Mr Assassin

I sighed heavily as I rounded the corner that would eventually lead me to my doom. I slowed my steps as much as I could without making any potential passers-by know that I was procrastinating. It was kind of astounding - I don't procrastinate. Like, ever. It's just... not what I do.

All doom aside, it was Monday – my first day as the teacher of 1A.

The senior classes were divided up into age groups, Ages 10 – 12 were class 3, 13– 15 were 2, and anything above that was class 1. Each age group was then further divided into levels competency, A being the most competent. Assassins that learnt at the C level often worked as Private Detectives alongside the Fuzz, to catch big-time burglars, kidnappers and paedophiles. B level handled some more dangerous stuff like the planting and dismantling of bombs; Level A could do all that – and more. Level A assassins were drafted to assassinate gang leaders, celebrities, politicians and the occasional royal. I hadn’t gone through this schooling system, it changed the year I finished my advanced training – age 10. Now, the Company decided that their assassins needed to be older when they were sent out into the field – so they basically stretched out the two-year long advanced class over the course of approximately 8 years. I, personally, scoffed at this idea, because I got more missions done than most of these kids ever would, because I started 8 years earlier.
And I would’ve gone on to do more if some bastard hadn’t planted a bomb on my plane…
But, in relation to the curriculum my opinion doesn’t matter. Besides, I was being paid to teach these over-sheltered baby assassins how to do their job, and as long as I just treated this as another assignment I would get by.

I sighed once more and halted at the door.
It was black and chic, contrasting greatly with the blindingly white walls that were the only things keeping the goings on of the build in secret. Except for the machine guns hidden in secret compartments in the ceiling, ultra-sensitive motion-detective lasers and the dozens of sentries, that is. There were no markings on the door, the only way I could identify this room as being 1A was from being told dozens of times where it was (and I still needed directions…).
As I reached for the chrome door handle, I hesitated. The feeling that this door, this inanimate object, gave me was overwhelming. I waved my fingers in the air in front of me, trying to loosen myself up. I felt something I hadn’t since the day of my attempted murder: fear. Fear - and a whole fucking lot of nerves.
With one final breath of defeat, I stepped into the classroom; the room that would seal my doom. The corner was nothing compared to the doorway…
I entered the room and was instantly filled with content.
Children.
They were freaking everywhere! Jumping around, shouting, giggling, one of the buggers was climbing a wall. I was utterly disgusted. As I remembered back to my training, I saw a great difference in behavioural patterns. MY classmates and I were disciplined, quiet and polite. These animals, however, obviously held no respect for their superiors or authority figures. Even if I was only 1 year older than most of these students, I still expected respect. I was their teacher, after all. I stalked angrily over to my desk, slammed my bag down and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
“Oi! Shut the hell up ya fuckers!” I yelled.
Approximately 20 heads snapped in my direction.
Then, I assumed, came the reactions of any regular high-school children. Girls whispered behind their hands and boys sized me up – trying to figure if they could take me in a fight. The kid who was climbing fell to the floor in a graceful leap. He rose and strolled cheerily towards me. I gathered that he was trying to emit an alpha-like aura, but he was too…gentle-looking to truly pull it off.
He beamed and stretched out his hand.
“Mornin’! I’m Arlen!”
Thus the moment façade faded.
I gripped his hand with reluctance, sighing inwardly at how poorly he shielded himself with a tough-guy attitude. He was clearly a mama’s boy.
“Good morning…Arlen…” I muttered, “All of you! Sit down you’re really pissin’ me off!”
I permitted myself the liberty of thinking that this job might not be too bad…I could just vent my anger on the little bastards. Could be fun…?
“M-Mr Ivanov?” came an almost inaudible cry.
How did the lil’ buggers already know my name…? Dammit... Boss…
I looked over to investigate the source of such a cry, and found a girl quivering with fear under one of the steel desks.
“What?” I snapped, full aware of the eyes of the finally-silent class upon me. The girl was very young-looking, most likely she only just met the minimum age requirements. Tears began to leak from her eyes.
“Dammit,” I muttered, “Don’t cry…” I don’t do crying. I don’t deal with it very well…
“Someone talk to her?” I eyed them, pleading, “One of her friends?” No one spoke up. “Aw come on! You can’t tell me she doesn’t have a single friend in this entire freaking class?!”
“I don’t have any friends.” The small girl admitted quietly, “Nobody likes me.”
I saw Arlen flinch in the corner he had retreated to.
“I’m sure somebody likes you,” I mused, receiving strange stares from students who thought it was clearly stated that she did not, in fact, have any friends. But the girl smiled and came out from under her desk.
I suddenly remembered something.
“Why did you actually call my name in the first place?”
She looked somewhat startled.
“Uhh…I just wanted to let you know that I actually was here. Usually I just stay under my desk, and one teacher didn’t know that. I got marked as absent and the Company thought I’d gone AWOL and went on a state-wide manhunt.”
My eyes widened.
“I just thought we could avoid that problem.” She added quietly.
“Um…Very well then… Hey Arlen!” I beckoned him over. “What do your teachers usually do?” I whispered quietly, embarrassed that I didn’t know. In the junior grades I usually gave them story time… I don’t know if teenagers would go for it though…
“Take attendance,” he whispered in reply.
“Thanks, Arlen. Please return to your seat.”
He gave me a knowing smile.
“Don’t worry Mr Ivanov,” he whispered under his breath, “I’ll help you out.”
I dreaded the thought.
“Okay!” I yelled, despite the quiet, “I’m gonna take attendance so…maintain this level of quiet while I do so.”
I looked around for lack of something better to do, then sighed heavily for he thousandth time that day as my gaze dropped lazily to the desk in the front of the room.
I pulled out the chair and sat down, then began rummaging through my bag for the list of names I’d been mailed three days earlier. The list revealed that there wasn’t nearly as many people in this class as I’d first assumed. With a quick count, I came to the conclusion that there were 14 students in class 1A
I took a breath.
“Ginny Bankston?”
“Here Mr Ivanov!” cried a happy-looking blonde girl. Oh well… big things come in cliché-looking, dumb-blonde packages…Is that how the saying goes..? Meh.
“Michael Brandelle?”
A grunt sounded from the back corner.
“Ah. I suppose Michael’s not here then. Shall we set up the manhunt?”
“NO!” came the uproarious cry of 14 startled voices.
“Michael, show some respect and respond when called.” I warned.
“Yes, arseface.” A smirking Michael replied sweetly, his annoying long brown bangs swaying as he laughed at his own pathetic joke.
I heard an ear-piercing crash, and realised that I had stood up – and knocked my chair over in the process. Without quite knowing what I was doing, I stalked angrily over to Michael’s domain.
“On your feet, fuckwit!” I snarled, aiming for a death stare. Michael was unperturbed. He rose lazily out of his chair.
Shit! I thought to myself, Little fucker’s the same height as me! Shit!
I couldn’t pull the intimidation act on these kids in the same way I could with the juniors.
I’ll have to take a slightly different approach..?
“What’s on your mind, arseface?” Michael smiled.
“You know,” I began, my voice hushed, “I got suspended for assaulting one of the junior students. But see, the Company doesn’t give a shit about what I do to you guys. They just don't like it when we beat on little kids.” It was a bluff, I would probably get dismissed if I pulled any more abusive stunts, but Michael didn’t know that. He backed down.
I hid a grin, and walked back to the front of the class. I could hear the vague whispers of some of the other boys, asking Michael what had caused to become so pale. I continued with the roll triumphantly.
“Arlen Cromwell?” As soon as I said the name I realised who Arlen was, and that he was most definitely here.
But nonetheless, Arlen answered.
…
“Mina Deane?”
“Here Mr Ivanov!” cried yet another blonde girl, coincidentally seated next to the original blonde girl. Honestly, these girls do nothing to abolish the ‘blonde-cheerleader’ stereotype.
“Victoria Deane?”
“Ah…yes sir. No manhunt needed.”
I looked up to see the baby-faced girl from before. She seemed to be Mina’s sister, and yet she did not have a single friend in the entire class! Other than the clueless Arlen, that is. For some unknown reason, I was boiling with anger at Victoria’s loneliness.
“Peter Davis?”
“Here.”
Bored-looking child…Front Row…
“Samuel Eiphrams?”
Another bored-looking child – somewhere in the middle…
“Carelle Harolds?”
“Yeah.”
Dracula’s female counter-part…somewhere towards the back…”
“Jack Hester?”
“Here, Mr Ivanov.”
Yet another blonde child…middle…
“Cassie Ivanov?...Wait what?”
My…SISTER?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!!??!!!!????!??!?
“Um, here, Bastien…uh Mr Ivanov…”
“Okay, what the fuck are you doing here?”
In the background I could here the hushed whispers of the incorrigible gossips, but I was completely focused on my little angel in the back row.
“The Company asked for me. Mother and Father agreed to send me here because they thought if I got into any trouble you would look after me.”
“Cass, I wasn’t notified that you entered the academy. How am I supposed to be a big brother if I don’t know these things? Sigh... When did you enter?”
“Umm…” she looked thoughtful, “About…2 years after you finished your advanced training class. I was 10 – bottom age entry into the senior classes.”
“You’ve been here 7 years and I did not once get any phone calls or letters telling me you’d joined?!”
“We sent you loads of letters and stuff! I should be the one getting mad at you for not telling us that you got injured and transferred to the teaching division!!!”
“I did send y-… Ohhhhh… The Company intercepted and negated all contact between us… That explains a lot…”
The way I said it, you would expect it to be one of the most obvious conclusions I could come to.
“Why would they do that?” Cassie asked, her hazels wide and adorable despite her seventeen years.
“Numerous reasons, sugar.” Students erupted in giggles.
None of which she needs to be caught up in…
“Bastien!” Cassie groaned, “Mark the damn attendance thingy!”
“Yes sweetie-darling-sugar plum-peach blossom!”
She glared, I smirked.
“Elliot Kain?”
“Here Mr Ivanov. And, you gotta admit, this is possibly the longest taking of attendance in history.” Elliot mused.
“Yes, Elliot, I’m aware of that. It has been a rather…different sequence of events…”
A series of ‘hmm’s and ‘yeah’s rang out.
“Molly Kain?”
Elliot’s twin sitting next to my sister…
Shit! I’m doing the in-head description thingies again! Bad mind! Bad!
Ungh…
“Andrew McAllister?”
“Yep.”
“Angela Zaeto?”
“Yes’m.”
“Angela? Do you realise that ‘yes’m’ is an abbreviation for the term ‘yes ma’am’? In future, please do not address me whilst using that term.”
“Uhh…Yes Mr Ivanov…”
“Good.”
“Sir?” Samuel asked, bored, “Are we actually gonna get anything done?”
“Well that’s what I had in mind…” I muttered.

Copyright Lewis 2009 - 2010