Verde

Prologue: Trainee Wilson

Cassidy Wilson's sharp green eyes sensed movement in the pitch darkness of the locker room. With the speed and precision of someone who had repeated the same action thousands of times before, she drew her gun from its holster. Leveling the weapon to her shoulder, she waited, relaxing her muscles but heightening her senses, looking for only the smallest sign of a threat to pull the trigger.

A cool draft licked at the back of Cassidy's neck, making her shiver, but she ignored it. There were more important things on her mind. That slight breeze could be all it took for her target to -

There.

The movement was slightly to the left of the first one, and Cassidy shifted her focus, rebalancing her weight and repositioning her shoulders in the split second she had if she wanted a guaranteed shot. There was not a hint of hesitation in her as she pulled the trigger. Killing was easy, because everyone's days were numbered anyways.

Pop! The balloon Cassidy had shot ruptured, falling to the ground in pieces of rubber. Unhooking a pen light from her belt loop, Cassidy walked over to it, kneeling carefully and surveying the remains of her target. Nudging it with her boot, she separated the jumble of material until she could see the number spray-painted in white on the rubber. In the weak glow of her light, Cassidy barely made out the numeral '30' before the overhead fluorescent lights flickered on. Mission accomplished.

"Trainee Wilson has secured the last target, Target Thirty. Thank you Trainee Wilson, all trainees please report to the auditorium to be debriefed." an emotionless voice rang in Cassidy's ear from her communication unit. Mock missions wouldn't be carried out in the exact form of field missions until Year Three of the Verde program. For now, trainees would be completely aware of what they were going in to accomplish, know exactly how many targets they had, encounter no unpredictable deviations, and would receive an announcement through their comms when they had accomplished their objective.

The only thing that Second Years were not allowed to skimp on seemed to be debriefing. They would be reminded of exactly what they had done and what it had entailed. But what debriefing really meant to Cassidy and her fellow trainees was how many things could have gone wrong. It reminded them of how many times they could have died, and how inexperienced and unready they were for the real world. No one would be taken seriously until they had survived the grueling physical training of Year Two - the only reason for Mocks was to keep them in touch with the Field Skills they had learned in Year One. Only in one month, when Year Three would officially begin for Cassidy, would her mind be ready to face the intricacies of a real mission. And then Year Four, the year that would make or break her. The year when she would be expected to put it all together, when she would be tossed into the field with no information and her superiors would watch, to see if she would survive. She had to survive.

The group of thirty trainees met silently in the first three rows of the auditorium, as was the protocol that had been drilled into their head. Fifteen girls and fifteen boys, all on the verge of their sixteenth birthdays, all equipped with vision so sharp the could perceive movement in the pitch dark, and reflexes so trained they could aim and fire in less than a second. They never missed, and yet they were only half-way through their training.

"Trainees," Agent Moiree's voice preceded her as she stepped onto the stage from the right wing. Descending the stairs from the stage gracefully, Cassidy's primary trainer stood in front of her trainees, leaning against the stage. Alison Moiree strictly believed that a healthy sense of camaraderie was imperative in a functional team, and she successfully dispersed the air of formality filling the auditorium.