The Second Man is a bit of fiction about a superspy that my friend Chris and I write to each other. This is about The Second Man’s relationship with The First Man.
The Second Man was for the operations where they knew someone was coming. Politics being what they are, some countries know the Organization will be sending someone for their secrets. It’s obvious. So they get ready. People are screened. Backgrounds are checked.
That’s where the First Man comes in. The First Man is loud, bold, he’s strong drinks and gunshots. His cheekbones sculpted with crystal, high like a cathedral and his jaw as strong as a superhero. Crisp blue eyes as cold as artic snow. Built exactly like the ex military man he is. He speaks the language badly but he looks amazing in a tux. He could have been a male model, posing for Playgirl in front of a firetruck.
The Second Man has a sweet face, he’s the brother you never had, the friend that died too soon. His eyes are a warm brown, like hot chocolate in front of a fire. He’s built like a man that loves the food of his mother and he speaks the language like he was raised there. He’s the dad you wished you had, the one who would never have hit you or your mother. He seems like he’s the sort who would rescue a kitten off he street. And he is. He’s also a perfect shot.