“Everton Jackson Mayall! What a delightfully sounding name. Your parents must have been brimming with inspiration when they first laid eyes on you!” followed by a silence of few seconds. Everton “Tony” Jackson Mayall lay paralysed on the cold bathroom floor. He was unable to move, his mouth dry and his head thumping. A man stood over him. Everton could only make out a blurred silhouette. He tried to resist the urge to talk. A combination of fear and anger had taken over his body, although he couldn’t move, his senses where sharper than they ever been.

The man towering over him was tall, average built, white with a voice like a professor or a radio host on one these semi-intellectual talk shows. Articulate, condescending and overpowering. “But” The voice continued “their love for you has been put through the test of time and at a certain time they realised that their beloved son had sold his soul to the devil. Their hearts and spirits broken, violated and betrayed by their own offspring. From loving partners and parents, they became bitter and unhappy. Hence their sad deaths, eight years ago. A freak hiking incident in, please remind me, ah yes, the Irish West Coast. Walking home from a local bar they both walked of a cliff. The statistical plausibility being minimal to non-existent and yet your parents turned out to be the one occasion out of the equation. What are the chances!” Everton Mayall heard and took in every word the man said. The man was right. His parents had walked off a cliff on the west coast of Ireland, at least that is what the local Police concluded. Tony had planned and plotted the entire scene meticulously. A grin appeared on his face. He’d always been a proficient organizer.

“Is that a small smile appearing on your face Everton?” The man spoke with a theatrical tone. “I am glad the suffering you inflicting on your parents hasn’t impacted your sense of humor or your lack of anything remotely resembling ethics, morals or regret.” A short pause “We are off-topic” The man touched his forehead “Ah yes I remember. The statistical probability of your parents falling of a cliff are as equal or as plausible as you, Everton, being bitten by a.. “ another pause. The man had now kneeled over the paralysed man on the bathroom floor and was reaching in his jacket’s side pocket. “ Everton tried to focus on what the man held in his hand. It seemed like a grey box. He couldn’t make out what was in the box, but he was sure it wasn’t lunch. He now saw the man moving up close. The buttons of his shirt were being opened. “You are probably wondering why I am unbuttoning your shirt? Don’t be scared I am not known for my sexual escapades and will not change that pristine record for you. However “ The man’s voice sounded triumphant “I have build a solid reputation when it comes sadism and poisoning. Both of which you will experience in no uncertain terms, but first” The man’s tone changed from cheery to deeply charming. “I need you to do something for me. Put index and ring finger on this little device. Oh dear where are my manners. It is rude to ask a paralysed person to lend a hand, so to speak” Everton heard the man giggle and feared the unknown. It was clear to Everton why he was the target of the man and he now knew who the man was. 

“Thank you Everton, your prints will prove very useful. As I am sure you have now figured out who I am, despite your blurred vision and that thumping head ache you are experiencing, your brain is still is fully functional, well you can still think. Moving is a bit of problem isn’t it?” The man took two steps back and laughed while he spoke “The surprise I have for you, boy, it is... how do youngster call it? Awesome!. If you allow me to share. I have brought a little friend that is going to pass the final verdict. A statistical impossibility, yet I found that you deserve that final honour. One of my better works.” Everton heard something stretching, like rubber gloves. A deep baron voice filled the bathroom “Everton I want you to meet..... Phyllobatis Terriblis also known as The Golden Poison Frog.” Everton had seen something about poisonous frogs on Tuba a while back. He felt the hand of the man on his chest. He felt a plastic, at least he thought it was plastic, glove and could smell the man’s breath. “I bought twelve of those majestic animals, only three made survived the travel, despite the little critters being highly poisonous they are very sensitive to climate change. You, Everton, will have the immense honour and delight to experience the sheer power of our little friends, all three of them to be exact.”

Everton felt the man turning the box, close the buttons of his shirt and cover him with something. “You know, Everton Jackson Mayall, Phyllobatis Terriblis only use their poison for defensive means, they are not predators, which could save your life, if you could keep still. Sadly for you, I have been a bit a scoundrel! The toxic administered in your yoghurt, some two hours ago has your body tension its muscles and if my calculation are right, your muscles will heavily contract, but since you can’t feel a thing until your body starts shaking in about 10 minutes. The little frogs are in a small container on your belly and the contracts will panic them causing them to release their poison. After that it will take half an hour for you to die.” The man laughed loud whilst holding a smartphone in his hand “And I for one, wont miss a single second. Don’t you love those modern smartphones? Equipped with powerful video camera’s, storage and very anonymous at the same time? Showtime!” The excited man screamed.

Everton lay on the cold bathroom floor and knew the end was near. His life flashed by him. His happy childhood, his first real love, his first holidays with his friend, university, all happy memories. The start of his professional career gave him mixed feelings. He wondered where it all had gone wrong. He knew, a cold December Monday fifteen years ago when he first came into contact with “The Collective”. The reason his parents were dead, his kids refused to see him, his wife ran out and all of it related to ''The Collective" or “The Co” as it was referred to. The man who had paralysed him and was currently being entertained by seeing him slowly die, Dalton Semias, also known as Umbra. Umbra had taken everything from Everton.

Everton felt his breath being cut off and his heart racing, cold sweat over his face. He could see his body shaking but couldn’t control and didn’t feel it. Dalton Semias stood over his target, felt joy as the frogs made their way out of the small box. Twenty seconds later the Phyllobatis Terribles, the poisoness little creature had emerged from under Everton’s sweat soaked shirt. The man known as Umbra knew the poison had been released. He wasnt afraid for his own life. The temperature change between human heat and cold bathroom would prove to much for the frogs. They would pass away shortly, but not before doing their job. His victim began to make gurgling sounds, his head getting red. The veins in his neck swelling. Umbra looked at Everton and spoke with a emotionless voice: “Everton; a wise man once told me that in life everything that goes around comes around. In my case that means that I might as well enjoy what I do best. Inflicting panic, fear, pain, misery and death.” he sighed. “One can get never enough seeing others suffer. It is an addiction. A compulsive disorder.” Foam dripped from Everton Jackson Mayall’s mouth. “Ah, I see the venom has nearly done it’s work!” displayed on the bathroom lay Everton, nearly death, barely registering a word, just able to register the sound of joy in Umbra’s voice.

Ten minutes later Everton life had been ended. His body lifeless. Umbra looked around and noticed the Phyllobatis Terribles lifeless on the bathroom floor. He took a small rubber container out of his pocket and carefully collected their carcasses. Umbra wasn’t sure if they actually had passed away or might be in a hybrid state. 

Quickly he closed the container, put it back into his left pocket. The tall man sighed, took a small bottle out of his right pocket, stepped over over the body in front of him, took the victims fingers and carefully applied the substance. Umbra liked to refer to this closing act “print polishing”. The Police would find the body. Bodies without fingerprints or partial prints take long to identify which was comforting as the man known as “Umbra” could make an unnoticed exit.

“It was lovely, thank you so much for asking” Umbra disconnected, walked passed a dust bin and discarded the pre-paid mobile phone he had bought and continued his way to the exit. It was Thursday evening around 18h and Frankfurt International Airport Terminal 2 was buzzing with German businessmen, corporate travelers heading home for the weekend, thousands and thousands of Lufthansa passengers were walking towards their gates, toilets, business lounges or some of the highly overpriced restaurants. Umbra had chosen Frankfurt Airport exactly for a few reasons, the most important one being the guarantee of anonymity of Frankfurt Airport and the ease of travel that the European Union had provided in 1992 when the Maastricht Schengen Agreement had been ratified. Travel within the EU without any border controls in place. It suited men like him perfectly.

Umbra smiled, ironically Everton had met the Grimm Reaper in Ireland, exactly the same country that had killed his parents. He expected that the Guardia had found the body, even though the house he had rented through a shell cooperation was in the middle of nowhere in County Donegal. The rental period had expired the previous day, when Umbra was already safely in Dublin, enjoying a tour of the Guinness Museum, afterwards enjoying a few pints and small-talking with some of the locals in a pub called “The Hairy Lemon”. It had been very enjoyable, took his mind of matters.

Upon landing he had received a call and confirmed that the mission had been accomplished. His responses sounded casual but confident any other reaction would raise any suspicion. Umbra had reached the exit of the terminal, walked outside, looked at the taxi queue and was about to walk over before he changed his mind, took out his packet of Marlborough, put one in his mouth, lit it and slowly inhaled.

He had has set up and calibrated his laptop according to the instructions he had received to assure all applications were fully encrypted. Umbra checked his watch, took a bite of his BLT sandwich he had ordered room service to bring up.

The encrypted app connected with a dial-in hub and within seconds Umbra was introduced into a meeting of “The Collective”. “Welcome back Umbra, I understood the mission was a success, very creative work.” The voice was off a female with the code name “Irkalla” one of the most powerful players on “The Collective” Umbra didn’t fear, but respected her. “Thank you Irkalla.” He said and continued “Mr. Mayall was a lower life form, a fly so to speak. Frogs eat flies for a living, I just added a bit of drama.” Irkalla laughed a heavy male voice interrupted. “Can you keep schedule?” The voice sounded annoyed. “Mimas, strictly business aren’t you? Yes we, apologies for the narcissism, I am on target as usual. What I am a bit more concerned about are the exit logistics, which I believe is your little empire. Please assure I have the plans half a minute ago.” Mimas grunted. Ten minutes later Umbra disconnected, annoyed over Mimas’ remarks and the man’s own inability to deliver according to plan. If “The Collective” had only listened to him and supported Umbra, Mimas would have been a memory by now.

Umbra felt his phone buzz, looked at the screen. “Private Caller” It displayed. He sighed, looked around and decided to answer. “Yes” Umbra said with a voice that betrayed annoyance. “Seems you will never get on with Mimas. Am I right? Don’t answer that” It was the female voice of the woman known to him as Irkalla. Umbra sighed “I don’t agree with him methods and his ways of working. It simply lacks quality. That is all. His planning is simply off and has always been off as I have highlighted many an occasion.” The smell of kebab penetrated his nose. “As you know Umbra, Mimas was killed in the battle between the Giants and Olympian Gods, by Hephaestus.” Umbra squinted his eyes and concentrated. Letting every word enter his brain. “As you probably have concluded Umbra” Irkalla’s voice now calm and controlled “The Collective has decided that it is time for Mimas to face his own modern Hephaestus” The line turned silent. Silence for a full minute before Umbra spoke “Thank you for sharing Irkalla.” “You have been selected to play Hephaestus by The Collective my dear Umbra” Her voice sounded warm almost proud. The line disconnected. Umbra entered a taxi, provided an address and was driven to one of his many safe houses. Two hours later he lay on his bed in a track suit staring at the ceiling. Contemplating whether Mimas was some sort of trap or a political power play. Irkalla is one of the three leaders of The Collective and Umbra had never seen her violate the principles of The Collective, yet nominating Umbra to get rid of Mimas, however delightful pleasure it would be, was a bit to obvious to him.