Midnight.

Wesley grew up in between homes with a military father. They moved around from base to base, the longest stay in his life was New York City. His mother was sick of traveling around with four children having to uproot them from everything they knew and loved; so she made her husband move alone. Wesley had a very close relationship with his mom. He was the middle child with an older brother and an Older Sister; he was number 3 of four. Basically, he could do whatever he wanted and never do any wrong.

James Duncan Spears was the oldest son and took after their father joining the military when he turned 18 and shipping off with their father.

Next was Elena Marie Spears named after their grandmother on their mother's side. She took a different route in life deciding to go to college and make something of herself. She ended up as a prominent lawyer in the city for one of the biggest law firms.

Then there was Wesley. Wesley did the studying he became an architect major with a business minor. He did all the work bouncing from college to college. He joined the military doing four years of training before they kicked him from the military stating he was mentally unfit to fight. Wesley had an odd obsession with guns and killing things from a young age. When he was kicked from the army, he got a job at an architecture building firm, as an intern unpaid so he had to make money somehow. The criminal underbelly of New York was the perfect place for a gun-obsessed ex-‘soldier’ using the term soldier loosely.

He started doing jobs, hitman jobs anything that would help put food on his table and keep him floating from his debts.

Lastly was Jessie Anne Spears, the baby of the family, the golden child who excelled at everything she did, now she’s only 19, but she’s accomplished so much in her life. She’s going to be an Olympian she swears. The girl breathes gymnastics and figures skating, something the family couldn’t afford. Another reason Wesley became a hit man. He wanted to help his mom and Dad pay for his baby sisters training.

—Important Wesley Backstory—

When Wesley was five years old he had a pet bird named Elliot; he loved the bird maybe too much. As a toddler, he didn’t know his strength and one day he hugged Elliot too tight and snapped his neck. That was the first time he had ever killed something. Now his parents knew something was wrong with him. Deciding they didn’t want to bring up any of their child’s demons. They pushed it under the surface by enrolling him in all the extracurricular activities they could. While he was young to help get out anger and all those demons.

Wesley didn’t think anything was wrong with him until he started school. He was bullied for a majority of his schooling for being chubby. He turned into your basic gothic/emo teenager with a phase of bleach blond hair and piercings (his eyebrow and his tongue.). Now all parents would like to think their children were saints, just mixing with the wrong crowd of people; but for Wesley, he wasn’t a saint. He was the dark-hearted kid everyone liked to think was just a facade for a sensitive, troubled individual.

During that Emo/Gothic phase, he met a group of like-minded kids who also had strange fascinations with guns and the idea of death. Needless to say when Wesley got to keen on the subject that group of friends pushed him out.

Alone, Wesley liked being alone. Nobody understood why he had these obsessions over guns, death, and all things dark. One night Wesley’s mother sat him down, and he had never seen her look as sad as she did when she spoke to him.

His mother begged him to straighten up and to get over this phase of wanting to hurt things and even himself. Now Wesley was many things but heartless he was not. How could he say no to his beloved mother? Once he hit the age for college 19 years old, he dyed his hair back to its natural raven/brown color. Though he kept the piercings, he dropped the rest of the look. He was turning his life around with schooling for his mother's sake.

Wesley moved from the family home into a studio apartment closer to the colleges he’d attend the farthest from home being Harvard. How Wesley managed to get into that prestige school seemed baffling to his father; his father always criticized Wesley. Unlike James he didn’t get all A’s, he never won awards, and he didn’t go straight into the military.

At the age of 26, after he had finished his studying, he joined the military, being dismissed at the age of 30. Four years of training classified training before they threw him out like he was nothing. Didn’t sit well on the young man's psyche.

—Becoming an Assassin/Hitman—

Wesley disgruntled by the fact the military kicked him out, upset that he couldn’t make his father proud, went off the deep end of crazy. He was about to be homeless, and he was about to lose everything. Scared shitless and sitting in a gutter he met a friend. Corey was the guy's name. He told Wesley that with his gun training that he’d have work for him at a dive bar.

This dive bar sat in the shadiest neighborhood on the south side of the Bronx. A block most people would never tread into after dark because of the criminal acts that took place and the fact that the cops in this area were paid off to look the other way.

Entering the bar, he scanned the room the light so dim and tinted a lovely shade of yellow made things all the more ominous. His ‘friend’ waved him over to a booth, taking a slow stride he sat across from the man. Corey wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he wasn’t as rough looking as some of the mugs in this place.

“Are you ready to make your dreams and nightmares come true?” A question he had not had the time to answer as a brawl broke out right to their right.

Two brutish men were fighting over a small translucent red card. That card must’ve held some importance as they killed each other over it. Nobody in the room made any motion to phone the police, medical rescue, or even grab the card. Wesley stared at the card that was slowly beginning to blend in with the blood around it.

“Go on then— pick it up.” Corey shoved Wesley out of the booth onto his hands and knees into the blood. The feeling of the sticky substance coating his hands, and his pants. Making the denim fabric stick to his skin uncomfortably. His stained red fingers picked up the card. A lovely silver number on the card he stood up and glanced to Corey before looking around.

All the eyes in the bar were on him. Corey slithered from his seat to stand beside Wesley. “Take the number and walk through the red door.”

Wesley’s eyes glanced to a red door, writing in a language Wesley didn’t understand as he approached the crimson door with a black gilded door knocker and knob. There was small writing under the word he couldn’t pronounce.

‘Knock the door as many times as the card.’

He glanced at the silver number on the card; his shaking blood covered hand reached for the knocker hitting it upon the door...one...two...three...four...five...six times in a row, before he heard tumblers and clicking of the locks on the other side seeming to unlock. Wesley couldn’t tell if he was nervous or overly excited to see what lay on the other side of it.

As he heard exactly six locks unlock he pushed the door open, the hallway was lined with red silk curtains leading to another door a black one this time. The top half of the door swung open as he approached. A pale and Boney hand coming out from the dark, a withered old voice speaking. “May I have your card?”

Wesley slid the card into the hand. His heart was in his throat as the face came into view, a silver piece of paper being held out, “once the deed is done, stamp the victim's thumbprint in their blood in the box in the corner and slip it under the red door. Make sure you put your preferred payment method on the paper.”

Wesley didn’t say a single word as he walked back out of the door the red door slamming shut behind him, all the locks clicking again into place. He scanned around for Corey seeing him making for the exit he followed him.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He asked harshly once they were outside. Corey grinned and cupped a hand over Wesley’s shoulder.

“Welcome to the assassins club of America, better known as the underground. Here’s the catch, if you don’t complete this task your name will be added to a card.”

Wesley looked at the silver paper. Info appeared on it as if by magic, Wesley squinted. “What kind of trick is this?”

“It isn’t, this is real. Nobody knows the leader of the underground or why he uses this thin metal sheeting. It’s marvelous isn’t it?”

Terrifying. “I suppose it is...” he trailed off and glanced around then quickly made for his car going home. He stares at the paper using a black ink pen to fill out /his/ information.

Wes Spears. 30. 12th street apartment 2B. Payment method. Cash. Mailing address. PO Box 1245 New York.

He pricked his thumb as it asked for. Soon the paper cleared with a green check and a name appeared on it. Matthew Halvard. An address and a work location.

Swallowing thickly he looked at his hand sighing to himself. “This is going to be tough.” Though deep within his dark pits, the ones he closed off for his mother he knew he could take a life and not think twice.

There wasn’t any instruction on this man. There was no reasoning, and from the card, it seemed no deadline, but that silver note kept his attention far too long and he needed to do it, soon.

He spent two days studying Matthews movements. What he did each day, how long it took him, how he moved. On the third day, Wes struck at the man's home before work, after his wife had left. He waited for him to be alone. Once he was, he hit quietly and quickly, sliding a blade across his throat. Wesley will never forget the feel of the skin giving way under the sharpened edge.

The pop the skin made and the gurgling sound, he couldn’t even scream out. The man had no time to react. Wesley sealed the silver contract with the victim's fingerprint in his blood. He was watching a green check mark show up on the silver paper. That night after he had burnt his clothes and hid the knife, he went to that dive bar sticking the silver paper under the red door.

He then as quick as he entered, left the establishment. Going home, he didn’t know how or when he’d get paid. Nor did he know how much. Half a day passed and in his PO Box was a red letter-sized envelope, within the envelope was a payment of just over 1800 dollars.

He set it all out on his counter and stared at it. Did he feel guilty? No. That scared him more than anything. The fact that he had no remorse, but wanted another card and more money. With his bills paid, and belly full he went to his mothers.

Parking in her driveway he walked into the home without even knocking. It was his family home after all.

“Wes! Sit!” His Mom called to him he smiled and sat down on the couch. “I was wondering when you’d show up!” Wesley smiled wider; having his mother miss him was more important than anything.

“I got a letter in the mail for you today.” She said walking in with a tray of cookies and a red envelope. Wes went pale as he opened it a translucent blue card fell out with a number on it and a small note.

‘Do not fail this one; family hangs in the balance.’

He had no idea what a blue card meant, but he just smiled. “My friend has a business; it’s just his new card and an invitation to a party.” He lied. He was shoving the note and card into his jacket pocket.

“I came to bring you some money for Jessie’s training.” He said pulling out 550 dollars holding it out to his mom.

“Please, son you don—“

“I want to mother, please allow me to do this.” He said putting it in her hand. “Take it and make Jessie happy.” He said smiling then the anxiety pushed into his head about this card. “I gotta go but I’ll— I’ll come home real soon to get some supper okay?” With a very tight and warm hug, he left his mother waiting until he was in the car to Phone Corey.

“Yes, Wesley?”

“What the fuck does a blue card mean and why did it show up at my mother's house!?” He growled into the phone as he drove towards the bar.

“Blue? Silver letters? Hmm means that an assassin has gone rogue and you have to take them out, promptly.”

“What the fuck does ‘family hangs in the balance’ mean?”

“Must be a high profile assassin and they know you’re after them, so you have to get to them before they get to your family.”

“You know— a handbook would be nice. So I could know everything!” Wesley was on edge; this means some psycho assassin is after his family and he has to protect them. Lovely, not what he signed up for.