feelingsonpaper
I go to an underground academy in New York City. The elite spies get to go snobby private schools “which must remain unnamed” do to their safety. What about our safety? Ugh. The Elite. They even get their own name. Oh you’re probably wondering who we are? Well, we’re the ones who do the dirty work. The killing. No, we aren’t on the bad side. We actually kill the bad ones.
Now, you’re probably wondering how do future assassins get chosen to be taught to kill and not be killed? Well, usually the Scouts observe you without your knowledge and see if you have what it takes. Then you get a letter asking if you want to go to one of the most prestigious schools in America. If you say yes, you go into a meeting, without your parents, and they tell you how they see the potential of a future killer in you. All rainbows and sunshine right? You have to be at least 13 to go into the academy, and at least one person in your family history had to have gone through here when the school first opened in the 1800s. But for me, it was totally different. No one in my family had ever heard of this “academy”. I was in Seattle, I was 12, and I killed my father.