Blood and Backroads

Part 3: C is for Calcination

Calcination                                                                                                                                                                            (noun) Breaking down ego, pride and arrogance to find what is underneath.

                                                                                  ~

I awoke to the moonlight slightly peeking through the window. The black sheets tightly tucked underneath me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes until I saw colors underneath my eyelids. I inhaled and scanned the room. The row of knives and swords on the wall and the hanging black battle suits on the rack felt some sort of normality. The only odd thing however was the luggage bags that sprawled at the end of my bed. I placed my head in my hands swallowing heavily.

And for the small moment of silence I thought. My body was a vessel, a weapon, on ice and now thawed I mindless mortal who has some skill with murder. And I was making a well off living doing it.

The luggage clattered across the cobblestones of the courtyard. I glanced back to the apartment block. The dark buildings hid other vessels like me. My apartment on the 3nd floor of the 18th block. The 20 blocks all lined up symmetrically with one another. 10 on each side of me. To my left was the bottom 100. All 100 soldiers placed into ten blocks. Each with their own apartment, fancy as it was the only difference was the number engraved on the door. I swallowed remembering when I was there. I glanced back to my right. My block- ranks from 11 to 20. I sat on the third floor. I licked my lips before pursing them and continuing along the courtyard. One light remained on, a blue tinge in the top 10 apartment. 

I immediately glanced at my watch. 

4:40 am glared at me like it needed sleep too.

I gasp before raising my hand to my mouth. The lights aren't allowed on at this hour unless...

Unless they are dead. A signal to the other blocks that a rank has opened up. Hence another examination, more examinees and more vessels off ice. 

209 will become 210 again. 210 always.

The light was new. I hadn't of noticed it before. The 2nd floor. I quickly calculated. Rank 9. I didn't know there name. The top 10 were legend and there own little pack. Mystery always surrounded them. The ones close to getting out. Their kills almost completed. I wonder who they were paired with. If they did a dual mission. Who was getting their numbers.

I reached the end of the courtyard and met the road. A blue Porche GT3 suddenly pulled up, narrowly missing the gutter, utter precision and perfection. The fog lights on, lighting me up to the driver.

The window rolled down before the driver spoke, "Thought I'd take us to the airport, since you love me dearly Cynthia."

"Great more quality time." I snarled. 

I closed the passenger door to the car and strapped my seatbelt on before turning to him.

"Thanks for offering to help me with my bags Thomas,"

"Your welcome Cynthia, I like seeing you struggle." 

"But why was it so weirdly shaped?" I justified. 

"Luxury cars I guess." Thomas raised his eyebrows at me.

"So this is what you spend your kill money on?" I glanced around the car and rain my fingers over the leather and dashboard. 

"And what do you spend your money on?" Thomas asked.

"You know I don't have any right?" I shook my head. My throat burning as I stared at him.