A vibrant businesswoman, unafraid to use every weapon in her arsenal to get the job done, Sorcha Dunaid is a force few reckon with and escape unscathed. Red-haired, brown eyed and possessing a honeyed, malt whiskey voice, first impressions imply she’s fun in the bedroom. The impression isn’t wrong, but she’s equally dominating in the boardroom. It’s a mistake to assume her good looks and charm are her only attributes. Her lightning quick wit and fierce intelligence are sharper than any blade, and she has no reservations cutting her enemies down to size. And she has plenty of them. They hide on the fringes, scavengers waiting for a bigger predator to arrive and take a chunk out of her. Leave her bleeding and weak, so they can devour what remains. Sorcha’s guard remains strong, she won’t fall so easily. Not in any business deal, and not to any pretty face offering to buy her a drink.
SarnaiRamchaa: quick-witted, brave and a little bit reckless when the situation calls. Tall and slim, with high cheekbones and sharp eyes, she’s travelled the world as a photojournalist, but never thought the biggest story would land in her lap during a break. Whispers of the Brotherhood pervade every culture, woven through world history. The myth of their true purpose slides off the religious charity organisation bearing the same name. Why? With many deaths attributed to the secretive assassins, Sarnai’s nose twitches with curiosity and suspicion. Smart enough to know if she looks into it she’ll wind up adding to the body count, she’s using the story of an old chemical factory explosion to conceal her true intentions. Still, even with this, she remains on guard. Perhaps too much. Knocking out a man asking the time because he approached at night and from behind might be a paranoid step too far. Or is it?
Ina Howell, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and a long way from the sleepy Welsh village of her childhood. She’s brought a piece with in the form of her younger brother, Lewys, and cousin Ghenha. Working at a research hospital in Seattle, her goal is simple: find a cure for her brother’s genetic illness before it kills him. He says they’ve got time. She knows better. She didn’t become a doctor by accident. All those books she read while studying informed her of the terrible things coming to her brother before he dies. She won’t let that happen, and why can’t her bosses understand her urgency? She told them what she needs to do, but they drag their heels. If she weren’t so level-headed she’d think there’s a conspiracy, and the annoying Japanese man harassing her isn’t helping matters. Although, his expression when he fails at lecturing her is kind of cute.
Glenn Oake is like the personification of autumn with her bright ginger hair the colour of falling leaves and skin the colour of steamed milk covered with cinnamon speckled freckles. She’s the sight that makes others imagine cosy days in a coffee shop whiling away hours for no reason other than comfort. Her smile is charm itself. She has an adorable gap in her front teeth that she refuses to have closed because it’s the same as Madonna’s. She’s perky and vibrant. The absolute last person anyone would accuse of being an assassin. Well, it runs in the family, so she’s not really to blame. With the Brotherhood haemorrhaging members, they’ve got no choice but to rely on outsiders to fill their ranks. It’s the chance Glenn’s been living for. Yolo and no regrets, and all that. This is her moment. Nothing will mess it up.
Utamara Ndiaye. Half Senegalese, half Japanese, all precious. She speaks seven languages and has so much charm she can make the coldest person feel like they’re in the tropics. She keeps her hair natural, loves red lipstick and leaving lipstick stains on her girlfriend’s cheek just for fun. If the zombie apocalypse happens tomorrow, she’s got two lifetime’s supply of tea. She’s smart, but chaotic. Tactful and oozing respect. She loves with a whole heart and sees no reason to hide who she is. She’ll do anything to help a friend, but on this occasion she can’t help question if Yueliang is playing with a full deck.
Anna Orlov. Russian officer stationed in Japan as part of a protection detail to the Ambassador. Tall, imposing, poker faced and with neat, bobbed red hair. Her dark eyes two pools filled with nightmares from the past. To escape herself, she wanted to embody the idea foreigners had of Russians. That they didn’t have feelings. They’re robots and cold as ice. Blunt instruments that bludgeon anyone trying to get close. She didn’t reckon on meeting someone like Ndiaye, and every day that passes she wakes wondering when the other shoe will drop. When it will end. As much as she prepared for all eventualities, she never saw this coming.
Mohammed al Sadat. Literally the most charming man anyone’s ever set eyes on in their life and he knows it. Think Egyptian James Bond and you’ll understand the persona he’s channelling with all the acting skills under his belt. Mohammed doesn’t look like a killer with his soulful eyes, earnest smile and smooth moves. For the most part he isn’t. He leaves the messy stuff for others to deal with unless told otherwise. That’s just how things are. His skills lie in seducing secrets from unwilling lips without the target even realising what they’ve done. He’s very good at it, too. Men or women, he’s not picky who’s in his bed and that makes him a valuable asset to the Brotherhood. No one can resist him. Until he meets her.
Ryang Ji-hoon has the unfortunate luck to look like a member of a boyband. You might think otherwise, but for Ji-hoon, who needs to be invisible when he works, being asked for his autograph and getting his picture taken all the time makes his work so much riskier. A late arrival to the Brotherhood, Ji-hoon’s training went to extremes to get him ready alongside his peer group. His gratitude to Hisakawa Kagegorou carried him through the worst of it; reinforcing the reminder it was this or prison. He mentally cut ties with parts of his personality to cope, but still couldn’t wrap his head around how the organisation made its members grateful and willing to carry out assassinations for them. The money’s alluring, along with other perks, but late at night when he can’t sleep, Ji-hoon wonders why one stupid mistake as a teenager cost him so much. Maybe that’s why when he sees the chance to break from the Brotherhood he doesn’t think too much about consequences before leaping.
If there’s one thing Ambrose hates, it’s not knowing the answer. A genuine moment of confusion where he’s left fumbling for a reply. It happens most in social situations, and who can blame him? What is the right thing to say to the right person at the right time? It’s no wonder he sticks to the fringes, staying out of sight. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact he’s just dropped something lethal in a passing glass and doesn’t want anyone to remember his face or name – not that he gives his real one. Still, he hates not knowing. It sends his lip curling like it’s misidentified with the ones on his head. Ignorance. An unfavourable comparison and expectation to his Rom heritage that lacking an answer equals lacking intelligence. Ambrose hates not knowing. So, it’s natural that when a target takes an interest in him he has to know why. There’s nothing odd in that. He’s doing his job. Knowledge is power, so Hisakawa Kagegorou says.
A Brotherhood Deacon instructing others how to kill in the most efficient ways, Hisakawa Yoshihiro is the best teacher available — and would be even if he wasn’t the third son of Hisakawa Kagegorou. He’s read all the books and studied until he got migraines. He has a respectable kill count under his belt, considering he rarely leaves Sakyamuni unless he’s taking students on educational field trips. His cordial appearance with gentle eyes and pleasant smile deceive anyone who doesn’t know better. He’s a wicked educator. Despicable and devious. He expects results and has no sympathy for those who can’t get the job done. What he’s asking isn’t hard. A little efficiency and a decent gun are all anyone needs. No, he did not shoot himself in the foot — figuratively or literally. Stupid rumours about teachers are commonplace. Everyone knows that.
