My back slams into the mat. I almost can't suck in another breath. A second later the boy I was sparing with is standing over me. He smirks down at me, triumphant.
"Guess you aren't really the best," he sneers. "I win."
I glare up at him, but I don't respond. He laughs and begins to turn toward the Instructor.
As soon as his back is turned, I flip off the mat. He hears, turning, and throwing a punch. I easily duck under it, then grab it, spinning around him, using his own momentum. Once I'm behind him, I also lock my other arm around his neck, and before the momentum is lost, I throw us both forward. I now have him pinned under me on the mat, one knee on his back, the other on the ground for support. His one arm is still pinned to his back which is forcibly arched by my headlock.
I know that I've won, but I look to the Instructor. He nods. I release subject 39 and stand up. Subject 39 stands up as well.
"Very good, subject 45. Class, let this be a lesson. Just because the enemy is down, that doesn't mean that they have been finished off," the Instructor says matter-of-factly. "Those of you here are still in the program because you have learned and adapted. Forget your lessons and you will be terminated from the program. Your jobs will not have room for failure. Especially due to overconfidence or arrogance," the Instructor says, giving subject 39 a hard look.
Subject 39's gaze is stone, set on the wall across from him. He nods in response to the Instructor.
"This project has reached a critical stage. The Controllers will no longer tolerate failure on your part," the Instructor continues, walking so he stands between subject 39 and me and the rest of the 'class' as he refers to us when we're with him. He stops and turns to me. "Subject 45, eliminate subject 39."
"Sir?" I ask, surprised.
"You heard me. Eliminate subject 39," he repeats.
I look at subject 39. He's watching me. He won't go down without a fight. I remember what subject 44 told me. We could leave. If we all worked together. That's why they're always trying to pit us against each other. And besides, we're too valuable to them. They wouldn't actually let me kill him.
I look at the Instructor. "Why?"
The Instructor raises an eyebrow. "Are you questioning your orders subject 45?"
"You wouldn't actually let me kill him, so why bother trying? You already know that I could," I say calmly.
The Instructor actually laughs. "But would you subject 45? I've seen your reports."
I don't need to look at subject 39 to know he's resizing me for another fight. I keep my gaze level as I stare back at the Instructor. "I'm not a killer." Not a question. I've also seen my reports.
Some of the other subjects watching shift their positions. I know that saying what I know is in my report is a death sentence, especially with most of the remaining subjects vying for the position of the Doctor's favorite. But it was also my silent challenge because I know what else is in my report. Stubborn. Obstinate. Uncooperative. Creative. Strong. Determined. Fighter.
I can kill, I just don't want to.
The Instructor's reaction makes my blood run cold. He smiles a dark smile that is nowhere close to reaching his eyes. He pulls out his gun, turns, and shoots subject 44.
Subject 44 falls back, brown eyes wide with shock, dead before he hits the ground.
The Instructor turns back to me, and on instinct, my foot flies up. My kick lands right where I want it to, on the side of the Instructor's face. Once grounded again, I fall into my fighter's stance. My blood is boiling. I didn't know subject 44 that well, but he was the closest thing I had to a friend.
YOU ARE READING
Mindless
General FictionA missing past, snippets of bad memories, and uncontrollable black outs. The black outs wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that a blood lust seems to come with it- as if waking up in a medical facility wasn't bad enough. Perhaps they wer...
