Till Deceived Do We Part

“How shall I proceed, boss?” Scar Man asked, his eyes never leaving my body. I stayed on the balls of my feet, slowly moving back and forth, ready to spring. My eyes were alert, and my body was singing with adrenaline. Somehow, this was all going to end tonight. For good.

“To train a dog, you must show it who’s boss. This is no different.” Scar Man grinned and headed my way, cracking his knuckles as he walked. Too cliche, too incompetent. The one with the scar on his face? Has a bummed left knee. A swift kick will take him out. Now was the time to repay him for torturing Zane.

I bounced on the balls of my feet again then shifted to the left. He mimicked my move, of course. He went left. I bounced farther left. He bounced father to his left. And so it went. Dalton stayed back, along with Mr. Peripheral. His smile had slid off his face, showing another side of him; the hunter. He watched me; his prey. He studied me, learned me. All amazing skills, I had to admit. They were skills of an assassin, skills that if one didn’t have, they’d die their first day out.

I honed those skills when I was seven. As all kids at the base had to do. We were taught basic hunting tricks by actually hunting. First video games. Next came virtual reality and finally actual hunting in the forest. Strangely enough, I couldn’t kill an animal. For those who didn’t wish to, tranquillizers were provided. It wasn’t the kill that mattered, but the skills that allowed you to catch the prey.

What Scar Man didn’t realize was that I had a plan. A stupid, frivolous plan, but one that would surely make him feel pain. That was all that mattered now. I had to buy time, what better way than getting back at those who tortured Zane?

We continued our bouncing game until I danced forward. As planned, he took a swipe. I ducked, spun and delivered a side kick. A side kick is simple. Basically, you deliver a front kick, only at the end you pivot so you’re actually delivering a side kick. My heel hit me square in the chest and he stumbled. I leapt, my palm flying out hard against his shoulders, and launched my body over his before he could react. Generally I’m graceful and execute it perfectly, but with only one hand to actually push off with, it made the jump go sideways. I anticipated that.

I landed on my shoulder, rolled out and grabbed the closest chunk of wood I could find. My knees bunched, my arm pulled back with the wood, and again I danced on the balls of my feet. Scar Man had spun when I had leapt over him, his eyes darting wildly. He was upset. He didn’t like being shown up by a girl. A girl with a broken arm, nonetheless. He snarled and pulled out a long knife. My eyes glanced briefly at it, and back to me shard of wood. I had the more painful weapon. Splinters can be a nasty thing. I grinned at his snarl, showing off my own teeth in a twisted sort of grin.

Mr. Peripheral laughed whereas Dalton’s brow ceased. Not with worry of dismay, but with wonder. Amazement. Curiosity. He was seeing the assassin he wished to obtain in action.

“And what’s that supposed to do? Hold your white flag?” I grinned wider, earning a pause out of him.

“And what’s that supposed to do? Write your epitaph?” His grin faltered, but not his stance. He remained on the balls of his feet too, slowly rocking toward me. I stayed floor bound, but remained on the balls of my feet. I wanted him to strike first. If he struck first, all I’d have to do was dodge, and he’d be exposed. If I attacked first, he’d have the same opportunity. If the person is fast enough, striking first is the wisest move. Usually I am, but I wasn’t in top fighting conditions. I wasn’t even going to attempt it. I was pushing my own skills as it was.

“If you’re so confident, why are you standing there? Attack already.” I remained where I was. I have endured a lot worse taunting. Compared to Lincoln, Scar Man was an amateur.

“Works both ways.” He continued shifting, getting a little closer every second. My eyes never left him.

“True. However, I’m not the so called gifted assassin.” Gifted? It’s not a gift. It’s a skill. I didn’t respond, merely watched his movements. He was going to attack with his right side, coming at me from the left. If I ducked and swept my leg underneath him, I should be able to get him on his back, where I would make sure he didn’t get back up. Simple plan. As long as it went as planned. That’s the thing with a plan, it can only ever be a guideline. Anything else, and you’re screwed. For anything and everything can change in a split second. Where are you left, then?

He eyed me, shuffled, and dived. He came at my left side, as planned, but instead of striking upward with the knife, as I assumed he would, he struck lower, aiming for my legs. Not an incapacitating blow, which I should have seen. Dalton wanted me alive. I dodged it, but ended up on the run. He was on me again in seconds, and I barely dodged the next swipe, aimed for my left thigh. I spun, barely avoiding his next swing, then went down. My leg spun out, hitting his ankles. He stumbled, and I dived into his legs. It took us both to the ground ungracefully, but screw grace.

He landed on his back, his knife slipping from his fingers and sliding across the floor to land by the dead artist. I scrambled up, aiming my knee to his gut in the process. He grunted, but struggled to get to his feet nonetheless. That’s when I used my wood shard. Was a lot scarier than it sounded. I smashed it into the side of his skull, sending his rising body to the ground.

“Rule number one; never underestimate me. Rule number two; never, never torture one of my fellow assassins.” And with that, I slammed the wood shard straight through his left knee cap. Well, maybe not through. I wasn’t that strong. I did manage to lodge it in though, painfully so. His knee would never work properly again, even if he did manage to get out the splinters.

He howled in pain, his body curling automatically inward. The knee cap made a sickening crunch as I had shoved it in, and blood oozed out around the shard. I backed away from him, revelling in the sight of him whining and crying in pain. He was gasping, his hands cradling his knee, tears of pain leaking from the corners of his eyes. He was also screaming curses and threats at myself. That was expected. I could have killed him instead, but he tortured Zane. He deserved to feel some pain.

My eyes, slowly, turned away from the sight of Scar Man in pain. I wanted to watch, but I had more important things to worry about. Dalton was frowning at Scar Man, whereas Mr. Peripheral was looking amused.

“My turn?” He asked. Dalton frowned, his eyes meeting mine.

“Andrayka, we both know you’re only stalling. Let’s forgo it, shall we? That arm really does need tending to. I can give you the best medical treatment you could imagine. It’ll be in full force in a mere few weeks.”

“How about his knee? Can that be fixed in a few weeks?” I enjoyed the look his eyes gave away; anger. He was losing his cool.

“One last chance. Stand down.”

“Or what? You’ll break my arm? You’ll torture my brother? You’ll shoot out my car tires? What else could you possibly do, Dalton?”

“I always disagreed with Lincoln. About his methods, that is. He believed there was only one to put you in your place. I thought otherwise. Maybe I was wrong.” My gut went cold, my stomach sinking like lead. He saw it in my face, and smiled.

No. Even he wouldn’t play that low, right? Lincoln was scum, Dalton was scum too, but higher scum. He wouldn’t sink that low, right? I heard the doubt in my own thoughts, and had to clench my jaw to stop from showing my fear. My body strung with the sudden panic of his implication, and for the first time since I met Dalton, I felt truly afraid of what he could do.

I couldn’t back down, though. If I did, every man I ever went against would use the same target. I had to get past this fear, or at least seem to. That’s what mattered. Appearing that it didn’t bother me. I could scream and lose my cool later, but not in front of him. Never show weakness. Never show submission, and never, never back down. Three rules Jake drilled into us. Three rules that would prove very hard to stick to right now.

“Care to get close enough?” I countered. He glanced at Mr. Peripheral, who smiled in return. It was a predatory smile, something that sent a shiver of terror down my spine. He won’t get close enough. I won’t let him.

“In time, you will learn to trust me, Andrayka. Until that day comes, however, we will have to have these little battles. Let’s rap today’s up, though, shall we?” He gave a nod to Mr. Peripheral who wasted no time.

Unlike Scar Man, Mr. Peripheral took the fast approach. The hit-hard approach. Something I was in no condition to deflect. He came at me fast, barely giving me time to dive out of the way. He clipped my side, sending my ribs in protest. I gasped, landed hard on the floor, and barely rolled to avoid the foot that slammed down. I scrambled up, jumped backward, and found myself on the receiving end of his fist. I went sprawling, and had only begun to stand up when my head was smashed against the floor, his hands tangling in my hair.

Panic hit me then. I wasn’t facing death if I lost this fight, something I could handle, I was facing something a lot worse.

I kicked backwards, nicking his shin. That gave him pause, enough of one for me to twist, earning some hair pulled out, and slam my knee into his stomach. He doubled, and I kneed him again, wrenching away in the process. My scalp screamed, I ignored it. I shoved him off, rounded for a side kick... and got kicked first. It hit my bad arm, which earned a half-scream. I tumbled backward immediately, my body smashing into the ground yet again. I slid and clumsily began to try and stand, my arm burning as if it was on fire. Shit.

He was at me fast. Too fast. The only reason I could take Scar Man in my condition was the fact we were sparing, in a sense. Circling, calculating. Mr. Peripheral wasn’t caring for any of that. He just wanted to take me down. Hard. He was succeeding, too. The other guy? The one who looks like he has something foul under his nose? He’s a good fighter, but has crappy peripherals. He can only see straight on.

That did me no good. I needed to get to the side of him. I couldn’t even seem to stay on my feet. What else had Zane said? Alright. New tactic since you’re stubborn. Stall them.

Stall them. Simple enough. Only I wasn’t willing to go that far, not with what the only option of stalling was.

I slammed my good fist into Mr. Peripheral, the first good hit I got in. I wasted no time in getting to my feet, shakily stumbling back. This time, Mr. Peripheral stood slowly, eyeing me. Reading me. This time, when he moved quickly, I was expecting it. I expected it, but I wasn’t ready for it.

His hands slammed into my shoulders, earning a searing pain from my bad arm, and he took me to the ground. I immediately shot out my leg, knowing what he was going for, but I barely made contact when our bodies slammed down. Shock waves ran down my spine, along with pain. My head jostled, slamming even harder against the floor. My vision swam with darkness before his body came into view. Above me. On me.

My body kicked in full force and I threw my body upward... only for his to slam mine back down, his hands slamming my wrists to the ground, slamming them above my head and together. I screamed. Couldn’t help it as he bent my broken arm above my head. My vision blackened again, and the urge to vomit rose so fast I barely contained it.

He pressed down against me, his eyes locked onto mine. I met them shakily. Sweat was beading on my forehead, and I could feel my breathing become heavier. This was not happening again. It wasn’t!

“I would have liked to face you un-injured. Would have been...” his lips quirked, “fun.” Words almost sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he wasn’t used to speaking long sentences. Or maybe he wasn’t from here. I studied his face, replayed his words in my head, and listened for an accent. Slight, but there. So where was he from? Some place with high training and hand-to-hand combat fighting for sure. His eyes turned to Dalton, who was walking towards us.

I didn’t like this. Not with the way he was looking at me. Not with the way he was looking down at me, seeing me helpless. I was helpless. Again, the panic rose.

“In time, you will realize this was necessary.” He nodded at Mr. Peripheral.