Wing woke instantly as he felt the gentle hand on his shoulder. His family’s groundsman Lao stood over him the single finger pressed to his lips urging Wing not to speak despite the look of concern in his eyes.

“We have uninvited guests,” Lao whispered as Wing sat up, looking puzzled. Lao twitched his head towards the door and Wing could suddenly hear the creak of footsteps on the stairs leading up to his room.

“Go! Now!” Lao whispered urgently, pushing Wing towards the double doors that led out onto the roof terrace. Wing thought for a moment of objecting but the many long hours he had spent being instructed in the fighting arts by the old man had taught him that there were certain times that one did not argue with him and this was one such occasion. He stepped out onto the terrace and into the cool night air as Lao closed the doors and locked them from the inside. Wing ran to the wooden rail at the edge of the terrace and vaulted it in one fluid movement, landing gently on the red tiles of the roof.

Back inside the bedroom Lao turned to face the door as it slowly swung open and two men dressed in black body armour walked into the room. They both raised the bulky pistols that they were carrying and pointed them directly at the old man.

“You are not welcome in this house,” Lao said calmly, “I must ask that you leave immediately.”

“Where’s the boy?” the taller of the other two men asked, his voice muffled by the black mask he wore.

“Beyond your reach,” Lao replied.

“Last chance,” the man said, stepping forward and bringing the barrel of the pistol to within a few inches of the old man’s face.

“For you, certainly,” Lao replied. He moved impossibly quickly, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it savagely. The gun dropped from the other man’s useless hand and he howled in pain as Lao stepped around him and struck him hard in the centre of the chest with a flat palm. The wounded man staggered backwards towards his companion just as the other man squeezed the trigger. There was a loud zapping noise and Lao grunted before collapsing to the floor unconscious. The first man angrily pulled the normal pistol from his belt with his uninjured hand and levelled it at the crumpled figure of the old man.

“No,” the other soldier said, stepping between them. “You know Nero’s orders, no unsanctioned wet work on retrieval missions.”

The injured man hesitated for a second and then returned his pistol to its holster. If there was one person whose orders you never ignored it was Nero’s. Forgetting that could lead to an unscheduled and highly unpleasant meeting with Raven and that was something any sane individual would want to avoid.

Suddenly a voice crackled in both men’s earpieces.

“This is team two, we’ve spotted the boy in the gardens, five hundred metres west of your position.”

“Roger that, we’re on our way,” one of the men replied and they ran out of the room.

…

Wing ran across the immaculately trimmed lawn,his feet wet with dew. He had almost made it to the bushes at the far side of the lawn when he was blinded by a bright white light. He raised his hand to shield his eyes as two men stepped out of the bushes with large guns pointed straight at him. The first man, who was pointing the flash light at Wing with his other hand started to slowly advance across the lawn towards Wing.

“On your knees, hands behind your head,” the man barked as he moved forward.

Wing slowly dropped to one knee as the man drew closer, waiting for the right moment to strike. The man was just a couple of metres away when Wing launched himself at him, hitting him hard in the ribs with his shoulder, knocking all of the wind out of him and sending him flying. The man’s companion reacted quickly, diving out of the way as his team mate fell backwards towards him. He rolled and raised his Sleeper pistol, aiming at the tall boy who was already charging at him like a freight train. There was a zapping sound and a pulse of directed energy hit Wing squarely in the chest. The man let out a small involuntary gasp as Wing kept coming. The man fired again, the second pulse distorting the air as it speared out and struck the sprinting boy. Wing staggered and fell, dropping to the ground just a couple of metres from the astonished soldier. No one had ever withstood a direct hit from a Sleeper stun gun before, whoever this boy was he was clearly exceptionally strong. It was easy to see why Nero might want him as a student at HIVE.

“This is team two,” the man said into his throat microphone, “package is secure. Send in the transport.”

A minute or so later an ambulance rolled up the long drive leading to the house and two more members of the retrieval team dressed as medics wheeled a stretcher across the lawn towards them.

“You might want to give this one an extra shot of sedative,” the soldier said as the men pushing the stretcher approached. “He just took two Sleeper pulses before going down.”

“Sure you didn’t just miss with your first shot,” one of the fake medics said with a sneer.

“No, I hit him, I’m sure of it,” the soldier replied with a shake of his head.

“Whatever you say,” the other retrieval team member said sarcastically as they lifted Wing’s unconscious body onto the stretcher before wheeling him back towards the ambulance.

“You okay?” The soldier asked as he walked over and helped his companion up off the floor.

“I think so,” he said clutching his side and wincing, “but I think that little maniac cracked a couple of ribs. He’s strong as an ox.”

“Yeah,” the other man said, “with what he’s got in store for him, he’ll need to be.”

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