“Hand-to-hand combat only, no knives or guns.” Trainer may not have looked at me, but I know those words were directly for me.
I don’t know her name; no one does.
We aren’t permitted the knowledge of names, which is why everyone goes by their title. Trainer is a short and thin pale woman, no more than 5’5. Her hair is jet black and cut just above her shoulders. Every time I see her, she’s in the same uniform, just like us: black cargo pants and a black shirt that’s skin-tight, tucked into the waistband.
Trainer’s hair is always pulled back in a stubby ponytail. There’s no reason for it, not really; her hair isn’t long enough to get in her way as it is.
That’s another word Bella taught me. Stubby: short and thick. She had mentioned once that the Trainer’s hair is stubby, and when I asked what it meant, she gave me a fifteen-minute lesson on different words The Academy hadn’t taught us. It is understandable. Why would a killer need to know how to describe something as short and thick?
“PX-3 and PX-28, on the mat or I’ll have Major put you in the chair.”
If Madam and Major are the mum and dad of The Academy, then Trainer is the evil stepmum who tries to be like them. If she had the ability to give the chair as a punishment, I’m sure she would. But, while she can’t give the order directly, she can tell the Madam or the Major who will gladly throw any of us in the chair.
As much as I complain about their teaching methods, I know it’s for the best. They want us to succeed. Obviously, they can’t go easy on us, and there is growth in pain.
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, loosening my sheath and holster, letting them fall to the floor before stepping onto the mat with Lauren who is looking at me wide-eyed. I need to break her before The Academy does, they won’t be as kind as me.
“Begin.”
The sound of grunts and punches fill the training sector as everyone starts to fight. Lauren doesn’t move, her arms barely raised. “Hit me,” I whisper. Do anything but let them see how weak you are, I almost beg.
“I can’t,” Lauren whispers back.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Taking a step forward and aiming a jab at her throat, Lauren steps back, her hands pushing away my punch as she defends. Good. At least she can defend, even if she can’t attack. I strike again, this time aiming for her side, and hit true. Lauren grunts, holding her side and staggering back towards the edge of the mat. Not good. “Hit me,” I whisper again, but she doesn’t.
“PX-28,” the Trainer yells, and Lauren stiffens.
“You need to do more than defend in a fight. Hit PX-3 back.” I watch Lauren’s eyes widen again. She hates violence. Most of the time when we’re on missions, I have to do all the work. But in here I can’t protect her like I can out there.
“Everyone to the centre mat!” Trainer yells, stopping the fights abruptly. Soon, seventy girls circle around the mat in the centre of the room. I can’t stop the dread that consumes me.
It’s no secret to me that The Academy doesn’t like Lauren; they have been trying to find a reason to get rid of her for years. It's why they always ask how she performs each mission, and why they always do random interrogations on her. Lauren is weak. But I won’t lose another partner. I’m going to get Lauren out of this, I have to.
“Ma’am, my assigned partner was injured after our mission yesterday. It hardly seems like a fair fight,” I lie, hoping to buy her some time.
“You think your enemy cares for a fair fight?” Trainer scoffs. It’s a fair point, but not the answer I wanted. Shit.
“I think it’s hardly fair when my partner is already weak, and I’m the best. Would it not be better to pin us with opponents more worthy of our skills? I can fight PX-57.” Not a lie, but it still hurts to insult Lauren in front of the entire squad.
“Are you questioning your Madam?”
Please, whatever gods those assholes pray to before death, don’t put me in the chair for what I’m about to say. “It hardly seems fair; besides, I like to take my time. It would be far too easy to fight PX-28. I would rather have fifty-fifty odds than ninety-ten. Aren’t we supposed to be progressing our skills, not entertaining them?”
Trainer raises a brow before holding up her whistle. She’s about to call a fight. “First duo on the centre mat, PX-28 and PX-3. And since PX-3 wants to talk back, only one walks away.”
I knew those stupid gods did not exist, but at least I’m not in the chair.
Lauren walks onto the mat, raising her fists and looking at me. I raise my hands and change my stance, preparing to fight. She takes the first move, lunging towards me, her fist aiming for my jaw. But the movement is weak; her arms aren’t tight, and there is no force behind the punch. I dodge it effortlessly, but thank every single god she finally threw a punch.
It was sloppy. She’s too weak for this.
“Throat,” I whisper to her, watching as she raises her fists to her face again. I step forward, making it look like I’m going to attack, leaving just enough space in my fists to leave my throat unprotected, and she attacks. I feel the air being sucked from my lungs, but I can still breathe without passing out, so it wasn’t hard enough.
“Again.”
Suddenly, creating a hint of belief to the traitorous gods, Madam’s heels echo against the concrete floors.
