Jamez Blak is a man who works for a secret organization named TOR. As part of this organization, Jamez has helped create a peaceful world, but a group of mysterious monks from Tunisia are making this very difficult for him and his colleagues. He is faced with a deadly threat greater than any he has ever faced before. Will Jamez be able to overcome the deaths of his loved ones and face the enemy, or will he surrender and allow the evil monks to reign over the human race with an iron fist?
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.”
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