When you jam your foot into the leather of a worn out punching bag, you may notice it isn't the most comfortable feeling in the world. It makes a shiver slide down your back like a slithering snake. It makes your wince sound like a screeching mouse. It makes your foot shatter like glass. That's the constant pain that I have to go through every day.
"Harder!" Hisses Carlos. I jump onto my less wounded foot and pull the other leg close to my chest. My kick hits the bag so hard it breaks the chain supporting it. The leather flops onto the ground with a loud thump to follow it. I hold in the slightest twitch of pain. Carlos almost smiles. Like he ever would. Someone as ruthless and cunning as he would never praise you. Only teach you to become a living weapon.
"Now let's do more dodging bullets." He announces. I jog over to the platform and push my toes onto the yellow line. My shoes are just cloth straps wrapped around my feet with blood seeping through. I pull the thick black fingerless gloves onto my hands. I can feel the sweat stuck in between my skin and the leather. My covered hands plop onto my bent knees. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. I'm ready. The robot engine whirrs. The guns are loaded. Click. A bullet fires. Straight at me. For a moment, time stops. I take a deep breath in and wait for my reflexes to kick in. My arm swooshes through the air. My knuckles slam into my hip. I slowly open my gloved hand. There sits a shining bullet in my palm. Still hot from speeding through the air. I throw the silver metal down to the cement floor. The bangs ring in my ears. My arms pound through the air constantly. The sound of a bullet landing on the ground happens every time I open my palms. I'm not normal. I have extremely advanced scenes and reflexes. So advanced that I can catch racing bullets with my eyes closed. I don't even twitch.
The fact that I'm by far the most powerful member of D.A.G.G.E.R. has me non stop day or night. The short six hours of sleep I get ever night isn't enough for me at all. D.A.G.G.E.R. is a very secretive organization. You only know about it if you're in. And once you sign the agreement form, you'll never live normally again. You'll find yourself constantly training for perilous battles, sleeping in a cold dark room with rows of bunk beds. I remember signing the form.
Men in black suits lead me down a long and dusty hallway. My footsteps echoed. The tall wooden door creeped open to a clean and bright room with one desk on the other side. I held my breath as one of the men opened his giant hand to a long shiny pen. I held the cold black pen carefully. The plastic felt. Strange against my soft fingertips. I griped onto the cap and plucked it off. The crisp little sheet of paper sat gently on the table. The ink sinked into the paper. My signature sat there on the bold line on the bottom. The men rolled it up and slid it into a tough briefcase. It took me only seconds to realize that I just sold my life away.
