There was a continuously ringing coming from the front door, whoever that person standing outside his apartment must be very persistent to meet Blaine for it had been going on for quite some time now. Or they were just pulling a stupid prank.

Blaine shifted from his position, he grabbed blindly for a thick pillow and brought it on to cover his ears, his face planted on the mattress.

"Go away," Blaine groaned.

For a while the annoying ringing stopped, and Blaine had secretly felt thankful for that. But it was replaced by an immediate chain of banging noises on the wooden door, even with his ears covered Blaine could still hear it went thump thump thump. He gritted his teeth, throwing away his pillow that a moment ago was kept so dearly close to him to stand up. He opted for a sweatshirt and put it on.

"Who's there?" Blaine called out while struggling to find his indoor shoes.

A muffled voice - deep and slightly irritated - came through almost instantly, "Delivery package for Mr. Anderson!"

Blaine was confused, if not startled. He craned his neck to look for the digital clock sitting on his nightstand, it was 6.30 in the morning. Yes, he definitely did not sleep for more than 5 hours. Unless I slept through a whole day, Blaine reasoned.

Despite his confusion, he still moved to open the door, but not before stuffing his pocket with a switchblade.

After unlocking a series of padlocks, he opened the door and stucked his head out, his face wearing an innocent look.

"You asked for an Anderson?"

A middle-aged man with elf-like ears greeted him, he looked rather relieved to see that someone's home. "Yeah. 'Been standing here for half an hour, anyway, here's something for ya." He handed Blaine a package that he had been holding on one hand for far too long.

Blaine took it carefully in his hands, it felt heavy with a shape of a thin notebook. He searched the outside of the package, a quizzical look on his face. There was no sender information, only the adress of his apartment and nothing else.

He eyed the man, "Not to be rude, but, you don't look like the mail-man type." Of course he knew the man standing in front of him was no office worker, he was wearing casual clothes, a blue baseball cap that said "Go Kingston's Elves" on his head, not exactly the kind of uniform post offices let their employee wear to work. Besides, there was no post on Sunday.

"I never said I was," He chuckled, "Someone told me to give this to you, gave me a hundred dollar bill. So I said 'why the hell not?' " Then he stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets and started to walk away.

"Wait! Did they say anything to you? What do they look like?" Blaine called after him, he ran after the man to the floor's elevator.

"Can't tell ya, kid. 'Cos that was also in the deal! Oh, but they did want you to open it right away, some kind of important emergency note and all!" He gave Blaine a half-grin and saluted before the doors closed.

Blaine - infuriated for being awoken so early in the morning - walked back to his apartment and slammed the door closed. He put the box on the coffee table and pulled out the switchblade, all the while hoping this was not again a pixie's dung joke. It was trendy for pranksters at the time, they would pack a box which was filled with pixie's waste found in swamps and send it anonymously to random people. Blaine had never received such things, but he heard - and studied - enough to know the smell lasted for days. Some had to abandone their houses to take shelter in other places.

He swallowed audibly and pulled out a tablet, well, it looked like a tablet with a screen and some buttons and all, except there was no brand name on either side. Blaine pressed the "Play" button, as it was the only button with word (and it was glowing a dangerous red).

The black screen disappeared and replaced by a video, the background was white and in the center, was a pair of lips with red lipstick, when the mouth open to talk, it had a voice that sounded too machine-like to be human's.

"Greetings, Mr. Blaine Anderson. We are a the people that you have been working for for the last few months. Needless to say we are also the people who took away Mr. James Anderson for a short stay, for we know you will refuse to cooperate with us if we had seek your aid."

"What the...," So it was them, all along, taking his father as hostage and blackmailed Blaine to do whatever they say.

"We are very pleased to know that you had accomplished last night's mission. And we would like to inform you that Mr. James Anderson is in great shape, his accommodations, living conditions are provided with immense care, however, he will not be able to come back for a while longer. For we have a new mission for you. It will be-"

"That's new," Blaine laughed wryly.

"-your last mission, because we search no war in our accomplices."

"Well, you can count me out anytime."

"The information for your next and last mission will be showed after a message from your father, Mr. James Anderson. We suggest you take notes because this video can not be replayed nor be repeated."

After the voice ended, there came another video, with James Anderson sitting on a desk behind a table, his posture stiff and he looked far too uncomfortable to say he was treated with care. However, like they said, he was in great shape.

"Blaine, I'm telling you now words that I'm forced to say-" He cringed a bit, his expression suggested that some kind of immediate pain just ran through him, but he resumed his composure fast enough to make it look like nothing important.

"-words that are right, but not necessarily true, if applied to the situation," He paused for a moment and continued, "I'm not allowed to tell you where I'm being kept nor the people who are keeping me, but I can assure you that I'm somewhat safe and healthy.

"They told me that I'll be coming back to you in one piece, alive and well. As long as you do whatever you're told. And I, who have known you since ever, know that you'll make the right decision, for I'm far too old to tell you, a young man, what you should do in this situation."

And with that, the video ended. Blaine wasn't pleased because the video was shorter this time, it almost felt like they were urging him, or threatening him without using words. He shook his head and watched the following video, and probably the last piece of information.

On screen appeared two photos of his last target : a boy with chestnut hair, bright blue eyes and fair skin, far too young to compare with Billy Shawn Jr or any of Blaine's victims. His information listed and spoke aloud by the same voice earlier, "Kurt Hummel. Age 20. Kind: Unclassified. Gender: Male. Address: 1209B, Reinnson Street. Students of University of Arts and Designs for Magical Creatures. Wanted: Dead. Other notes: Retrieve the most important thing the target owns before finishing your kill."

Blaine stood still, shocked and horrified. He remember this man, Blaine was an assistant for the professor of one of the classes Kurt Hummel was attending. Though Blaine had a great memory, he wasn't known for remembering every one he had met. Maybe because Kurt was a bright, enthusiastic student and he always carried a very special aura with him, like he was superior to others that made people - and Blaine - notice him.

They hadn't talked outside of class, not really, Kurt had approached Blaine multiple times to discuss about his study or to grab a coffee but Blaine had to refuse all of his offers. He was too busy planning and going after his targets.

And now, his target was Kurt.

"This device will be destroyed within 20 seconds-"

Startled, Blaine looked for somewhere to put it without causing trouble, if there was smoke then the fire alarm would go off, he couldn't dump it in the trash bin or the sink like he had done with the paper messages either.

The seconds were being counting down to 6 until he saw the little rain drops falling heavily outside, he was too absorbed in watching those videos that he didn't realize it was raining. He quickly dashed to the nearby window and tossed the now readied to explode tablet outside.

It went off with a booming noise and some smoke got out, washed away by water pouring down from the sky.

Closing the window, Blaine shook his head regretfully, he silently hoped that Kurt won't be too displeased when he slit Kurt's throat open.