Head Shots Aren't Allowed

"All right folks. Let's Roll."

The girl slams the locker, and pushes opening the door. She walks out the corridor, tying up her long black hair in a ponytail. From another door, her friends join her.

The six teenagers walk through the hallway. It's not any school hallway, no it's a dark, mirror lined black out hallway. The only light that guides their steps is the purple glow from the black lights. Four boys and two girls. Each shouldering a rifle.

Okay, okay okay, not a real one. . .

These six kids are walking into the war zone of a Air-soft arena. They've been coming here each weekend for almost ... actually they don't remember. They do know that this is part of them, each of them.

They open the doulbe doors to the areana. The room is silent and the air is a little colder. The six teensgers stand in a line looking out in to the space.

The girl with black hair steps out of the line, taking point-position. Her name is Ash, not short for Ashley. Her eyes reflect her name; they are such a pale blue that the others often mistake them as white.

Those same pale ice eyes scan over the room. It's never the same twice, and there's always some other group in there. Waiting for them. Ash looks over her group, quickly checking for any loose ends.

The oldest boy steps up next to her, towering over her by several inches. His name is Tristan, and you'll be sorry if he ever hears you call him by a nickname.

He and Ash look like pure opposites of each other. His hair is as white as her eyes, and the black orbs of his eyes are laced with silver. They track over the room, scanning for all the hiding spots, as Ash looks over the others.

The twins, Max and Joel, shuffle their feet and look out into the dim room, eager to start. Of course being identical twins, they share the same vivid color of red hair, a touch of flame atop their head. Peeking out from under the bangs, pale green eyes twitch from side to side.

Samantha, as always, stands to the left of Ash, her consent shadow. She won't give you a hard time for calling her Sam, in fact she prefers it. Her short pixie hair is high lighted with blond and green and blue and a streak of red. Under all that color is believed to be mouse brown hair, but no one is sure. Sam's hazel eyes watch Caden as he moves around impatiently.

Caden, the lovable ball of energy, shifts his weight from foot to foot, waiting for Ash to give the signal. His ruffled blond hair hangs over is face, covering one brown eye. The one that shows is green. Only Tristan knows why and how Caden came to having different eyes, and he wouldn't ever tell.

Now, Ash turns to her group and gives the signal. Instantly four mismatch sharp-shooters dash off. Tristan holds out his hand and Ash hooks her pinkie finger around his. Their own little tradition.

Tristan pulls a black hood over his white hair then disappears off to the side. Ash smirks to herself and starts scouting out the surroundings. Every corner is taken with care, Air-soft gun at the ready. The room is huge and silent, except for the brief rustle of foot steps of to the side.

There!

Ash ducks out of the way and slides behind a barrier. She sits still, listening. Years of this has trained her to be patient; the target always comes. Another thing she's learned is that until everyone else is gone, her group won't turn on her, so this has to be the opposition.

Foot steps shuffle heavily towards her. The Air-soft rifle on her shoulder swings out, controlled, and takes a perfect shot to the chest. The player raises his hand, and Ash beckons for him to come to her, but he just shakes his head.

Ash rolls her eyes, and waves again, but no luck. The player bolts, turning on his heels and dashing away.

"Why do they run?" Ash mumbles, taking quick aim at his back.

A black shape emerges in front of the run away and shots off four rounds, stopping him short. Caden raises the tip of his Air-soft gun, a small greeting to Ash before he turns his full attention to the player. He sees Ash nod and then run off.

Caden steps forwards and holds his Air-soft gun to the guys chest. He tilts his head to the side, looking at the fellow.Caden makes a few tsk sounds with his tongue, then holds out his hand for the guys fake weapon.

"Fine, Fine Fine!" You win." the stranger hisses as he hands it over.

"I know." Caden whispers back, taking him to the 'jail.'

Caden leaves him and continues on his patrol. He rushes a little faster then the others, but still manages to stay out of danger most of the time. His speed, however reckless, is a good thing. Caden already knows the layout of this place.

The layout would be this. . . The whole thing is about the size of half a football field. The ceiling is three stories above the floor and the walls stretch up black with sliver metal plates riveted to create a sort of design.

There are blood red, light blue inflatable barriers everywhere. Some are huge triangles, other are tubes that lay flat on their side. Some of them are wall, like rectangles with 'window' holes in them.

The Air-soft arena is completely dark, except for black lights scattered around on the walls and ceilings. The lights are simply bulbs protected from the plastic Air-soft bullets by wire mesh. That is the Layout,

Knowing the layout means knowing where Tristan, Ash, Sam and the twins are. And those are the place that the other team will get caught and those are the places to avoid. Caden stops behind a barrier, holding still for a second then continuing.

Holy poop!

Caden stops short as two opponents face him down. Sharp pain flies across his leg and sharper pain stings his wrist. Caden grits his teeth as the two shot him once more, then rip his gun away and shove him towards base.

Caden hears the soft sound of the air-soft hitting someone and guy on his left jerks away from him. He spins around and watches as the twins take two more shots at the guy on his right. He smirks and gives them each a high five when they wander over.

Max and Joel smile at him and take the others back to jail, leaving Caden in base. They drop the disqualified player off with their friends. Someone must have gotten another, because there are four players out.

"How many?" Max bends down low over one of them.

"Seven." The girl gives him an answer.

The others grab at her, trying to cover up the answer but Max got it. He looks up at Joel and Joel nods. Joel always was good at knowing if some one was telling the truth. He had tried to explain it once, to Max. But he was never good at explaining stuff or telling stories.

Max was his superior in that. Max could weave a tale so enticing you would believe every word he said. Max knew that he could entrance people into giving him answers but he was helpless without Joel. They were a perfect pair... of twins.

They walk cautiously away, looking around. Max walks backwards, his hand against Joel's. Every now and then they switch. After a while they crouch down behind one of the barriers, and positioning them self on either end, peering out from behind.

Black lights shine on the 'courtyard' in the middle of the arena. The barriers give off a pale glow, and the black metal scaffolding over head seems like black spider webs clutching to the ceiling.

The over head 'Scaff' is like a second level, and unlike the bottom half it is unchanging and constants. Joel points up at it and Max nods. They move out circling around the courtyard and moving towards on of the barriers.

Max turns around as Joel climbs up to the 'Scaff'. Max's green eyes sweep over the area. He goes over what he knows. Seven opponents, four of those in the 'jail', meaning that there are three others.

Joel lets out a breath of air, signaling to Max, who leaps up onto the scaffolding. The two of them look down over the arena, and when they see no one, they walk along the 'Scaff'.

This space up here is a little dangerous. If some one looks up and spots you, you're an easy target. But on the flip side, if you're stealthy and have got good aim, the high webbing of metal is a good place to stake out.

Staking out is exactly what Tristan is famous for. So it doesn't really surprise either Joel or Max when They find him. He's on his stomach with his sniper rifle and scope set up in front of him.

The real surprise is that Sam is sitting with him. When Max and Joel come around the corner, she jumps up and aims her gun.

"We're friends!" Max whispers, 'Stand down."

Sam simply nods and sits back down. Joel cocks his head to the side, looking over the edge of the 'Scaff' at some moving black shadow.

"Hey." Tristan's voice breaks the silence and snaps Joel's attention away from the shadow, "How many are there?"

"Seven in all, three loose." Max says, Joel forever silent. "Last time we checked."

"Go check again." Sam's harsh whisper shatters their cover.

The one of the loose players steps around the corner, obviously having followed Max and Joel. Another comes from a different direction, having followed the sound of voices. A hail of Air-soft bullets ring off the metal as each person takes aim and pulls the trigger.

Sam pulls a pistol from her belt and shots at the lone one, backing rapidly around a corner to avoid getting hit. Max and Joel cover her retreat. When Sam's clear of the fire, she runs around the back of the turn, catching the guy off guard. Taking quick aim, hits him square in the knees and chest, sending him to the ground.

Max and Joel manage to avoid letting Tristan and Sam get hit. As Sam backed away, Joel had sank to one knee hitting the opponent that had followed in the leg. Max had turned to watch Joel's back as the other loose player run around the corner trying to cut Sam off.

Tristan, opposed to close range fire, had pulled his rifle close to his chest and rolled off the ledge of the scaffolding. Landing on one of the inflatable barriers, Tristan flipped off and landed silently on his feet in the courtyard of the arena.

Pop

An Air-soft bullet hit the barrier next to his head, barely missing his face. His black eyes flew over to the dark shadow that had fired the shot. Dropping to one knee and taking a pistol from his belt, he took a precision shot. The little plastic bullet managed to miss all the armor and even the mask...

Hitting the jugular vain in the neck.

The guy fell to the ground coughing and gasping for air. Tristan stood over him, n=knowing it was the last opposing player. Finally the guy catches his breath and looks up at Tristan.

"What the H- was that for?" He gasps out, his voice harsh.

"No head shots." Tristan answered, low and calm.

Tristan waits for the fellow to stand before, taking him over to the 'jail'. He turns to see Sam and Ash, waiting in the shadow of one of the barriers. Max and Joel are coming across the courtyard with Caden. Tristan nods to Ash, who returns the gesture. The six of the teens look at the seven disqualified players, then at each other, then back.

The seven player pull off their protective face gear, revealing seven very confused expert marksmen. The one girl shakes her head slowly.

"Y'all just keep getting better." She says, "You barely need tactical training any more."

"Yes, I suppose." Ash says, "You can all go if you want."

"Yeah. We'll start our own training session." Max explains

"It'll take a while." Sam giving for information.

"A long while..." Caden finishes with a smile.

Suddenly a ringing goes off. Ash's hand travels to her belt, taking out the cellar device. A cell phone. The others watch her read the text, except Tristan. He starts walking to the exit; he already knows what is says.

The six of them return to the locker rooms. They put the Air-soft gun back into the lockers, then pull open a false back from the locker.

The fake pistols and rifles get stashed and the real sniper rifles and semiautomatics come out. The soft plastic pellets get replaced by by cold, hard, metal bullets. the Training game stops as the lockers slam shut.

Tristan, the sniper who can shot the wings off a fly, gentle puts his collapsed titanium rifle and scope into a violin case. He smirks, enjoying the cliche.

Caden, the intelligence gatherer with a photographic memory, smooths the fabric over his computer and small self-defense pistol. Caden smiles at the fact he can't shoot worth nothing.

Sam, the bomber who can measure out gunpowder to the gram in the dark, tucks her triple barrel pistols into a flute case that also holds her powder. She wonders if this team will need her for this one.

Max, the interrogation officer, and Joel, the verification officer, are a vital team and are never separated. Each of them pack a semiautomatic in the lining of computer messenger bag, along with the computer.

Ash, the tactician and close combat fighter who could probably kill four ways without her hands or her guns, gently slides two knives into the sheath's attached to her boots. She straightens and looks at her team.

This six teenagers don't exist, according to the government anyway. If the government admitted to their existence than they would have to account for the 'disappearance' of several hundred people.

Just in case there is a little confusion... These six teens are a completely elite and lethal group of assassins. That was one of the many training sessions they've had since . . . ever.

Ash opens the door to the building and walking outside. She looks back at her team once more. Her friends and comrades.

"All right folks. Let's roll."