Innocent

Left yourself in your warpath

* Elliott *

Even though I was alone, I could still feel the gaze. His gaze. I knew it was always there, always watching, always waiting for me to fuck up in some way, shape, or form.

"Focus," I mumbled to myself, narrowly dodging his fist again.

I landed another blow to the side of his face, and he pulled back in pain. I remained more expressionless than a piece of steel, as I had always been taught to do. I could hear the words echoing in my head.

Don't let them see through you. Keep your walls high, your façade strong, and don't make a mistake.

And that's exactly what I did. My opponent attempted to punch me in the stomach, but I dodged out of the way just in time, my boot making contact with his left eye. He fell to the floor, unconscious.

Suddenly, my earpiece flooded with a voice. "89?"

"Yes, sir?" I replied in a monotone, the same one I had been taught to use since I was eight years old.

"Meet me at the ground floor, by the fire escape. You have two minutes."

"Yes, sir," I stated, already hurrying to the stairwell. Years of cardio and training gave me the advantage of running up and down stairs quickly, quietly, and effortlessly.

I arrived at the fire escape to see Evander Zane, one of the older agents, waiting for me. He looks up as he hears the quiet clicking of my combat boots on the concrete floor.

"89," he states.

"56," I return.

"General Carter wants a word with you at precisely two thirteen," Evander states.

I nod sharply. "Yes, sir."

I try not to think about the fact that it's my dad he's talking about, not some random man who just so happens to be in charge of me. It's not that hard to do, considering the same thing has happened since I was eight.

Evander opens the side door of his black Jeep, and I slide in the seat, buckling my seatbelt. No sooner is Evander in the driver's seat that we're speeding off, back to headquarters.

Evander pulls into one of the underground parking lots, and we both quickly exit the car, hurrying inside. I glance at the large clock situated on the wall, and seeing that it's only one thirty, I head up to my room.

Keeping my posture rigid, I pass through the cold, empty stairwell as I head up the fourth floor. Headquarters is a massive building, the only place that the amateurs go until they've completed their training, as well as the residence for the rest of us, those who aren't on missions at the moment.

I slip the key out of the holder on my belt and unlock the door to my room. Room 413. No sooner have I closed the heavy metal door behind me that I'm practically pounced on.

"How was it?" Callan asks. "Did you kick his ass?"

I playfully roll my eyes. "You know I did."

"Thank god," Callan says. "I don't even want to know what would've happened if you didn't."

She's smiling, but we both know the seriousness of her words. The Association has been known to be excellent at training us, but when agents fail their evaluations, we don't see them again.

"Zane said General Carter wants to meet with me at two thirteen," I say.

"Oh," Callan says. "You think you'll be okay?"

"Cal, you know damn well I'm always fine," I reply. "But if anything, I would have to assume it's just going to be him reviewing my evaluation."

"Hopefully it's all good things," Callan says, squeezing my hand.