Kill #500

Chapter One

Inhale, exhale. I slide my sniper carefully through the bush in front of me, weary. It's not the best place of concealment, but it'll do the job for now. I shut one of my eyes and lock on an accurate target onto the criminal.
"Christian Kotevs." I whisper to myself as I curl my finger around the trigger. He stands out in the open, a coffee clenched in his hand, probably a strong black, and his phone held to his ear. He's laughing. Not for long. "Age 32, convicted of and proven guilty of 15 murders and 4 rapes." I press my body further into the bush. The wind turns my face icy, but I never move my stare off him. Without another thought, I squeeze the trigger, and mid laugh, Christian collapses to the ground like a rag doll, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his coffee soaking his brown jacket. The clatter of his body hitting the ground echoes the quiet street as he becomes swarmed with people. I quickly retract the sniper and put the strap over my shoulder. "Status, deceased."

My life wasn't always like this. I remember a time when I was in high school, when guns were replaced with pens and sweetness was in place of the malice that now controls my every move. I had a family; two loving parents and a younger brother, who through the times they annoyed me, I loved them more than ever. I remember the times that I owned a Barbie, not a tranquilliser gun, and I'd chase my brother around with it whenever he annoyed me. That was the old me. The stupid, clueless me. The one who cared more about her fly away friends than her family sometimes, the one who worried about what dress she would wear to her crush's party, instead of being open to the idea that evil is everywhere and that trust is a fairytale used to make kids believe that the world is good and nice. Thank God I've changed.

***

I push the key into the lock of the plain door on the Box Factory. I stop for a second and listen to the quietness of the alleyway, making sure I'm alone. With another moment's hesitation, I twist the key and open the door. Devon thought that the Box Factory title would repel anyone with a curious bone away from Warehouse 3. But for the people who ever went through this door know that we don't make boxes. We make assassins.
The smell of blood and sweat instantly fill my nostrils as I enter, shutting the door behind me and applying the lock. I climb the stairs ahead of me and enter the main training centre. Men and women alike train up here for hours on end, putting their all into punching bags, gun courses, weights, and each other. The amount of bruises and breaks I've made here are unknown, but all the training is worth it. Blood splatters at my feet from someone's mouth after having it being punched out be his competitor. From a punch like that, I could feel his bone breaking. The boy looks up at me and grimaces, trying to smile through the pain, the blood spilling between his teeth.
"Hey. I didn't see you there." The boy laughs as he calls off his fight with his competitor. She rolls her eyes and moves onto one of the weights towards the back.
"Yeah, you were too busy getting your ass whipped by KP." I state plainly as I reluctantly offer him a hand up. His hand is dripping in blood. I let go of his hand and wipe my hands on my black trousers. Funny thing about the colour black. You can't see red on it. The boy shakes his head and wipes his sweat-drenched forehead with the back of his hand, the smile not leaving his face.
"Like you could do any better. I saw you nearly get slammed by Kelsey the other day, so you shouldn't be talking." He says.
"I was having an off day, Jarryd. And besides, what a downgrade. She goes from me to you as a training partner. I pity her." I retort, flicking my eyes towards Kelsey who's telling off a runt of a teenager. Despite myself, JK, and the weasel getting talked down to, everyone who works in Warehouse 3 are adults, the oldest not over thirty. We've been recruited as exceptions by default. JK's dad's a spy, WI's brother was kidnapped, and my parents were assassinated. We're all in the same boat.
Jarryd laughs. "Very cute." He grabs a paper towel and wipes his hands, throwing his red ball into the nearby bin. Looking around the centre, I check out what's vacant. My eyes flick hopefully to the gun course, but there's a queue. Of course there is. It's the most popular of all the training facilities. I glance over at the weights, but Kelsey looks a little on edge at the moment, throwing her weights down near the feet of witless Wesley. Wesley is a scrawny kid with pale orange hair and knobby knees, and he could easily fit into the scene of twelve-year-olds on a high school ground. I bet he was a wimp before he was recruited; his cowardice shows through every reluctant step he takes. He's not a day under sixteen, but his small build and weak attitude suggests otherwise.
"Anyway," Jarryd continues, pulling his water bottle to his lips. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't in until tomorrow after Kotevs' case." I'm surprised he's keeping tabs. I shrug, placing my hands on my hips.
"I just wanted to come in for a little training. I wouldn't mind pushing my closed fist into someone's face." Jarryd beams a bloody smile and takes a sip of his water, rinsing his mouth out before spitting it out onto the floor beside him like a camel. I jump back as his projectile saliva hits the floor where my feet were, feeling disgusted. I roll my eyes when I look at him, his smile still plastered on his face. That smile doesn't belong here, but it does belong on his face in its lopsided fashion.
"You're repulsive." I spit, crossing my arms over my chest, half-meaning what I say. He shrugs.
"And you're a wuss." He shoots back, looking proud as if he delivered the biggest comeback in the world. Knowing I won't be able to say anything else and get a reaction, I slide my bag off my shoulder, drop it beside his, and stub him on his toes. As if in slow motion, I see his smile fade and melt into a badly-hidden grimace as he presses his hands to his foot. I half expect him to cry, even if it's just a tear, but he yanks my arm and kicks me hard in the shin. I wince as a smile reappears on his face. My heart beats faster and adrenaline pumps into my veins. It powers my body and it helps drive my fist into his stomach as an acceptance to his challenge. I suppress a silly grin as he cowers in pain. Training has begun.
We move towards the centre of the space as we throw and duck punches, the sweat rolling down Jarryd's face in beads. My heart beats fast as I attempt to launch my foot into Jarryd's side, but he ducks out of the way and slams his fist into my stomach. The air is pushed out of my lungs as I counter, stumbling back a couple of steps. He's improved. Leaving me without recovery time, he quickly throws his fist again, this time into my unprotected hip. Pain shoots up my side, sending a slight wave of nausea through my body. I grit my teeth as I breathe in my pain and exhale it out of my body. He stands back and lets out a short laugh.
"You done yet, Kate? This is fun." He admits, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking the sweat off his hands. No way am I getting beaten down that easily. I allow myself two more forbidden seconds of rest, that in a real fight would get me killed, before running toward him and kicking his feet out from under him. Jarryd grunts as he hits the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. Although he's a couple years older than me, on the floor he looks like a defenceless twelve year old, squirming in pain. I place a steady foot on his chest and let out a laugh that I couldn't keep contained, his face spelling defeat.
"Yep, I'm still better than you." I boast. He narrows his eyes and in one deft movement, he kicks my other foot out from under me, landing me me on top of him. His face is inches from mine, and he lets out a deep sigh.
"You might want to reassess your judgement. It might get you hurt." Jarryd says, the smell of blood lingering on his warm breath. Although there's playful overtones to our one-on-one training, I understand his sudden seriousness. A thought like that could get me killed, and thinking that I've won before the battle has ended is suicide. I nod and heave myself off him, helping him up in the process. He dusts his grazed palms on his pants and pushes his fingers through his sweaty brown hair, his eyes trained on the ground. I breathe heavily in the silence that is drawn out between us, regaining my energy. I think back to my old self for a moment. I think about my skinny, weak arms, and my naive mindset that the world was forgiving. Would the old me have been able to kill somebody so innocent looking, so normal? Probably not, but then again, she wouldn't have to kill anybody if her parents weren't killed. I'm surprised she survived as long as she did.
"I've gotta get going," Jarryd's voice shakes me out of my daze. He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, pulling his water bottle out of his bag. "It was nice to see you, Kate."
"I'll see you here tomorrow for a rematch." I promise myself, because honestly, I can never have enough time spent with Jarryd. An easy laugh escapes his lips as he starts for the exit, punching me lightly on the arm.
"How cute of you to want a matching a bruise on your other hip." He laughs before heading down the stairs, giving me a quick wave. I let myself smile and roll my eyes.
"Likewise for accepting my offer." I reply, but he's gone before he could hear me. I turn around to face the training centre again, watching everyone glare fiercely at their punching bags and rowing machines, grunting and pushing through the pain. Everyone is here because they had someone taken from them, and they want revenge. All our final assignments are those who put us here, who took away the lights of our lives. I have yet to be given my final assignment, which draws me closer to madness everyday.
I decide to try my luck on a cycling machine which sits lonely in the corner beside the weights. I stride over to the bike and swing my leg over. My hip where Jarryd punched me throbs as I begin to cycle. Staring into oblivion, I try to focus on the music that's faintly playing out of a busted speaker suspended over the area. I don't recognise the song, but it's supposed to help us persist though our sessions.
It doesn't work. Especially when all you can think about is death.
The death on your hands, the death on your clothes, the death in your hair. It's not something that can come out on in a shower; it stays with you forever. All anyone can tell themselves was that those who we killed deserved it, that the number of people they killed were massive compared to us. But something small at the back of my mind twinges with the fear that we weren't supposed to kill those people, that they might've been good somewhere within them. No, I remind myself. I've seen the reports and the television reports too many times to know that these people are stone cold and evil.
My legs feel like they're on fire by the time I've finished. Most of the people have gone home by now, and only the night owls have just recently checked in. I've gotta go. I push myself off the bike awkwardly and stand on the ground, not sure if I can move my legs. They're so sore. I waddle stupidly like a penguin to my bag on the opposite side of the gym, yearning for my water and my sweat towel, when I'm intercepted.
"KZ!" I whip my head around at my code, and see a man walk out of the nearby office. One side of the gym has a door that leads to the office where the leaders work, and the man is exiting it now. He has narrow, stealthy eyes and stubble dotting the bottom of his chin and jaw. He wears a clean, crisp blue suit, looking out of place with the gym rats in their sneakers and sportswear. He walks towards me with a sure smile on his face.
"Hello, Devon." I greet, quickly wiping my hand on my towel before shaking his.
"You know that we are meeting tomorrow, yes?" He confirms, the smile not leaving his face. He is both intimidating yet disarmingly attractive. I nod, a smile of my own creeping onto my lips.
"Yes, I just came for a bit of training. I'm going now." I admit. He shifts his eyes briefly around the gym before returning to me.
"Oh, okay. Let me walk you out." Devon offers as he starts towards the stairs. I'd rather not let him walk me down in fear of missing a step from staring at his blindingly perfect teeth. But I accept anyway in hope to hear something of our meeting tomorrow. He puts his hand on my lower back, leading me down the stairs. I nearly have to stop to catch my breath.
"Oh, your brother is doing exceedingly well in Warehouse 2, Aaron has informed me." Devon starts as we descend the stairs. My heart leaps at news of my brother. There are two other Warehouses where the younger and less experienced train, one in Queens and the other in Tennessee. Riley is stationed in the second Warehouse in Queens. He missed out on Warehouse 3 by a year.
"Do you think he will be stationed in Warehouse 3 anytime soon?" I ask, avoiding his eyes in case I seem vulnerable.
"There's no doubt. He should be moved within the next two weeks." Devon replies. A giddy grin takes over my face. I'm going to see Riley again! It's been a year since I've seen him, ever since initiation, two weeks after our parents died. I wonder if he's changed like I have, if muscles have replaced the skin in his legs and arms, if his mind has matured, and if he has finally outgrown his obsession with maintaining a mullet. It was no wonder he had no girlfriend with that kind of hairdo.
"Thank you for that... joyful news. I can't await his arrival." I reply. We face each other at the door. I reach to unlock it when Devon chuckles.
"Kate, every once in a while, you can speak and act like you're 17. When we recruited you, we didn't take away you youth." I look at him and give him a sad smile.
"No, but you did take my innocence. And a child without innocence is everything and nothing." He takes a cautious step toward me.
"And is that what you feel? Everything and nothing?" He asks.
"All the time."