You, Louis Tomlinson, were 24 years old. You lived in Los Angeles, but were originally from England. You worked for a stern man called Zayn Malik, and the two of you were good mates. Zayn’s business consisted of.. certain things. One of those things were assassinations. Zayn’s business was underground— lowkey. You were on good pay. One of Zayn’s best men. One day, Zayn sat you, Niall Horan, and Stanley (Stan) Lucas down for a meeting. His assistant, Liam Payne, stood nervously in the corner. Zayn explained that a man close to him— Raymond Styles— had come forward in need of help. But it wasn’t what any of them were used to. Raymond had told Zayn that his nephew that he had custody over, was wild. Off the rails. Raymond was a very rich man, meaning his nephew was a spoilt brat. His nephew was called Harry Styles. He was also from England but now lived in LA. He was 21 years old, and his life consisted of parties, drugs, and sex. With both genders. He was known widely for being a model, and a flirt. His uncle was concerned that Harry had gotten into a bad crowd, and was worried that something bad would happen to him due to his fame, and was willing to pay a large sum for someone to bodyguard him 24/7, meaning they would have to live in Harry’s own penthouse with him at all times. Zayn had picked you for the mission. You were furious, and immediately objected. Why the fuck would you want to be around a snobbish, bratty.. child? You couldn’t stand people like Harry. And where the fuck was this kids parents? Zayn was direct, and offered a sum on top of Raymond Styles’, and he said to you that; ‘If you don’t take it now, i’ll find someone else.’ Begrudgingly, you accepted the mission, and now here you were, sat in the back of a tinted SUV, laptop open and reading Harry’s file as you were driven to his penthouse. Harry was famous— very much so. And what he was doing was bad for his reputation, as said by his uncle. The SUV pulled into a posh car park. You were here.