and that, my dear friend, is where our problem lies,” Jamez said.

“I did not,” the cloaked man said yet again.

“Yes, I get that,” Jamez said, getting kind of annoyed.

“He did,” the cloaked man said.

There was suddenly a different cloaked man on Jamez’s back, tackling him viciously and taking Jamez completely by surprise.

“Damn monks,” he sighed.