[ilikeoldchangke]

I cannot have 6 packs that are too defined as if I’m some manhunt model.

I can’t have bulging biceps that looked like I overdosed on steroids.
I’m just supposed to be 64Kg and to look slim. I am strong, but I can’t look the part.


I’m supposed to look normal. It doesn’t matter I can run 2.4km in 8 minutes flat. I can’t run at that speed, I’m not supposed to run at that speed.


I had to attend chemistry classes taught by a Israeli.
Everyday I get wacked like a sandbag by a North Korean instructor who teaches me offensive moves.

Every evening I get wacked again by a Indian guru teaching me defensive moves.


Some afternoons a thai instructor will pop by and by the end of the session, it would be a struggle just to stand upright.


I was taught how to read people’s expressions and reactions by a Chinese man who turned out to be a professor in some university.

I was cramped with information but there were no test. Nothing.


No one came to make sure I remembered everything that was taught.

There was no need for that.

9 months in and I could easily work up a sweat while sparring with my instructors.

When Owen finally showed up after about a year later, you could probably guessed the first words that came out of my mouth.

Jeff : Fuck you Owen… fuck you !...



Owen : hahahaha…. Ouch…. Well…. Congrats on completing your basic training.

He offered me a hug and I gave him the finger which he laughed it off.


I stepped foot back into Singapore after a full year.


I felt disorientated and displaced.


It was then I realised I was so comfortable being alone with the trainers that I started to feel uncomfortable around other people.

I find it hard to believe I had to learn how to integrate and blend in with people.



The flat my dad left behind was kept in a immaculate condition. Everything was left exactly the way it was. Owen made sure of that.

What about money ? I had plenty of it.


Owen paid me and he paid me well. There was no need for me to spend a single cent.

Back in Singapore, I was given a range of roles to play and companies to work at. From logistics firm to a driver to a hawker. I did it all, hopping from role to role, job to job in the industry itself.


By the time I turned 23, I could act like a fool. I can joke like a seasoned joker, I can even play the role of a studious college kid.

I can even write erotic literature on a sex forum.


I can be the young adult you see going for an interview, or I can be the random guy walking pass you at the train station.


I can be anyone. A student, a boyfriend, a geek. Anyone.
I knew it was a matter of time before I got my first project as they call it.

Project.

Fancy name for a fancy job.


You will always remember your first time.


Unlike the fanfare of a Hollywood style execution, What we do is actually more subtle.

Unnoticeable.


Why ?


Well, because this city thrives on order.

Order maintained by the rule of law.


The challenge is not to take a life, but to do it without anyone knowing about it.

Who gives me the right to take a life ?


Who gives Owen the right to decide whose to take ?


A chicken and egg question that is really hard to answer and I gave up trying to figure it out.
My first project was a man call Malcom. Malcom Khoo.

So what exactly did Malcom Khoo do ?



This is how the process goes.

Owen runs the company.
No one knows how many staff like me exists except him.


He reports directly to the powers to be, whoever the fuck that is.

When a target is identified, Owen does not make the call alone to proceed.


A standalone audit department goes through the materials and information gathered, gives the green light, and a call comes to me. There, independent verification from a neutral party.
Once the audit department gives the green light, it will be pushed over to me.


Malcom is a hot shot banking executive working in town. At 30 years old, he has everything a guy would dream off at that age.


A career, money, a convertible and even a nice condominium in Marina Bay. He is the furniture in the most happening clubs, popping champagne like no tomorrow.

His money is clean.


His character though, is not.




May 2007

Malcom has a penchant for girls that are old. Real old. He was the suspect in a rape case but was never convicted. The victim was 68. She later committed suicide.

Another incident was a near miss of a 51 year old. The woman was traumatised, but Malcom paid his way out.


Owen has people on Malcom ever since. News like this would be hard to swallow even if published.


Not only does Malcom prey on the random stranger on the street, he bought his way into a nursing home. Owen has a collection of photos documenting Malcom paying off the nursing staff in the nursing home late in the evening.


He would enter the home and appear an hour later in the same manner an adult would pay for a hooker. He preys on the helpless elderly. People who had difficulty even expressing themselves.

From the document dossier given to me, I could see that Malcom’s computer is full of nude photos of prominent models and bloggers as well. He does some freelance photography as a hobby and he blackmailed several of his models after they agreed to a nude shoot.


All of them kept quiet for fear of their photos being exposed on the net. So, he ends up fucking them for free whenever he wants to.

The final nail in the coffin for Malcom came in the form of a video.


It was a video of him forcing himself while drunk on a 65 year old auntie collecting cardboards for a living.


The lady ran but Malcom went after her.

All these are captured in graphic detail via a camera phone. It’s shaky and blur but clear enough for anyone who sees it to know what is going on. The person taking it laughing and spurring Malcom on.

Malcom went to the house of the Auntie and came into contact with her granddaughter who is only 12.

The rest is no longer important.


So with these information on hand, it’s easy isn’t it. Pass it to the authorities, viola. They arrest him, splash his face across the paper, spend shitload of tax payers money to convict him, then spend more of our money to keep him fed, clothed and safe behind bars for the next 2 decades.


Just lock him away and forget about him while the rest of the victims live the rest of their life with the trauma of Malcom’s deeds.

No , of course not. It’s not that simple, it’s rarely that simple.



First, the person taking the video is politically connected to someone in a neighbouring country. We can’t touch him for geo political reasons. The big picture as they call it. The video cannot see the light of day because that person is never on the scene if you get my drift.

Second, people like Malcom, he will never stop.


Malcom needs to go.

He needs to go quietly and cleanly, like he never existed.


Owen : All the information is all there…. Can you do it ?


Jeff : yes….

Owen : First time is always the most memorable…. Do you need me to be there ?

Jeff : No…

Owen : How are you going to do it ?


Jeff : Do I need to tell you that ?

Owen : hahaha… as long as the job gets done…. And don’t get caught… draw what you need from the storeroom. You have 2 months.


I followed Malcom for a month before making up my mind.

I didn’t even need anything from the storeroom.


I simply waited for him to go for his run. He likes to run at MacRitchie reservoir along the jungle trail on Wednesday before his workday.


It was 6am on a weekday.


I watch his convertible pull into the carpark and I did my own stretching. Time to loosen up the muscles.

I let him get a 3 minute headstart before I started on the trail behind him.


I caught up with him in no time and I could see him about 20 paces in front of me.


There was no one behind me, I felt the rush of adrenaline as I opened up my steps and caught up to Malcom.

He did not even have time to react. Using my shoulder I bump him to the left, causing him to tumble down the side of the slope and into the edge of the water.


Malcom : hey !! arghhh!!! argHHH!!!...

He tumbled and rolled for a few seconds, cursing out in the dark at me.


I paused and waited. That would surely attract the attention of passer bys if anyone was there.

Malcom : hey !! fucker…. You … fuck you !...


I checked the path to make sure it’s clear before jumping off the track and made my way towards Malcom.


He was covered in dirt and he was panting hard. Imagine running flat out and having to take a tumble.

He looked like he was about to throw a punch at me but he never expected me to do what I did.

I ran at him and literally lifted him up and before I tumbled with him together into the reservoir.


Malcom :earehghh !

I took a deep breath as I clung onto Malcom like a koala from behind him and I relax my body, letting my body weight drag him under water.


He struggled, slapping the surface of the water as he tried to swim upwards for air, expanding what little oxygen he had in his lungs.

Malcom wasted a good 5-6 seconds trying to swim with me attached to him like a leech. By the time he realised his mistake, he tried to untangle himself from me but it was too late.

Panic set in. It was dark.


The water is cold. My legs were wrapped around his waist while my hands held onto his head.

I closed my eyes and I could feel the life in him slipping away.

His struggle got weaker. His instinct made him grab at my legs around his body but it was no use. I was wearing long running tights.


I could feel him going into spasm as his lungs filled with water. His hands reached wildly behind his head trying to get me and I just held on.

I could hold my breathe steady for 120 to 130 seconds. The max I did was 148.


It was coming to a minute by my count and Malcom was hardly moving by then.

I held my hold on him and relaxed my body further, letting the current carry us out into the middle of the reservoir.


At the 2 minute mark, I gently let go of Malcom and I surfaced for a breath of fresh air.

I looked at Malcom’s lifeless body a few metres away from me before I swam towards the shore.

I checked to make sure the coast was clear before I continued my run back to the car.

I got to my car, towelled myself dry and drove back home.

I gave Owen a text to tell him it’s done and the location.


He will handle the clean up and the administrative work that follows.


In a couple of days, there will be a small column in the papers about a jogger that lost his footing and fell during his jog and drowned.
Public are reminded to be vigilant when jogging along the dark paths of the park.


Autopsy, post mortem, paper work, all these will be taken care of by Owen and his team behind the scenes.

Owen came to look for me after my 1st project, offering me time off, a holiday. A time out session. I was sent to talk to a shrink who work for the same company. I had to go through evaluation by 2 separate doctors before I was certified fit to continue my work.


Honestly, I was afraid. I felt the fear like any others but I knew what kept me going. If I don’t do this, more innocent people will get harm.


That is what I tell myself every night before I go to sleep ever since I did my first project.



6 years on by 2013, I did 27 projects in all.


27.


I was the best performing employee in the company.


Top in terms of KPI.


I took the lives of 22 men and 5 women.

I remember all their faces.


Every night before I sleep, I would see those faces.


That look in their eyes. That look of realisation of what is happening.


I know when my time is up, I would see those faces again.

I can’t expect myself to go to heaven having done the things I did right ?



Well, I still sleep at night, in the same bedroom, on the same bed, in the same house my dad left me.

I have money, more than I can ever spend stashed in different countries in the region.


I’m being paid 9k a month, and this does not include the bonus for each project.

Bonus for project differs by quite a bit. Criminals like Malcom are pretty low, terrorist pays pretty well, overseas jobs goes for double the rate. You get the drift.


The arrangement with Owen has worked well for me all these years. In fact I was thinking of retirement in a few years.

Then the consolidation came.


Instructions came from the top that Owen need to consolidate his operation. We can no longer operate the way we do. Someone is crying for accountability, documentations, paperwork.

Long story short, Owen needed to shift his operations from various locations around the island into 1 building.

Reorganisation.

A 12 storey building located in little india.


A building with a story of it’s own.


That is where my story begins.


It all starts with the number 6.

Why 6 ?



In the centre of the lobby lies a sculpture of that looked like the universal studio globe but it’s a lot smaller with digital screen running across the axis of the globe. Text runs from bottom up like the ticker tape of news channel.


The metal globe spins and I could see my call-sign appearing on the digital screen.

Hibiki 6 2 7



Owen : Want to know what it means ?

Jeff : Let me guess, 27 projects….?

Owen nodded.


Jeff : What does the 6 mean ?

Owen : You’re number 6.

Jeff : What ?


Owen : yes…

Jeff : I thought I was the top ?? … didn’t you say I was the top ??