The faucet in the bathroom always leaked. Drip, drop, drip, drop. No matter how tight the knob's turned, drip, drop. Every door creaked, though it only seemed to do so at night when one would prefer to move about unnoticed by the tenants living three floors up. The lack of windows threw the place into a perpetual night, a feeling of being under ground. It was rather fitting, being the resident's occupation, but of course, that explains the guns stashed in discreet places all around the apartment. An unfinished dinner was set out on the table, one plate attracting a plethora of flies that felt the need to pick at it. One plate had been left, as if in a hurry to get away. Even from the dining room the dripping of the bathroom faucet could be heard. As time seemed to float by the door from the outside hall into the dining room opened.

"First time in three years I finally get the chance to sit down to a real dinner and that son of a—" Kyle let out a sigh that engulfed his curse. He was a relatively small man, in height, but he was quick. His eyes were dark and aged and his dark hair was thinning and had a few streaks of silver running through it like the Nile across a dark, nighttime desert. He wore dark colors, all of which could be mistaken for black at a distance, and his clothes were rather loose and well worn. He stepped aside from the door to let another man enter his home. "Come on in, Mike," he said, "It's been too long." He was trying to be polite to his "friend" but his voice was all but inviting.

A much taller man came in. He was younger, light haired and fair skinned. His eyes were bright blue with a dark gold ring around the pupil. This was Mike, the enthusiastic rookie. "I know what you mean," he said wisely, "Three months isn't enough time to completely forget about me." He was one of the more joyful youths. He wore white and black with a brown coat. His voice had a resonating air that seemed to ring like the bells of Notre Dame. "Stop scowling, you're making me feel more unwelcome than I already am."

The smallest hint of a smile broke on the shorter man's stern face. He chuckled and collected his unfinished dinner to clean it up a bit. "So, why exactly have you been put back with me?" he asked, "Screw up an assignment?"

"A lady passed in front of my target," he explained, "She was wearing enough jewelry for ten women and it nearly blinded me in the sunlight. Next thing I knew the guy I was aiming for was gone." Mike sat down at the table. "You got any beer?" One of Mike's greatest faults is that he is a horrible drinker, but he tries to pretend he's not. The way in which he's horrible is that when he's at a party or drinking with some friends he's on his first when everyone else is downing his third. It's not that he can't take the alcohol or anything. He is just very slow at drinking anything.

"I trust you want a can and not a bottle?" Kyle called from his small kitchen. He always poked fun at Mike's taking the can being that it was smaller and he could drink it faster, though Mike still wouldn't admit it.

Mike didn't answer. He took out his lighter and started flicking it on and off. "Whatever happened to Julie?" he asked, noticing the emptiness of the flat for the first time. "She find a gun and take off thinking you wanted to kill her?"

"No, I did kill her," Kyle said flatly. He passed Mike a can and sat down opposite him. "She planned on quitting the business. You know what happens when things like that get out in the public. The tests in this job are killer."

"They gave her hit to you," Mike realized, "to see if you were still loyal." He sighed and snapped the can open. "I'm surprised you haven't disappeared yet." A disappearance is what these guys call it when a mercenary flees the country. Often times it's to escape their fate when they quit the job. The death penalty was a secret until very recently when the boss decided to make it a test.

Kyle tried to put his late wife from his mind. Mental agony was only a weakness that he didn't want to deal with right now. "I suppose the other reason you're here is to start living with me again?" he asked.

Mike gave a wry smile. "They kicked me out of my flat because they got sick of me shooting holes in the wall," he laughed, "I always repaired them, but I guess the noise was the worst part." He sipped the Coors Light he held in his hand. "You know, I broke up with Maggie a month ago, if it's any consolation. Yeah, I don't see how it would be. She's called me ten times a day after I told her with death threats."

"I'm not going after Maggie, just to save your tail," Kyle said, knowing the inner meaning, "I don't want her pyromaniac fingers anywhere near me." He set his empty bottle on the table and leaned his head against his palm. "I guess you can sleep on the couch until life decides to be kind and return your home to you."

"Oh, you're too kind," Mike said sarcastically. He knew Kyle had a guestroom. A poorly furnished guestroom, but it at least had a bed. "I know, I know," he said, "I'm still the new kid."

Kyle ignored him and went out of the room to his now empty bedroom to get some much-needed sleep. Mike left his beer on the table, even though it was still almost full. He went out of the room through a different door that led to the TV room of the flat. TV room, meaning a room with a large couch and 27" screen TV. As time enough passed for them both to be asleep there was a sound at the doorknob. It sounded like when someone hangs a Do Not Disturb sign on their door at a hotel.

Lesson 1: New kid gets last dibs

The bottom floor of Kyle's flat was literally underground. He had convinced the caretaker to let him use the basement. Against the only wall that was not blocked by pipes and electrical boxes there was a stuffed dummy, still full of bullet holes. Kyle had a tendency to get practice dolls that looked like his targets, so currently his wife Julie was hanging from the ceiling full of bullets awaiting Kyle's next hit so she'd be taken down and thrown away. Until then, Kyle refused to even go down there to look at what he'd done to his wife. He tried to make her as unrecognizable as possible. There were footsteps on the stairs and Mike's black shoes came in to view from the low ceiling. Slowly the rest of him was revealed.

He held his favorite gun in his left hand. There was not evidence of his ease from the night before. Now he was tense and almost scared. He'd woken up before Kyle this morning to find that his next hit was hanging on the doorknob in the hall. He felt like vomiting when he read it, and quickly found cause to burn it with his lighter. Now he had to practice.

He would settle for this dummy for now, being that he'd never really approved of Kyle's wife in the first place. She seemed like a tramp to him. He shot three rounds, aiming for the stomach but hitting the legs and right shoulder. He hoped no one would ever see this. Mike was most well known as the rookie with the perfect aim. Now, though, as he tried to imagine firing at his target, he found it impossible to make a fatal shot. "Dang," he muttered.

He aimed again, closed his eyes and tried shooting like that, having his target's well-known face in his mind's eye. When he opened his eyes he had shot the dummy's face where the bridge of the nose would be. He swallowed the lump in his throat that came with the complete dread that his hit brought him.

"You're up early," a voice behind him said. He turned to see some one coming down the steps. "Oh, Mike, it's you. I thought Kyle had gotten a new mission." A dark man stood before him. His skin was almost the opposite in color to Mike's, same with his eyes. He wore black, all black, like most other assassins, but there was one thing about him that was different. He wore a nice necklace that one would expect the Queen to wear. Key word being QUEEN. Jordan, the homosexual, one of the two people responsible for communicating the distribution of hits.

"Hey, Jordan," Mike said, "Wouldn't you know if Kyle got a new mission?" He sounded a little more annoyed than intended. "Sorry, I'm not in the best of moods this morning."

"Did some one wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" Jordan asked sounding more like a mother than the large man that he was.

Mike raised an eyebrow and sat down on the bottom step with a sigh. "That has got to be the gayest thing you've said since I broke up with Maggie," he said with a smile, "Good to see you again."

Jordan looked at the dummy and separated the old shots from Mike's shots. "You're aim's off," he commented, "What's up with you?" He sat down next to Mike. When Mike first started, Jordan's closeness always made him exceedingly uncomfortable, but one gets used to it when they become more comfortable with their own sexuality.

"Being that you're asking, you didn't give me my assignment?" Mike observed, getting an affirmative. "My next target is what's with me." He set his gun down and rubbed his head. "He's letting me stay with him."

"Oh," Jordan said, "Kyle." He reached over Mike and picked up the gun. He put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "You know, I always knew you were too young for this job. Just out of high school last year. That's why you're not on my list."

Mike looked up at him with a strange look. "Thanks that's really helping," he retorted sarcastically. Mike was strait, mind you, but it'd always been his philosophy that if a gay guy doesn't give you a second look than no girl would either. "I don't want to kill my mentor, my best friend," he said, "just because of some rumor."

Jordan put an arm around Mike in an attempt to be comforting. "Mike, sometimes, you have to understand," he began, "in this job the only thing that we can trust are rumors. This organization is too secretive for it's own good and that's the only way for things to get around."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Mike replied, "but won't your boyfriend get jealous when he sees you hugging me in a basement." He shot Jordan a sly smile, to which Jordan replied only with a sigh.

"Come on, let's get a drink," he said, "you look like you need it. And don't worry, we'll keep it small."

"Die," Mike said, "A horrible, painful death."

The gun was left on the bottom step to watch their retreating steps. The pipe that led to Kyle's bathroom sink dripped every once in a while. A rat scurried up to the steps and sat on the gun for a moment, sniffing the area around it. It's small eyes caught sight of the dummy with the bullets holes and it took off in the dummy's direction. The fabric was shredding in some places on the doll and the flat facial features were all but worn off the surface. The water heater hummed quietly. Everything turned dark and the rat took off when the door at the top of the basement slammed shut.

Lesson 2: Practice on your target

Author's Note: I need reviews!!! On all of my storries or I will not post again! If you'd like to know what happens: REVIEW!!!

Disclaimer: I kind tweeked this plot from something else. I don't really remember what, but if you know it'd be nice to tell me.

Rating: PG-13