The Fighters

What it takes to be a fighter

I watch Riley pass through the doors after shooting me a reassuring smile.
I tried to smile back, but I'm pretty sure it came out as a grimace.
With panic in every nerve and every muscle tensed, I turned to Carlos.

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" I question, my voice coming out harsher than I wanted it to.

Instead of answering my question, he points ahead, "Walk with me."

I stare at him confused.

"Humor me," he smiles stifly

I walk forward trying to parallel his strides, "What is it you wanted to talk about?" I repeat.

He hums and turns to look at me but doesn't answer. Silence spreads over us. I awkwardly stare ahead trying to decide what to say next.

"Why do you want to be a fighter?" His next question throws me off guard.

I never wanted to be a fighter
I wanted to scream. I'd unwilling been thrown into a hole so deep, that there was no sane way to get out of.

"It's er been my lifelong dream" I lie "you know protecting people, doing good for the wor-" I look up and catch his eyes. They were a piercing blue and right now they were glaring at me.

My voice breaks.

The fighters were the best. They broke anyone, got information out of everyone and spared no-one in their way.
Those eyes had a centuries training of sniffing out lies. They scared you out of your mind, because you knew that however convincingly you lie, it was a lie. And it would not slip their notice.

I try again. Steeling my nerves and looking straight ahead.
"I've seen people quite close to me get hurt. I want to help-

"I'm not asking you if you wanted to be a doctor." Carlos tells me glaring.

I don't say anything. I didn't know why I wanted to be a fighter because I never wanted to be a fighter.

"Why do you want to be a fighter?" He repeats

"I- I don't know" I don't dare look up. If this was a trial, I had failed.

"If you don't know why you are here, then mybe you shouldn't be here," he taunts.

"Everybody has a purpose, some driving force within them pushing them to be what they can and want to be. Without that drive, you're nothing but a lump piece of floating clay." Carlos says, his voice harsh

"This is not a shelter that gives you food, clothes and a roof above your head. This is a foundation to help put out ten of the most suitable wolves out there. Not just to protect the rest, but to eliminate all threats. And if you don't have what it takes to be one of this 10, don't waste our time. Now tell me," he turns to look at me "Why do you want to be a fighter?"

If he's been trying to get me riled up, I'm going to take this moment to applaud him because it definitely worked. Red hot coils of anger spread through me. I had spent most of my life being told that I didn't have it in me. I didn't have it in me to be a warrior and train to fight. I didn't have it in me to become a luna. And now this clown of a brickwall decides to tell me that I don't have what it takes to be a fighter.

But before I could get a word in, and believe me I had a lot of words to get in, Carlos continued talking.

"I'm not saying you don't have what it takes," he tells me with a smile smile.

I was beginning to think that this guy had been stuck in a freezer for his century of life and had frozen up his face so that the only smile he could ever make was the stiff, small, bare minimum of a thin smile.