Owen Able and The Two-Headed Dragon

Chapter 1

22 October 2009, Fresnaye, Cape Town

A mysterious figure stealthily makes his way across the shadowy surface of a wooden barn-like structure’s slanted roof, standing on the slopes of Lion’s Head Mountain. The dull thuds of his rapid footsteps on the roof’s metal sheets are barely disrupting the soothing chorus of chirping crickets. Secured around the shadowy figure’s waist is a rope adorned with metal hooks, the rope’s opposite end appearing to be suspended in mid-air like magic, visible for only about a meter before it disappears into the darkness of the night to the east. From afar the figure looks like a puppet on a string. Another rolled-up rope of about 8 meters long, is draped diagonally across his body. He reaches the center of the roof and crouches down. Raising a gloved hand, he checks the time. The round face of the smartwatch automatically illuminates and displays the time in bold, white numbers across the center of its display. It is now 7:59 PM. 

A warm breeze lightly tugs at tree leaves, carrying their fragrant floral smell on its wings from the lush Pine - and Dogwood trees dotting the vast property. The sound of rustling leaves is briefly interrupted by the creaking of branches. Although the calendar marked the middle of Spring, the atmosphere resembled a serene summer’s night. It is the perfect setting to gather friends and family around a crackling campfire, indulging in a barbecue feast with succulent lamb chops, sizzling beef sausages, and soft white rolls slathered in butter. Cautiously feeling his way in the dim moonlight, the shadowy figure finds and skillfully removes all the roof screws from several metal roof sheets with an electric screwdriver he removed from his tool belt. He dares not switch on his headlight to prevent detection and to avoid any unpleasant surprises from unwanted company. 

Three roof sheets are now completely free from the rafters with their edges slightly bobbing upward. Andrew screws a U-shaped metal bracket to each loosened sheet using the small electric screwdriver. He unties the rope with the metal hooks around his waist, and carefully attaches a metal hook from the rope to each U-shaped bracket. Three hooks to three brackets in total. Quickly, but silently, Andrew moves closer to the edge on the southeastern side of the roof. He removes the rope hanging across his body and places it next to him. With a soft jingling, he takes another U-shaped bracket and two screws from the pouch hanging from his belt. The metal plate softly vibrates with a low grumbling sound as Andrew secures the bracket with the screws to the roof sheet. He then ties the rappelling rope to the bracket and effortlessly rappels down the 5m wooden wall on the southeastern side of the building that faces Lion’s Head Mountain. 

That side of the building is shrouded in darkness like a thick blanket, obscuring any discernible details. However, with a faint click, a sudden beam of light bursts forth and paints a bright, yellow dot of light on the deep-golden oak wooden wall. Scanning the wall, with the dot of light following his gaze, he finds the electrical box mounted at the left side corner. 

Andrew carefully approaches the electrical service panel box. With a gentle and controlled force, he pries the box open using a small crowbar he retrieved from his tool belt, mindful of minimizing any noise that might give away his presence. 

The box door flings open. He reaches inside and meticulously attaches a small explosive charge to the power meter unit. With the press of a small button on the front of the explosive charge followed by a faint beep and a small flashing red light, the detonator is now armed. 

After pushing the electrical service box closed, he switches off his headlight and climbs back onto the roof using the rappelling rope still dangling from the side. 

Andrew takes another peek at his watch. The time on the watch shows that it is now 8:25 PM. 

I will need to get a move on, he thinks.

Andrew quickly rolls up the rappelling rope, unties it from the bracket, and throws it over his head, so it hangs diagonally across his body. He then silently moves to the loosened roof sheets again under the cover of night. With a few sweeps of his index finger over his watch face, it transforms into a remote control of sorts with four directional buttons in circular form to the left of its display. 

Andrew taps the buttons on his watch, skillfully maneuvering the rope that hangs suspended from the sky, bringing it closer to where he is crouching. A blurry, vertical shape gradually comes into focus until finally revealing itself as a sturdy steel cable with a carabiner attached on the end, also dangling from the sky. With a few more precise taps on the watch’s remote buttons, the steel cable now hangs a mere arm’s length away from him. He reaches over, grabs the steel cable, and secures the carabiner to his harness. A few more sweeps over the watch’s face, and a button press, Andrew begins to ascend slowly into the air. Suspended in mid-air, he has a clear view of his surroundings. Andrew sees the rope he secured to the roof sheets sliding past him from above, down to the roof of the building below. In the distance, to the northeast, stands a magnificent Cape Dutch house, illuminated by its outdoor wall lights. To his left, he spots headlights coming up Avenue Deauville. 

Just in time, Andrew thinks to himself. This may very well be the first guests to arrive for the underground fight. 

Just off Avenue Deauville and to the north-west, two large wrought iron gates block the entrance to a long, sweeping driveway lined with, what appear to be, pink flowering Dogwood trees that lead up to the majestic Cape Dutch house standing on the slopes of Lion’s Head Mountain. 

Approaching headlights cast two bright, cone-shaped beams of light onto a gravel driveway, illuminating the wrought iron gates as the vehicle comes to a stop. 

Two gleaming brass lion heads, one mounted on each gate, stare back at the limousine driver with open jaws and glistening teeth. Andrew, still ascending, slowly disappears into the darkness. 

A tall and slender security guard, with an M5 submachine gun slung over his shoulder, approaches the car with the dim glow of two Transylvania lantern-shaped wall lamps on either side of the gates, illuminating his way. One of the passenger’s windows rolls down with a soft electric hum. 

“Good evening, sir. May I see your invitation, please?” the guard asks in a professional manner. 

A white Fedora, Panama style, with a black ribbon trim, obscures the passenger’s face. A wrinkly, well-tanned hand protrudes through the dark car window, clutching a black plastic ticket with gold lettering between his index and middle fingers. On his pinky, a shiny gold ring proudly boasts a Barnard family coat of arms engraving. 

After taking the ticket from the weathered hand, the guard scans the gold print on the ticket with an app on his mobile phone. The lettering reads “θάνατος μέσα από μάχη,” which means “death by combat” in Greek. The app beeps as it identifies several DataDots located in different areas of the embossed text. The mobile phone screen then displays scrambled letters and symbols as it decrypts the information retrieved from each DataDot. After the screen fades and comes back to life, Mr. Barnard is identified, complete with his photo, full name, and number of events attended. A green checkmark appears next to the text “On Guest List.” Moments later, small electric sparks and popping noises emit from the ticket, leaving burned holes where the DataDots used to be located. The guard discards the ticket into a leather pouch carried around his waist. 

He leans over to address the silent man in the car. “Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Mr. Barnard. Please enjoy the event.” 

He commands another security guard via a two-way radio in a control booth on the other side of the gate to open the gates and let the car through. 

At 9:15 PM, the parking lot in front of the fighting hall has transformed from an empty space to a display of luxury vehicles. Hummers, Cadillacs, and various high-end German cars now occupy every available spot. A procession of elegantly dressed individuals, who exude sophistication and wealth, step out of their vehicles and slowly make their way towards the entrance while mingling and chatting. If one did not know better, it would be easy to mistake the scene for a black-tie gala or a red-carpet event. 

Meanwhile, Andrew sits somewhere in a cozy leather seat, busy pulling up a live stream of the underground fight that is about to take place, on his tablet.

Rows of plush and comfortable seats upholstered in leather, stretched out in a circle, ascending gradually towards the ceiling. The fighting ring is in the center of the hall, its canvas illuminated by a spotlight that casts a focused beam on the gladiatorial stage. 

The ring announcer steps into the ring, clutching a microphone, ready to introduce the evening’s fighters and kick off the night’s thrilling events.

Chapter 2

Loud chatter and chanting fill the smoky hall as an announcement booms over loudspeakers:

“On my left, a fighter that needs no introduction. Standing 2.1 meters tall and weighing in at 180 kilograms. He is the undefeated champion of the underground arena. The cannon from the South and fighting in the red and black trunks. He is the Buuulldooozer!!”

The crowd goes wild, despite their fancy dresses and tuxedos that suggest a composed and respectable bunch with class. Yet, at this moment, animals seem to have more class than this fighting hall’s occupants.

The crowd calms down as the ring announcer continues:

“And the challenger to my right, a newcomer in our midst: Standing 1.95 meters tall and weighing in at 107 kilograms. Fighting in the blue and white trunks and ready to blow your mind, he is: Miiindblooow!!”

Mocking laughter and boos echoes through the hall with resounding disapproval of Mindblow.

Hands wave fists full of cash in the air as bets are placed in a chaotic fashion with the odds stacked firmly against the newcomer.

“And now for the rules of tonight’s fight…” The announcer pauses for a moment before continuing. “There are no rules but one. The last man standing wins!”

The crowd goes wild.

“There will, however, be one courtesy offered to a contender that is knocked down in way of a ten count. If unable to continue after the count, he will forfeit the fight.”

The audience, clearly not happy with this statement, voice - and act out their disapproval like starving psychotic people who are deprived of their dinner.

A voice pierces through the noise: “That is hogwash! We are not paying to see a boxing match!”

The ring announcer turns to the voice with a smile on his face and points in the disgruntled man’s direction. 

“Please allow me to finish, good sir. I am sure you will approve of what is to follow.”

He then turns to the crowd with cold, dark eyes and an eerie grin that almost stretches from ear to ear.

“If the fight is forfeit, you the people, will decide the loser’s fate.” 

The ring announcer pauses as loud cheering and chanting bursts from the crowd.

“You will have the power over life and death!” He shouts with a loud voice while raising a fist in the air.

There are more cheers from the enchanted crowd before the announcer continues.

“Not only that,” the ring announcer says with a sinister voice while raising his eyebrows and pointing to the crowd.

“You can choose the execution method if that is your wish! So, let’s begin!” 

The bell rings and it is the start of the fight.

The crowd explodes with excitement and bloodlust as the fight is about to start.

“Kill him!”

“Break his bones!”

Mindblow turns around who is none other than Owen Able.

Piercing blue eyes, jet black hair, built like a tank and pleasing to the eye.

Owen is a lean, broad-shouldered man with a muscular chest. A thin jagged scar is running diagonally across his chest, a circular scar on his ripped right bicep and a few more on his back. The scars on his body do not take away from his appeal but oddly add to his attractiveness. 

Owen plays the fight out in his mind:

He is a big boy. I will have to take him out quick so here is the plan: He is left-handed by the look of his stance so I will drop my right guard and come in close. This will leave me exposed to the perfect left hook and he will surely take the bait. But I will expect it and duck just in time to plant the perfect body shot between the rib cages. This will leave him winded, and I will follow up with an uppercut to seal the deal.

Owen grins confidently to himself.

This is going to be so easy.

It is the start of the round and Owen goes through his planned steps in his mind while acting them out: 

Get in close, drop my right guard, and duck to avoid his left hook and…

There is a loud thud followed by a sharp pain shooting up Owen’s nose and through his eyes.

The crowd’s cheering dims and the light fades to a black void.

When Owen finally gets to his senses, he is lying on his back with the ringmaster already at the count of five.

Dazed, with blurry vision, a bloody nose, and limbs like jelly, Owen cannot help but wonder: “What just happened?”

“Six! Seven!”

Then it dawned on him, “The punk took a knee to my face!”

“Eight! Nine!”

Owen feels the strength return to his limbs and with a quick flip-up move, he is back on his feet in a flash just before the referee gets to the final count.

The two fighters do not even notice the cheering and chants of the audience anymore. Their focus is solely fixed on the fight ahead.

Hardly back on his feet, Bulldozer rushes towards him like a steam train but Owen answers with a flurry of kicks and punches that hits its mark with deadly accuracy. To Owen’s surprise, Bulldozer simply brushes off his attacks as if they had no effect, then grabs Owen around the neck with his left hand, lifts him off the ground, and slams Owen down on his back while crushing his windpipe.

Owen can feel the blood rush to his head and his eyes feel as if they want to pop out of his skull from Bulldozer’s steel grip. Grabbing Bulldozer’s choking arm with both his hands for leverage, Owen plants a devastating kick right between Bulldozer’s legs. The giant man does not even flinch but instead tightens his grip even more.

You got to be kidding me! Owen thinks to himself.

Realizing that he needs to act fast before he runs out of oxygen, he reaches over with his left hand and finds a good grip on Bulldozer’s pinkie. There is a snap as Owen yanks the pinkie upward, twisting Bulldozer’s arm followed by Owen’s right elbow smashing into Bulldozer’s forearm just below the elbow, severing both bones in the forearm from the two joints that connect them to the Humerus.

Owen scrambles to his feet and quickly backs up clutching his neck and moving his head from side to side hoping that it will soothe the burning, get the oxygen, and blood flow going normally again.

Bulldozer goes into a battle stance, lifting both hands in front of his face, but his left forearm goes limp, bending like rubber with the fingers of his open hand pointing to the floor. He seems unfazed by the twisting and dangling of his forearm from his upper arm with only a cold, fearless stare in Owen’s direction.

Owen’s body is glistening with sweat. He pauses for a while before suddenly dashing forward, taking advantage of Bulldozer’s weakened defense, and lands a perfectly placed karate chop on the left side of his neck.

Bulldozer crashes to the ground like a sack of potatoes. It is as if Owen just found the off switch to an unstoppable killer robot with its only command to destroy him.

The crowd lets out a deafening roar, drowning out all other noise and filling the hall with a primal energy. They start to chant while stomping their feet and shouting, “Execute! Execute…”

The ringmaster starts the countdown, “One, two, three…” Owen waves three fingers in the air, then two fingers like a peace sign or a “V” for victory, then one finger till finally ending in a fist pump.

Andrew instantly recognizes the signal from the live feed on his tablet. He pushes a button on a remote control, detonating the explosive device in the electric service panel box. The explosive charge goes off with a puff of smoke and a muffled bang followed by a firework of sparks.

Suddenly the lights went out and the counting over the loudspeakers stopped, leaving the hall in total darkness. The crowd becomes restless and uneasy. Trust is a commodity you cannot afford while standing amongst some of the biggest names in crime syndicates. Everyone is scrambling for their cell phones and clutching their belongings. One by one mobile phone flashlights start popping up, punching holes in the darkness like a field of fireflies. Pushing and shoving ensues with gunshots going off here and there.

Owen pulls a thin metal strip from a hidden pocket to the side of his trunks’ waistband. With a snap of his wrist, the metal strip unfolds into dark glasses complete with an earpiece and microphone. The low-level night vision glasses fit his face perfectly, and through them, he can make out the outlines of objects around him. The ringmaster seems to have fled the scene and the only other body in the ring is that of Bulldozer.

Andrew yanks on the rope with the metal hooks secured to the loosened roof sheets which slide down the roof and off the side of the building with a loud clatter, but the noise is drowned out by the rowdy crowd scattering and fleeing in all directions. He then starts lowering a stretcher and the metal cable, with a harness attached to a carabiner, down to the gap in the roof.

Owen presses a button on the earpiece. “Nightwing come in.”

“Nightwing all ears. Over,” a voice reverberates in Owen’s ear.

“Execute lift off. Over.”

“Copy that team leader. Over and out.”

Two ropes, glowing with a fluorescent green light, are lowered through the roof of the building with one end having a harness attached and the other a rescue stretcher. They also glow with the same eerie green light as the ropes and are only visible through Owen’s glasses due to the equipment being treated with a special illuminant.

Owen pushes Bulldozer onto his side and then shoves the stretcher underneath him. Letting go of Bulldozer, he safely rolls onto the stretcher. Owen proceeds to strap Bulldozer to the stretcher and then straps himself in the nearby harness.

“Nightwing come in.”

“Nightwing copy.”

“Take us out of here. Over and out.”

Slowly but surely, they are lifted into the darkness and towards a well-camouflaged helicopter hovering silently above the building. The chopper only becomes visible once they have ascended a few meters above the rooftop.

Experiencing this phenomenon for the first time is truly remarkable: you behold a helicopter with a well-camouflaged, sleek design that almost resembles an airplane, and as the rotor blades rotate at incredible speeds, you can feel the gust of wind they create. Yet, there is no sound except for a slight hum.

It is almost as if someone has clicked the mute button on a TV remote where you can see the movie action happening, but there is only silence.

You may wonder, “Is there something wrong with my ears?” But then you notice the sound of your breathing and the noise of the world attacking you from all angles and it drives you slightly mad.

Whisper mode is what Owen calls this invention. The helicopter, in reality, is far from silent and simply switches to a secondary engine that runs at a frequency not audible to the human ear. It is a bit more complicated to cancel out the noise of the rotor blades, and whisper mode has the disadvantage of speeds not being able to exceed 60 km/h or 37.3 mph. He did dabble with electric motors for this purpose, but the range was just unacceptable for his taste.

Bulldozer’s body suddenly starts twitching. His eyes unexpectedly shoot open, wild with anger and confusion.

“I think our friend is awake. We will need to hurry this along,” Owen says anxiously over his headset.

“This is as fast as she goes. He should be fine. You did strap him in nice and tight? Right?”

“As snug as a bug. But he is a wild one.”

“Just keep him calm. You are almost there.”

Owen uses his momentum to swing over to Bulldozer’s stretcher and grabs the rope with his right hand.

Owen tries to calm the wriggling and squirming hulk of a man. “Hang in there buddy. You are safe. Just stay calm.”

Owen’s words have no effect and Bulldozer violently tries to break free from his bondage while grunting and grinding on his teeth. One of the steel buckles starts to bend and twist under the brute strength of Bulldozer.

“It is not working, Andrew. The straps are not holding,” Owen says a bit worried.

“Are you sure? “

“No. It is just my imagination,” Owen says sarcastically. “Of course, I am sure. Wait, let me try and pin him down.”

Owen puts his left forearm on Bulldozer’s chest and then leans forward to add every gram of weight he can muster to the downward force. Just then, Bulldozer lets out a mighty roar. The buckle on the strap crumbles and with a snap, the buckle shoots off the strap like a bullet. He grabs Owen by the throat and this time Owen is dangling helplessly in the air with his reach too short to land a successful blow to any part of Bulldozer’s body, except for his arm which proves to be pointless.

Owen frantically searches for Bulldozer’s pinkie so he can free himself again from the deadly grip, but it is not there! Bulldozer’s pinkie is safely tucked away to the front of Owen’s throat and under the palm of his hand. Only three huge fingers curl around the right side of Owen’s neck, while his thumb is squeezing from the other side. Try as he might, Owen Able is unable to loosen the grip of any of Bulldozer’s fingers.

Andrew peers down over the helicopter’s platform to witness the struggle and then scrambles for the tranquilizer rifle just off to the side of the open sliding door.

This is not the first time Andrew had to get Owen out of a pickle. In fact, they had had each other’s backs since their military days back in 1988 when they served together in the special forces as part of the five-three Recce commando. Their friendship and camaraderie endured through their subsequent careers as agents for the South African Secret Service.

Andrew steadies his aim, peering through the rifle’s night vision telescope. With calculated precision, he squeezes the trigger, sending the dart soaring through the air. It strikes Bulldozer’s chest with a resounding thud, coming dangerously close to Owen’s shoulder, missing it by mere centimeters. But the big man refuses to let go.

Owen’s body goes limp and yet Bulldozer does not loosen his grip. It is like his hand is welded to Owen’s neck. Owen and Bulldozer are now but a mere arms’ reach away from the helicopter platform and Andrew takes the opportunity to plunge another tranquilizer dart into Bulldozer’s forearm.

Finally, the big man’s grip falls from Owen’s neck as he slips unconscious.

Andrew quickly drags the two bodies onto the platform. Owen is not moving.

Andrew grabs Owen by the harness and violently shakes him. “Wake up, Owen!” There is no response from Owen.

“Come on buddy! Don’t make me give you mouth-to-mouth, please,” Andrew says while shaking him some more. Then, with a mighty backhand, Andrew slaps Owen across the face.

Owen starts coughing then slowly opens his eyes and looks at Bulldozer lying on the stretcher beside him.

“Whoop, whoop! He is alive,” Andrew shouts. “You don’t understand man. I almost gave you the kiss of life. Like on the lips and everything.”

Owen rubs his burning cheek and then asks with a raspy voice, “What happened?”

“I got the big man real good with some tranq. darts. He is out cold.”

Owen beckons Andrew to come closer, then whispers, “Give me another one.”

“What? Another dart? Yeah. He is not getting up from that.”

Owen slowly nods his head. “Just…” He swallows hard before continuing, “Just hand me another one.”

Andrew finds another dart in the rifle bag and holds it out to Owen.

“My hand,” Owen says faintly.

“Oh. Place it in your hand. Sure thing.”

Andrew places the dart, with the point facing downwards, in Owen’s hand.

Owen slowly lifts his forearm and then lets his arm drop, sticking another dart into Bulldozer’s side.

“Now. Can we go home?” Owen asks with a muffled voice.

“Aye aye, captain!”

Andrew closes the sliding door and returns to the helicopter’s cockpit. Taking position behind the controls, he switches off the autopilot, disengages whisper mode and speeds off along the coastline towards the Able foundation situated in Hermanus.

Chapter 3

The silence is suddenly broken by the soft echo of ‘Oh, what a beautiful morning’ from hidden speakers in the ceiling, and at the same time, the room lights come to life, their dim glow pushing desperately against the darkness.

A faint hum emanates from the bedroom curtains as they slowly slide open, gradually revealing a spectacular sunrise over the mountaintops. With each centimeter the curtains slide, the bedroom lights grow brighter, and the music louder, until all darkness has fled and is no more.

Nicole reluctantly opens her eyes…

“Good morning, Nicole. I hope you slept well. Would you like to know the weather forecast for today?”

“Just go away, Saimon,” Nicole protested in a whiny voice while pulling the blankets over her head.

“My apologies, Nicole. But I received clear instructions from you to remind you of your important meeting this morning. 

“Of course. My meeting!” She pops her head out from beneath the blankets. Long strands of chestnut-brown hair hang haphazardly over her eyes and mouth. With a huff, she blows the hair out of her face and then clasps her hands together in front of her chest while looking up. Her light-blue eyes sparkle as she flashes a bright smile with perfect teeth against her tawny skin. She lets out a sigh. “This will be a glorious day!”

Nicole then jumps out of bed and briskly walks to her closet. Her muscled mesomorphic body hidden under navy silk pajamas with white lining that traced the collar, cuffs, and hem.

“If you do not mind me asking, Nicole: I am curious to know where it is you wanted me to go? As you know, I was born and raised in the Able network matrix system.”

“Do not worry about it, Saimon. It is just a human expression.”

“I see. Well, in that case. I will be around. Just call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Saimon,” Nicole says softly without paying any attention to what was said as her focus is fixed solely on the important day ahead and, of course, what one will wear for the occasion. 

Nicole sets aside all thoughts of the meeting for a moment to make way for her daily routine. She cannot start the day without a good workout.

Upon entering the closet, the ceiling lights come to life, enveloping the space in a comforting and radiant golden hue.

The walk-in closet is an impressive display of Nicole’s vast collection of clothing and shoes. The circular space is lined with twenty glass panels that showcase her pieces from the floor to the six-meter-high ceiling. Each panel is thoughtfully divided into two sections with engraved black numbering at the top: the upper section features three sets of clothing and occupies two-thirds of the panel’s height, while the lower section showcases shoes that match the clothing displayed at the bottom. This layout creates an organized and visually appealing display, allowing Nicole to easily select her outfits and accessories for any occasion.

A wooden stand sits at the center of the closet floor, holding an LED display. Owen prefers LED over LCD for its picture quality and durability, and almost exclusively uses it for all displays. A collection of outfit images, each accompanied by its corresponding category name, is displayed on the screen in exciting and vivid colors. Nicole taps the “Active Wear” category on the control panel, and each glass panel smoothly rotates horizontally, until it reveals all her activewear options.

She carefully scans through the contents behind each glass panel until she finally makes her decision. Nicole enters the number twelve on the keypad. Glass panel number twelve suddenly lights up with a bright white glow, indicating her selection. 

With the touch of another button, the contents of the selected panel rotate downward until her clothing of choice reaches the glass door at the bottom. Her selection falls on a matching set of yellow Nike sneakers with white soles and white shoelaces, a yellow tank top, and black tights.

Before she retrieves the outfit, Nicole steps in front of the full-length mirror to her right, which virtually displays the clothing on her body in real time.

She expertly turns this way and that, meticulously examining every angle, until a big smile spreads across her face, and she enthusiastically nods in approval. “Yes, that will do nicely,” she confirms.

Nicole retrieves the clothes and shoes, gets dressed, and makes her way to the in-house gym.

At the gym door, Nicole stands on the marked area and enters her 5-digit pin on the keypad. A monitor above the door displays an x-ray image of her body and highlights the wristwatch strapped to her wrist. Below the image, Nicole’s weight is displayed.

“Welcome Nicole. Enjoy the gym session,” a pleasant female voice emanates from the monitor. There is a sound of decompressed air as the door slides open and Nicole enters the gym.

It is an impressive sight geared with every piece of gym and dojo equipment you can think of. Archery targets line the west wall with combat dummies and weapon racks to the side. The weapon racks hold a mixture of training – as well as very real weapons for that authentic feel.

If you cannot find your weapon of choice in a weapons rack, you will surely find one hanging on a pillar or a wall.

Fancy a swim? Then dive into the indoor, temperature-controlled, Olympic-sized swimming pool complete with diving platforms.

There are steel locker cabinets for each of the forty employees at the Able mansion, which sections off areas of the gym, but there is also a separate locker room with shower facilities.

The steel lockers on the gym floor are to store your personal items, perhaps your favorite boxing gloves or anything you want close by for your gym session.

Nicole walks towards the west wing and punches in her locker number on a nearby keypad. There is a keypad for each training area of the gym.

A mechanical sound is heard in the distance as Nicole’s locker drops below the floor. The steel lockers then magically re-arrange themselves like a giant puzzle, leaving a gap where Nicole is standing. Moments later, her locker pops up from the floor with a whooshing sound in front of her.

She never opens her locker, except on that one special day of the year and today is that day.

Reluctantly she punches in the code on the locker keypad: 23, 10, 99. The LED screen on the locker door springs to life with text that reads, “Hi Nicole! You last accessed your locker 365 days ago on 23 October 2008.”

She slowly opens the locker door while closing her eyes; afraid of what she may find inside. There is a faint hope that the contents she thinks are inside the locker are just part of a bad dream. That it is just a figment of her imagination and once she opens her eyes, she will find objects that normally belong to a gym locker. Objects that tell a different story to the one perceived in her mind.

Nicole takes a deep breath and then slowly opens her eyes…

The shelves are lined with toys and memorabilia with each section having a photo of a young boy interacting with the objects on display. There is a plastic bucket and spade with a photo of the boy at the beach building a sandcastle, a train set, a tennis racket, and more. Each with an accompanying photo of the boy in a photo frame that fits the theme.

For the center display, there is an A4 size photo of a happy, dark-haired boy laughing which rests on a neatly folded blood-stained T-shirt.

Nicole gently runs her fingers over the photo, caressing the boy’s face. She can still hear his laughter echoing through the house. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to trace their paths down her cheeks. Nicole then kisses the boy on the forehead, hugs the frame tightly, and puts it to one side.

She unfolds the blood-stained T-shirt in her hands. The front of the yellow shirt is covered in dried blood from the neckline to the bottom in a triangular shape with blood splatters on the shoulders.

“I am not crazy,” she whispers to herself in utter disbelief. “This is not a bad dream.” She suddenly feels faint and nauseous, collapsing in a fetal position against the locker door and then starting to sob uncontrollably while clutching the blood-stained shirt to her chest.

Flashes of memories flood her mind. 

She remembers when she first met Owen at university, the love letters she received when he was in the army, their wedding day, the lonely nights when Owen was away on missions for the Secret Service, when she gave birth to a boy they named David…

The flashing stops and time slows down to where she finds herself swept back in time; vividly re-living that fateful day: Saturday, the 23rd of October 1999.