The Assassin – Number 13's Revenge
By Katrina Lockhart
She flies from rooftop to rooftop. Never stopping, never slowing. No scents are in the air. The thatched roofs on her hardened feet are nothing compared to the rigorous training she had to endure at the academy; crawling across nails in a thin t-shirt and shorts, without uttering a sound, was one of the easiest in the academy. She keeps her eagle eyed vision on the landscape . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .
Suddenly, she smells it, the strong scent of tobacco mixed with alcohol! She's on the hunt, gliding silently like a lioness homing in on her prey. She finds him. Falling stealthily from her position on the roof. He's standing there oblivious to the fact that he's near to his demise. He's yelling at someone. She waits in the dark.
Half an hour passes; she has not moved an inch. He has finally finished his ranting and raving. She calls to him; he looks yet sees nothing, tentatively stepping forward. He follows, glancing this way and that searching, fruitlessly for his mysterious caller, blissfully unaware that his time on this planet was about to be brutally cut short. She stops; waiting for the mistake they always make. He walks in front of her. And there it is, she thinks, as she glares at him, if looks could kill her job would be done by now. She silently slides her scimitars from their scabbard and stalks forward. She slits his throat. He's dead before he hits the floor. No emotions pass through her as the dark, obtuse pool of blood spreads down the alley. All she thinks is her job is done; she needs to return to the academy.
Scaling the wall like a lizard, she sets off at a sprint, her jet black hair billowing out behind her, invisible to the untrained eye. Yet she still keeps her vigilance. Her hand clasped around one of her many shurikens ready to throw them at anybody who sees her. That is why she is the best!
The academy is a bright, white building, which you would never expect to have an assassin school and a headquarters in. She stalks forward never relaxing her guard. She climbs the stairs, up to her private quarters. Finally she sits down at two o'clock in the morning. She sets her scimitars on to her lap. They are her family, extensions of her soul. Calm, strong, sharp and definitely not messed with. She sets about sharpening the deadly blades, showing respect all the while. The jewel encrusted hilts fit perfectly to her hardened, calloused hands showing they have been partners for long, arduous years.
"Number 13! Boss wants to see you!" Yelled one of the many assistants Mr Z has.
Mr Z is the boss himself. His father was the one who raised this academy from the ground. Usually the assassins get their money from his lackeys. But today must be different. Number 13 is instantly suspicious.
"Why?" She replied sharply as though she might be assassinated at any minute.
"I don't know, do I? Mr Z don't tell me nothin'" Replied the increasingly annoying assistant.
"Well you should know if you're going to make it." She replied snidely, Mr Z's assistants never lasted long.
"Hey, don't kill the messenger!" He simpered quickly. He was right assassins aren't allowed to kill the assistants not after the last time. It ended in twenty more deaths than expected (Mr Z was not pleased).
Number 13 quickly slipped her scimitars back into back into the perfectly placed scabbards. You didn't waste time when Mr Z called you. She quickly changed out of her blood spattered clothes and pelted down the corridors to Mr Z's office.
Mr Z's office was a cold, unfeeling room, where Mr Z spent all of his time when he wasn't sleeping. His plush leather swivel chair turns to face Number 13.
"Do you know why I sent for you?" Mr Z asks,
"No, sir" Number 13 replies truthfully,
"You have become replaceable by some of the students."
"What? I am the strongest, swiftest and stealthiest you have!"
"Maybe not. You will have to prove yourself." And with this twenty young assassins came out of the many hidden doors around the office. Fast as lightening she pulls her scimitars out and started swinging them powerfully in arcs. Ten were dead before they even realised what was happening. Then some of them came to their senses and held back, withdrawing their own swords. They came at her one at a time at first, but soon realised that, that wasn't working, as it took about two swipes of her scimitars to take one of them down. So with only five assassins left they all rushed her at once, hoping to surprise her.
All that Mr Z could see was flashing silver and dropping bodies one after another. And then with one final flourish, on number 13's part, the last five dropped to the floor "Well that went nicely, didn't it?" Mr Z said pleasantly.
Number 13 flashes her cold, piercing glare on Mr Z "Watch your back," She snarled, lip curling, "I don't like surprises!"
"Now there's the girl I want as an assassin." Mr Z said delighted.
"I hate you!" She replied venomously.
"Good, you've got another job,"