Wells Fargo Bank,

Pacific Avenue,

Henry Taggart wondered how he had got pimple even at the age of sixty. The well reputed and respected state bank employee was the most experienced banker in Wells Fargo. But since he had contacted H1N1 in New South Wales, Australia, he realized his respiratory strength turn faint day by day. For a week he had been in Intensive Care Unit breathing barely by the help of a ventilator.

The recovery process had caused the bank to give him an unused room for him where he could work in a separate and peaceful surrounding. He was grateful for the favor but knew the room was same to be vacated because authorities were discussing ideas of establishing a counseling facility vault.

Specific vault.

His working time was over and he had concluded all the entries. He looked at his thin fingers suffering from vitiligo due to his age. Pigmentation of skin was also taken along with his hair and stamina by the time. He had no idea how much was to be snatched away from him. Blink of an eye and what you were affectionate about….gone… For a while he couldn’t move his eyes off his paper like thin skin. The day was to come. The day has come when I sit on chair and think about my past. The painful past which still had power to shed tears off his eyes. What he feared wasn’t his youth gone but something it had taken away from him at the meantime.

Sooner or later you will lose what was with you…You will yearn for it to come back but it won't return, he remembered telling this to his companions.

He turned off his computer and cracked his fingers exhausted of typing. He was on his feet ready to leave when his cell phone rang.

The caller was the one whose voice he hadn’t forgotten since a decade -Second Order.

The caller did not waste any time and told him to give the asset which was with him to someone. He had told O'Connell could reach there in some ten minutes.

Even a minute hadn’t passed after the call was hung when the speaker on his vault spoke in as usual female voice, "Mr. Taggart. You've got a visitor. He's coming to your cabin."

How can O'Connell come so early? He said ten minutes. He can never be doubted for calculation of time. Then he got idea what was the reason behind this. Second Order hadn’t called him for over a decade. Taggart remembered his words last time, "Forget we know each other. I'll call you only if there's a crisis. Now hang up the call!"

The rude good-bye and the visitor along with crisis situation could mean only one thing but he knew it was too late when he heard tramps on the passage coming towards his door.

Without any delay, he caught paper and pen then started to scribble something.

Without even knocking someone entered inside his cabin. The man looked like O'Connell.

"Mr. Taggart, I need your help." He spoke.

Taggart got up with his eyes squinted down at the table, "In case you desire my help. I am honored to do service for you ser." Then Taggart clumsily went out from his desk.

"Come my lord, I shalt help you," then he looked at O'Connell's face with precison. Then he started to walk shoulder to shoulder with him like he was about to use his body to shove him.

O'Connell's face was smooth as not even a tiny spot of bruise or black heads were visible and his face looked far silkier than his back of hand.

"This must be a Redman." He had started to doubt himself but he could not ignore Raymond's call.

For a while he gazed at the man's forehead. He had been sweating from his neck but not from the face – the shiny face. It was not hard for him to realize that prosthetic masks never do sweat but the impersonator underneath it does.