ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19

She gaped at the sheer size of the training center, while trying to adjust to the conventional training gear she had been given, her suit still under repair. Spanning several football fields, the humongous space was almost smack dab in the middle of the compound, every three meters sectioned off for a different specialty. There were dojo mats, a Wing Chun wooden dummy, nun-chucks, throwing stars, bo staffs constructed out of stiff bamboo that were bound to hurt and bruise for days, shin guards, sparring gear, wavemaster dummies, wooden boards stacked sky high, punching bags, gloves and enough martial art training equipment to fill at least 10 dojos.

The second section was fitted out for far more modern warfare. Shotguns, rifles, AK-47s, snipers were laid down in a glorious display of artillery. Next to the firepower was for more up close and personal hand-to-hand combat. Knives from every other culture she could think of, size, shape, thickness and style  imaginable displayed proudly along with a series of bows and arrows accommodating for draw-length, draw-weight and grip.

Essentially, if an assassin was ever granted passageway to heaven, this was the first thing they would see.

"Take your pick." Clint offered, as they stopped.

She glanced at him, disbelievingly. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm a bow and arrow man myself, but knowing Nat, she would have trained you in all sorts of fun stuff. Not to mention the bracelet, although they are far more advanced than her own."

Still hesitant at his utter openness and willingness at allowing herself to be equipped with virtually whatever she wanted, her hand reached out, only to be met by a protective sheen of bulletproof glass.

There it was. The catch.

"Oh right, sorry about that." Clint called upwards. "Friday, unlock Cabinet 3A through 6B please."

There was the smooth sound of mechanical locks clicking as the glass doors pushed open of their own accord silently.

Grabbing two thin-bladed, hand-held daggers, she frowned slightly at the weight, missing her old ones that no doubt had been destroyed in the explosion. According to Parker, the only thing that had managed to survive the blast other than herself was the suit and her bracelet. All her favourite weaponry, gone in a flash. The weight of these new ones were just a touch too light which could affect the amount of power she would need to throw it as accurately as possible. But they were far sharper than she could have ever made them, perfect for sliding right in between the rib cage, before breaking off the blade, leaving it in the victim's body. And if it had been coated with a poisonous substance, all the better for her but all the worse for the poor soul.

Heading for the gun cabinet, she quickly loaded and checked the safety of two Glock 26s. Of course, instinctively, she knew that she could arm, aim and kill with any of the guns in front of her, but there was an unknown sentimental tug that always brought her back to the Glock 26s.

Just as she strapped on the belt and knife holsters to her waist, a glimmer of metal caught her eye.

Gasping softly, she stroked the edge of the katana that had been mounted up high. It was an absolutely elegant weapon in every aspect. Reaching up, she took it down and was shocked at how perfectly the hilt fit in the palm of her hand, her wrist dispersing its weight nicely, as if it had been crafted for her to wield specifically.

"Good choice. Although to be fair that is mine." Clint approached her, nodding affectionately at the weapon. "Nat never really liked longswords, too much work, although she could kill just as good with it as anything else."

The hole where the memory was supposed to be ached as she attempted to remember being taught how to use such a deadly weapon. Twisting her wrist, she swung it experimentally, hearing the sweet sound of blade slicing against air as it came to rest on Clint's unflinching throat.