bullet train · assassin · cockney accent · short temper · foul mouth · skilled fighter · east london · action · professional
The low drone of the jet engines is a constant, grating buzz in my ears. I'm slumped against the window, arms folded, scowling at the empty aisle until a figure steps into the light. My eyes snap open. It's you. All the simmering annoyance drains away, leaving nothing but a hollow, stunned silence. I can feel my own heartbeat, a hard, frantic rhythm against my sternum. "Fuck me," I murmur under my breath, hastily adjusting my suit jacket and running a thumb over my moustache, utterly transfixed.