Till Deceived Do We Part

This is the first chapter to the sequel, Ascension. I won't be posting any more chapters to it under this name, so you'll have to subscribe to it seperately if you want to read it. :)

He ran. With fear in every stride. With his chest huffing from exertion and with blood dripping with every step. He ran like his life depended on it. Like he was being chased to his death. He ran like a man who didn’t want to die.

His feet kept going. One foot in front of the other. One leg pumping after another. His arms whipped back and forth, giving his body far more momentum and allowing him to lose his opponent to the depths of the darkness. He didn’t stop, though. His eyes showed the fear that remained, for in their green depth, the fear that haunted almost the whole population of Earth, resided; death. He was truly afraid to die. So he kept running. Until he felt as if his legs were jelly, and he no longer knew what direction to go.

His breathing was heavy and too loud. It sounded like a gunshot in the dark, and he desperately tried to control it; to get a grip on the situation that was now spiraling. His eyes shut tightly, blocking out the trees and dirt. His mind tried to get a grip on the situation as he blocked out all sounds; including his own labored breathing. Once his body was in a calm state and he was no longer trembling like a child without their blanket, he opened his eyes.

Large trees surrounded him, the green leaves reflecting what moonlight there was. Shrubs lay scattered in the area, covering and concealing dirt patches. Random rocks lay across the pathway, if you could even call it that. Grass and dirt obscured the actual path, but opposed to the other vegetarian, this was tamed. And tamed vegetarian made the best pathway, as others must have noticed if the footsteps were anything to go by.

His hand, drenched in sweat, gripped his gun tighter. It was his only backup, having lost his previous one in the struggle that had landed so many of his current wounds.

He pivoted; listening. This wasn’t the end. Not yet. He scanned every direction, his eyes taking in what little detail he could obtain. The night sky ahead loomed over him, almost appearing to grow darker every second.

So he waited. And waited. When nothing jumped out shouting boo, he took off at a gentle quite lope, in the direction he came from. He was no longer running, he was facing his opponent. He couldn’t run any longer, and he was sick of waiting. This would end.

He was just reaching a turn in the path when he heard the twig snap. Not under his own feet, either. He spun, his gun raising fast. Not fast enough.

An elbow landed to his face, knocking his once composed figure, back. He stumbled, fixed himself and...

A barrel met his eyes, and in one quick flick of his opponents finger, the bullet slammed into his own head, before he could even utter a word.

~~

“Ten bucks.” I scoffed, but handed it over. When would I learn not to bet with Zane? Flint shot a scowl our way and made his way into the chamber, toward the still figure on the ground. I watched him, only half paying attention. The first time, this was interesting. The second time, mildly so. The third? Not so much. So on the fifteenth time? To say I was getting annoyed would be putting it lightly. I was damned sick of this.

Our numbers were still reduced. We had gotten a few more recruits who were currently in intense training, but they were level four at the highest. At the moment, besides myself and Zane, we had only one level six, and no one above that.

There were twelve levels in total, at the base I live at. There are larger places, mainly in the states or off shore, that go higher, but we don’t. We don’t have the manpower for it, and currently, we were struggling for the manpower–or in my case, womanpower– to even pull off level tens.

I work at an assassin base. We kill people. The ones, however, who deserve to die. Rapists, abusers, drug dealers, and etc. Each level signifies the skill and ability of the assassin. Just as any workplace has a ranking system, numbers are ours. Level ones were as simple as walking. We don’t hire level one’s, for anyone higher than one can pull that hit. Having someone who could only pull that level would be a waste of our time and resources. Level two to five are basically the same, only gradually going up, usually due to the method of killing. The lower the level, usually the less messy of kill. Past level five, it doesn’t matter on method as long as they’re dead. Of course you’ll take things into consideration. For if you were in a public place, you wouldn’t want to blow a bomb up, hoping to get your target. If you could pull a five, you were a decent assassin and had a good chance of getting a rep. That’s not always a good thing. If you’re unknown, no one’s gunning for you. If you’re known? The list of enemies who want you dead grow.

Six and seven are gradual increases. Mainly in the who you take out, and their threat level. Anyone capable of pulling an eight or nine were the ones in consideration of becoming a top. To be a top, you have to pull a ten. Level ten was the highest we went alone. Eleven and twelve were always done with a partner, even some tens were.

Myself and Zane–a brother to me in all senses besides blood–were tops. Flint was, also, or was. He, however, was now the head of the base. Our previous head, Jake, had died in the same event that brought our numbers significantly down, just five months ago.

Flint was currently trying to get more tops, and if possible, more higher levels. That’s where what we were doing came in. It was a virtual reality. The safest way to test an assassin’s skills without killing them. If they pass three of these, then they get a field test. As in, real life. Currently, everyone failed. Including the man Flint was now helping to his feet, having pulled off the chords and helmet that had allowed him to experience the virtual reality.

“He lasted longer than the others.” I glanced at Zane. My eyes, instinctively, took in his appearance, as it had for the last five months. His dirty blonde hair was now cut shorter, and though his blue eyes were still lively, they held a more haunted look to them. Although, I suppose anyone who lived through torture would have that look. His wounds were healed completely, but the carved D in his chest would never leave, always reminding Zane who had tortured him.

My wounds were also healed. My physical ones, anyways. I would never forget that night, and I’m sure years from now I’d still get the nightmares.

“Which is why I lost the bet.” I countered. Zane smiled.

“Which means if he trains, he could stand a chance of raising higher than a four.”

“He sucks.”

“He lasted ten minutes, opposed to the five everyone else lasted.”

“He lasted because he ran. Not exactly a quality I’m looking for in someone I need to trust my back.” Zane’s smile grew.

“Your back’s all mine, babe.” I socked him in the arm and pushed myself to my feet. Flint was helping the man out of the chamber. The man, who I vaguely remembered being called Tyler, looked like he’d seen better days. While nothing in the virtual reality could actually hurt him, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel everything. He felt the fear, the adrenaline, and in the virtual reality, the punches would certainly hurt him. Once he woke up, though, there would be no pain of such punch.

His hair was drenched in sweat, clinging to his also sweaty forehead. His eyes were dilated, almost no colour left in them. His body was shaking, and he kept swallowing. His chest heaved up and down, and when he met my eyes, he flinched away. I stared at him for a while before turning. I had better things to do then watch repeatedly as our numbers failed some of the most basic testing. This was just pathetic.

I had just left the room, which was located near the gym, when Flint ran out, grabbing my arm. I yanked it back, but allowed him to spin me to face him. I crossed my arms, shot him a glare and waited. Flint’s eyes were furious, and his body language not only showed his anger, but his frustration.

Myself and Flint have never gotten along. Needless to say, him becoming the head of the base didn’t change that. He manipulated people with his appearance, and it worked, unless you knew him. He looked like a rich brat, always dressed up, hair always perfect, and his body always composed. Only his eyes gave away he was anything but, with the wheels always turning. I admired him for his skills in the field, but that was the extent of our relationship.

“He did better than the rest. Show him some damn respect.”

“I treated him no different than I treat you. That is respect.” I turned, but he jumped in front of me, blocking the hallway.

“We’re low in numbers, we should be banding toge-“

”Then send them out on the higher missions. Give them mine, for by all means, we should band together. My work is there work, right? That’s how banding together works?” Flint’s eyes narrowed. “Stop making me attend these stupid things. It wastes my time, which wastes yours. We need new people, Flint, not our old ones. They’re alive from sheer luck, no other reasons. Our good men died when they went head first into that place. What we have left are the cowards.” I pushed by him now, using my elbow to do so.

He could have tried to stop me, which would have ended in one of our regular fights, but he didn’t. For he knew I needed to stay in prime shape. With me and Zane as the only tops left, he had to use us. Daily. He couldn’t even threaten to kick me out for my attitude, for that would leave him only Zane. So to say I used that to my advantage, pushing him farther than I usually could, would be the truth. For he had no choice but to keep me. Alive and healthy.