MI6 Academy

SHOCK/Enemy Hideout-Vauxhall, London/0215 hours-September 3

Before he got a shot out, I leapt into action.

I sent a powerful roundhouse to the center of the gun. It dropped on the floor, but the fight wasn't over yet. He still had a taser, two rags dipped in chloroform, and three assortments of knives.

He chose the knives first.

I figured I had two options. Stand my ground and fight(although in most situations the person with the knives usually won.) So I went with my second and most effective option.

Run like my life depended on it(which it sort of did.)

As I was running to the far side of the basement I assumed that he was taking aim. After I was about twelve feet away, he threw one of his knives at me.

Little did he know, I had a back up plan.

When doing gymnastics, you learn how to do flips. That was in my favor. All I had to do was flip high enough for the knife to miss me. Not only would I not be cut, but I would also be able to retrieve the knife later and use it against my attacker.

I flipped 40 inches off the floor. The knife didn't stand a chance. It sailed past me and landed ahead, a few feet away from me. I landed with grace and picked up the knife all in one motion. I still continued toward the wall.

This was because I had another plan.

The wall on the far side of the basement, where I was heading, was easily climbable. It was made terribly, as there were clumps in the wall everywhere, sort of like handholds on a rock-climbing-wall. It was my intention to reach the wall before he threw another knife and climb as quickly as possible. As soon as my intentions became clear to him, however, he picked up the gun that was resting at his feet.

That was something I hadn't thought about; I left the gun easily in his reach.

He took his first shot as soon as I reached the far side wall.

He missed intentionally.

"I don't want to hurt you," he took aim. "But I will."

"Really?" I started to climb the wall. "All the shooting gave the wrong impression!"

He took another two shots, this time dangerously close to me.

He was letting me know that he could shoot me whenever and wherever he wanted.

Up until that point, I hadn't thought about the fact that he had a pretty open shot. Sure, the wall was pretty far away, and it wasn't sunny, but he could still make a moving human out on a wall.

"I didn't want it to come to this," he took aim, this time directly at my brain.

Before he could take his shot, however, I launched the knife I had. I aimed while he was talking. There was one thing he couldn't see.

The knife.

As it sailed in the air, I kept moving, hoping that it would come in contact with its target.

A yelp of pain echoed through the basement.

It was risky, but I took a look back. I couldn't believe what I saw.

The man was laying on the floor, with the knife sticking into where his heart was.

I widened my eyes in surprise. What had I done?

I fell from the wall in shock.

The doors suddenly opened. In came the principal and my parents, along with a team of MI6 agents, paramedics, and my friends.

They saw me and rushed over.

When they saw the man, however, they were shocked. Nevertheless, the half the paramedics rushed to his aid as well.

"Catherine!" my mother exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

I was about to respond when the words didn't come out. I tried to speak again, but it wouldn't work. I couldn't speak, and I think I knew why.

It was something we had learned about at school. It is a state or condition that implies that the person can't move, speak, or respond to stimuli. It often happens in traumatic experiences, like when an agent first kills someone. It was called Catatonia.

The paramedics looked at me with concern in their eyes.

"Can you move?" one asked.

"Can you speak?" asked another.

"If you can," the third started. "Do so."

When I didn't, realization appeared in their eyes.

"She has Catatonia," they all said together.