RED LINE

CHAPTER II

Randoll’s rusty red car is parked outside a small phone booth. A security camera fixed on the wall of a nearby restaurant captures everything. Inside the booth, Randoll picks up the telephone and drops in a coin engraved with his portrait. The telephone starts ringing, and a female voice speaks through the receiver:

“Hello, Agent 100006. You’ve successfully connected to the Novice Emergency Center. Press one to forward your call to Headquarters; press two to request—”

Randoll immediately presses one.

“Your call is being forwarded to Novice Headquarters. Please wait.”

The line rings again as Randoll waits silently, his expression blank but tense. The ringing stops, and a cold male voice comes through:

“Agent Creeper, your retirement was confirmed three years ago. I must apologize for your current predicament, but the agency holds no obligation to assist you. Good luck. This dial pin will now be terminated permanently.”

The call ends. Randoll drops the phone, steps out of the booth, and gets into his vehicle. He drives off.

Moments later, his rusty red car emerges onto a large, brightly lit estate—the lights illuminating the night sky. The car glides past rows of mansions before stopping outside the gate of the last one. Randoll gets out, pulling on his gloves. He climbs quietly over the gate into the compound.

A guard on patrol hears a faint sound and moves toward it, gun raised.

“Who’s there?”

Before he can react, Randoll steps out of the darkness, disassembles the gun’s upper slide, and lands a hard punch to the guard’s face—knocking him out cold. Then he moves on.

Another guard hears footsteps behind him and turns. Randoll grabs his arm just as the guard fires—the silenced shot goes skyward. Randoll throws him to the ground and knocks him out with a punch. He glances left, spotting four more guards on patrol, then looks up toward the balcony, eyes fixed.

Inside the mansion, a woman straddles Kev—Randoll’s daughter’s arrogant ex-husband. She moans softly, a blanket draped over her back. Kev glances toward the window; his eyes widen.

“f**k—”

He mutters in shock. The woman turns and sees Randoll. She screams, scrambling off Kev and wrapping herself in the blanket. Kev hurriedly grabs a pillow to cover himself. Randoll just stands there, his expression unreadable, eyes sweeping over the messy room. The woman bolts upstairs. Randoll walks to Kev, sits on the table across from him, and pushes aside the scattered drugs.

Kev chuckles nervously.

“Look, gramps, I don’t know how the hell you got past my security or who the f**k you think you are, but this is mad disrespectful. You know who the f**k you’re messing with?”

Randoll pulls out the necklace with the photo pendant and holds it up. Kev squints, then scoffs and reclines.

“Why the f**k are you showing me a picture of that wretch and her brats? Tell her we’re done! I signed whatever divorce crap she wanted,”

he says, chuckling again. Then continues,

“So she sent you to rough me up, huh? Well, you tell her this—she’s nothing but a gold-digging bit—”

Before he can finish, Randoll jams two fingers into Kev’s nostrils and yanks him forward, pressing his face close to the pendant. Kev screams in pain, panicking.

“Okay, dude, okay! I’m sorry! Look, I don’t know what you want, alright? Fine, fine! I heard from a source—someone watching over her kids filed a missing person’s report, okay? I wasn’t stalking her, I swear! Come on, man, please!”

Randoll pulls his fingers free and smacks Kev across the face, knocking him out cold. He stands and walks out.

The rain pours steadily on Randoll’s rusty red car parked outside a bar. Inside, Randoll stares at the necklace pendant, lost in thought. Suddenly, his attention is caught by a black Dodge Charger with tinted windows. The car slowly drives past him, turns, and passes again—this time, the driver drops something on the road, giving Randoll a friendly salute before driving off.

Randoll steps out of his car and walks into the middle of the wet road. He picks up a small phone wrapped inside a transparent white bag and studies it closely. Suddenly, a car screeches to a stop in front of him, nearly hitting him.

“Hey! Get the hell off the road, you old drunk!”

the driver yells.

Randoll gives him a cold glance, says nothing, and walks back to his car. He gets in, shuts the door, and sits in silence for a moment as the rain taps on the windshield. He unwraps the bag and pulls out the black phone — the white four-leaf clover engraved on its back.

The phone has only one button. Suddenly, it starts ringing. After a moment, Randoll presses the button and raises it to his ear.

After a short pause, a deep, familiar voice speaks through the phone.

“Hello, Agent Creeper. I take it you’ve successfully received the package? My apologies for not reaching you sooner — it was important that you settle first. Follow every instruction you’re given, and your precious daughter won’t be harmed.”

The voice grows colder.

“Agent Creeper, I must say, it’s disappointing to see your carelessness. You haven’t even checked the most important part of your package.”

Randoll’s eyes shift to the CD resting on the passenger seat. He glances up — a car is parked ahead of him, its driver hidden by darkness.

The voice continues,

“There should be a bar to your right. Go inside and collect your second package. You have twenty minutes until your first mission.”

A brief silence, then —

“And Agent Creeper… it’s advised that you review the final part of your previous package before receiving the

next. It’s important you understand the gravity of the situation… in 3D.”