For Zachary Goode, life had never been very colourful. From a young age, he had been surrounded by dull colours of grey, black and shades of metal. Nothing changed when he started his 'education' at the Blackthorne Institute. He was surrounded by the drab stone walls, the sharp fencing and the miserable weather. The only bright colour he'd ever really had – or worn – in his life was a garish yellow that the jumpsuits were that was mandatory for all students to wear at Blackthorne.

Now, at the age of sixteen, the beginning of the end of his training was here. That meant harder, more brutal CoveOps assignments, deadlier methods in P & E and quicker rifles in target shooting. He was as tough as nails, outside and – as some said – inside. After all: how can one train to be an assassin if one does not have the mind to assassinate?

As if my body had set a natural alarm clock; my eyes opened at 5am sharp. I was awake and alert at once. Almost robotically, I got out of bed and dressed into my jumpsuit - the sharp, ringing bell to rouse everyone would go off in 43 seconds. Morning drills are the beginning of every day at Blackthorne – when I first came here – when my Mother left me to go off with the Circle – I detested them, but now I feel that they prepare me mentally for what the rest of the day brings.

I go to a school for assassins – a school that trains them. I don't want to be one. They've moulded me into one though – my mind thinks like a killer, a predator. I hope that somehow, someday I can put this ability to good use – maybe to get inside the mind of a killer and figure out their next move before they do.

As I moved to the small window of our dorm, I was hit by the cold. It was the middle of January and well below freezing outside. Hard ground to fall on, I thought. Barely under my control, my mind knew the attack that would knock out and – with this ground – kill the target.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Just as I had expected, the bell rang, loud and clear. Just another day at Blackthorne.

We all thought.

Jonas, Grant and I made our regular route to the field where the drills for P & E began, but were cut short in our tracks. There was a huge, glossy helicopter – an A-129 to be exact – on the ground. 7 seconds later, Dr Steve stepped out of it, smiling.

"Morning all. Is anyone excited to find out where we're going today?" No-one responded. "Fantastic. Well. Today gentlemen, we have the first of 3 CoveOps Assessments for you. This one is a little... different than normal. No guns. No violence-" – you could hear some of my classmates sigh in disappointment, but my mind was racing. "- your mission is to distract a target from their mission. More details in the helicopter. Everyone on board please! Fantastic."

Over the next thirteen minutes and twenty-four seconds, we acquired more knowledge about our mission from Dr. Steve. We were going to Washington D.C. – a good 90 minutes ride away – and had to wear costumes. I was feeling slightly unimpressed, so I asked Dr. Steve:

"Who exactly will we be tailing, Sir?"

His eyes lit up in excitement. "Trained operatives Zach, a similar age to you." He paused. "Female." The whole cabin ushered into silence. I couldn't believe my ears, either, but I had to stay professional. I stayed quiet as he handed paper with pictures and information regarding the target assigned to us. Unable to hide my grin, I read my paper. I could hardly believe my luck. For months, I had been keeping check on the C.I.A. records to see if anything interesting had popped up. I never thought I would meet her, let alone get to tail her. My mind was racing with thoughts to see what she was really like in action. It said:

CAMERON MORGAN

AGE: 15 YEARS

HEIGHT: 5"5

WEIGHT: 118LLBS…..

Followed by a load of information I already knew. I folded the paper in my hands and put it in my costume pocket. It mind come in hand later. I thought I had seen everything, but the picture remained.

My first impression was that she wasn't pretty. Not ugly, just average. A clean face, straight, brown hair, friendly smile. Oh well, I mused, no-one looks good in those photos anyway. Best see what she's like in real life. Although, it would probably be better for me if she was as unattractive as possible. I had never been in this situation before.