The girl stood outside the door, her mind in a whirl as she listened to
the conversation inside the office.
"Sir, I can assure you that she has complete control over every aspect of her craft!" Amon's voice sounded uncharacteristically emotional, passionate even, though his words were carefully contained. "Huntress Robin is one of the best on my team, and she has been as loyal to this organization as I."
"Be that as it may," The inexorable voice said, as Robin gasped and tensed. "She is a witch, a craft user. One of those you dispose of on a daily basis. She is a danger to you, and to everyone involved. Shoot her. Take her to the Factory. You have your orders."
"Sir!"
"Amon, I have known you since you were a child. I know. So will everyone else."
"With all due respect, that's blackmail, sir."
"Kill her immediately."
The silence stretched a bit too long, and Robin knew the outcome. She dropped the coffee cup she had been holding and ran, ignoring the sound of the shatter. The door crashed open, and a few strides later her mentor had her wrist in an iron grip.
"Robin, you are a fool." He told her, propelling her down the hall before him. Michael looked up as they passed, and seemed shocked.
"Amon, what..."
"Mission from upstairs. I only need Robin's assistance." He ignored Michael's stare at the grip he held, and pulled her out of the building, shoving her into the car. He was as silent as normal, and she was tempted to jump out at the next light...if she hadn't seen him lock the door, that was.
Again, he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her, although this time it was out of the car. She trembled at the building before her, and once inside, even Amon seemed outraged by some of the things he saw. He led her into what appeared to be an office, and glanced through some of the papers on the desk. He dropped them as if they had suddenly caught fire, then turned, pulling out his orbo gun and aiming it right at her. She tensed, and then closed her eyes. A second later, she heard it return to his pocket, and strong arms encircled her.
"The entire organization is corrupt. I want these files destroyed. I'm getting out of here, and I suggest you run as well."
She realized that his hold wasn't an embrace when he pulled away, with his coat tied tightly around her. Her flesh crept as she felt the orbo near her skin, and she shuddered. She forced her voice to remain steady as she answered,
"Aren't we supposed to be a team? Let me help you."
He hesitated, and then nodded. He reclaimed the gun from the pocket of the coat, leaving her with the vial of protection. Together, they ran down the hall.
Heat was building. She began to panic as she realized that there were feet besides theirs running in the hallway. She could hear shouts, accusations. The word "witch!" burned in her mind.
The corridor in front of them burst into flame, just as Amon fired his handgun over his shoulder at their pursuers. The building was afire, and to all appearances they were trapped.
"Never mind that. Go now," The dark man with her commanded. "You can slip down that corridor and try to find an escape. There is a file that I need to ensure doesn't survive."
She hesitated, and for the first time in her memory, he raised his voice to her.
"Damn you witch, GO!"
His intuition was as correct as always, and she wiggled through a window to the outside at the end of the hallway. She heard running footsteps behind her, and looked back to see her superior coming towards the window. She stepped aside for him, just as a ceiling beam fell flaming onto his back.
"Robin!" He yelled, motioning for her to run, as the window exploded outward...
Robin sat up, her eyes red, and realized her pillow was soaked yet again with the tears of another night of sorrow. She had lost control. It was the only explanation. Fires did not just randomly start around a fire- craft user. She trembled, as her mind once more played through the events, shuddering as she wished she could banish the scene from her mind...
It's my fault. I know I lost control. If I hadn't been so afraid, I wouldn't have used my craft and Amon wouldn't be...oh, God, I can't even think it! She thought desperately. Wearily, she got up, made a cup of coffee, and contemplated her empty apartment.
***
Amon walked slowly into the building in which his entire life seemed to be focused. The doctors had given him permission after a full (unnecessary, he had growled) year of recovery from the burns. He felt stiff and as though his twenty-six years were closer to ninety.
His eyes closed momentarily as he typed in the familiar coding, and he wished he could just once more hear a soft, feminine footstep coming up the hall behind him, accompanied by the smell of soap, leather, and Maxwell House.
The door to the offices opened, and he had to choke back a cry at the sight of the small leather gloves that lay next to a pair of glasses on the table. Apparently, he had made some slight noise, for Michael looked up, and then jumped to his feet.
"Amon! Finally! We've heard nothing from the upstairs and everyone has been really worried, since we had rumors that you were in the hospital. What happened? Where's Robin?" He asked in a rush, his face lighting up at the sight of his superior.
"Dead," Amon answered shortly, and dropped into his old chair and started up his own computer. Just one message winked onto the screen.
As soon as you return to your duties, report. That was all that the brief said. He rose and walked out, ignoring Michael's expression as he had on that so long ago day...
He stared at his commander in shock, not registering what the man had just said. Kill Robin? Using that particular bit of blackmail to achieve his goals? How could this be possible from the organization he had dedicated his life to? Something shattered in the hallway beyond, and Amon knew that Robin had been listening. She had been watching him a lot, recently, and it seemed that she was worried about him for some unknown reason. He hadn't expected her to eavesdrop, though! In a heartbeat, he had made up his mind, and was somehow out of the office without realizing it, following her fleeing form. He caught her, and could somehow never remember the intervening moments- minutes!- between catching her wrist and pulling an orbo gun on her. He only knew that there was a file that had to be destroyed lying on that desk, and that she would die if the news on it returned to headquarters. He wrapped his coat around her, only thinking of getting the girl to safety. She deserved better than a cold shot of orbo and experimentation on her body. He found that he pitied Robin, cared about what happened to her. He saw the electrical short, saw the machinery tear away from the wall as he silently shot it, trying to create a distraction to be able to get her out. Flames appeared around them both. Blindly, he ran back, and for the first time in years, allowed his secret to erupt, destroying that file with a gust of cold wind out of no where. He hated witches. He hated himself. He was somehow near the window, and he could see Robin on the other side, urging him on, trying to encourage greater speed out of him. He stumbled, and a lash of agony knocked him to the floor. He writhed, trying to signal for Robin to leave. He knew that he screamed something. Blinding flash, and the window exploded. She disappeared, and he screamed for her over and over again. He was dying, as the fire tore into his back, but the physical pain was nothing, next to the anguish in his mind. He had killed Robin. Because of him, she was dead. Congratulations, STN-J; mission accomplished.
"Sir, I can assure you that she has complete control over every aspect of her craft!" Amon's voice sounded uncharacteristically emotional, passionate even, though his words were carefully contained. "Huntress Robin is one of the best on my team, and she has been as loyal to this organization as I."
"Be that as it may," The inexorable voice said, as Robin gasped and tensed. "She is a witch, a craft user. One of those you dispose of on a daily basis. She is a danger to you, and to everyone involved. Shoot her. Take her to the Factory. You have your orders."
"Sir!"
"Amon, I have known you since you were a child. I know. So will everyone else."
"With all due respect, that's blackmail, sir."
"Kill her immediately."
The silence stretched a bit too long, and Robin knew the outcome. She dropped the coffee cup she had been holding and ran, ignoring the sound of the shatter. The door crashed open, and a few strides later her mentor had her wrist in an iron grip.
"Robin, you are a fool." He told her, propelling her down the hall before him. Michael looked up as they passed, and seemed shocked.
"Amon, what..."
"Mission from upstairs. I only need Robin's assistance." He ignored Michael's stare at the grip he held, and pulled her out of the building, shoving her into the car. He was as silent as normal, and she was tempted to jump out at the next light...if she hadn't seen him lock the door, that was.
Again, he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her, although this time it was out of the car. She trembled at the building before her, and once inside, even Amon seemed outraged by some of the things he saw. He led her into what appeared to be an office, and glanced through some of the papers on the desk. He dropped them as if they had suddenly caught fire, then turned, pulling out his orbo gun and aiming it right at her. She tensed, and then closed her eyes. A second later, she heard it return to his pocket, and strong arms encircled her.
"The entire organization is corrupt. I want these files destroyed. I'm getting out of here, and I suggest you run as well."
She realized that his hold wasn't an embrace when he pulled away, with his coat tied tightly around her. Her flesh crept as she felt the orbo near her skin, and she shuddered. She forced her voice to remain steady as she answered,
"Aren't we supposed to be a team? Let me help you."
He hesitated, and then nodded. He reclaimed the gun from the pocket of the coat, leaving her with the vial of protection. Together, they ran down the hall.
Heat was building. She began to panic as she realized that there were feet besides theirs running in the hallway. She could hear shouts, accusations. The word "witch!" burned in her mind.
The corridor in front of them burst into flame, just as Amon fired his handgun over his shoulder at their pursuers. The building was afire, and to all appearances they were trapped.
"Never mind that. Go now," The dark man with her commanded. "You can slip down that corridor and try to find an escape. There is a file that I need to ensure doesn't survive."
She hesitated, and for the first time in her memory, he raised his voice to her.
"Damn you witch, GO!"
His intuition was as correct as always, and she wiggled through a window to the outside at the end of the hallway. She heard running footsteps behind her, and looked back to see her superior coming towards the window. She stepped aside for him, just as a ceiling beam fell flaming onto his back.
"Robin!" He yelled, motioning for her to run, as the window exploded outward...
Robin sat up, her eyes red, and realized her pillow was soaked yet again with the tears of another night of sorrow. She had lost control. It was the only explanation. Fires did not just randomly start around a fire- craft user. She trembled, as her mind once more played through the events, shuddering as she wished she could banish the scene from her mind...
It's my fault. I know I lost control. If I hadn't been so afraid, I wouldn't have used my craft and Amon wouldn't be...oh, God, I can't even think it! She thought desperately. Wearily, she got up, made a cup of coffee, and contemplated her empty apartment.
***
Amon walked slowly into the building in which his entire life seemed to be focused. The doctors had given him permission after a full (unnecessary, he had growled) year of recovery from the burns. He felt stiff and as though his twenty-six years were closer to ninety.
His eyes closed momentarily as he typed in the familiar coding, and he wished he could just once more hear a soft, feminine footstep coming up the hall behind him, accompanied by the smell of soap, leather, and Maxwell House.
The door to the offices opened, and he had to choke back a cry at the sight of the small leather gloves that lay next to a pair of glasses on the table. Apparently, he had made some slight noise, for Michael looked up, and then jumped to his feet.
"Amon! Finally! We've heard nothing from the upstairs and everyone has been really worried, since we had rumors that you were in the hospital. What happened? Where's Robin?" He asked in a rush, his face lighting up at the sight of his superior.
"Dead," Amon answered shortly, and dropped into his old chair and started up his own computer. Just one message winked onto the screen.
As soon as you return to your duties, report. That was all that the brief said. He rose and walked out, ignoring Michael's expression as he had on that so long ago day...
He stared at his commander in shock, not registering what the man had just said. Kill Robin? Using that particular bit of blackmail to achieve his goals? How could this be possible from the organization he had dedicated his life to? Something shattered in the hallway beyond, and Amon knew that Robin had been listening. She had been watching him a lot, recently, and it seemed that she was worried about him for some unknown reason. He hadn't expected her to eavesdrop, though! In a heartbeat, he had made up his mind, and was somehow out of the office without realizing it, following her fleeing form. He caught her, and could somehow never remember the intervening moments- minutes!- between catching her wrist and pulling an orbo gun on her. He only knew that there was a file that had to be destroyed lying on that desk, and that she would die if the news on it returned to headquarters. He wrapped his coat around her, only thinking of getting the girl to safety. She deserved better than a cold shot of orbo and experimentation on her body. He found that he pitied Robin, cared about what happened to her. He saw the electrical short, saw the machinery tear away from the wall as he silently shot it, trying to create a distraction to be able to get her out. Flames appeared around them both. Blindly, he ran back, and for the first time in years, allowed his secret to erupt, destroying that file with a gust of cold wind out of no where. He hated witches. He hated himself. He was somehow near the window, and he could see Robin on the other side, urging him on, trying to encourage greater speed out of him. He stumbled, and a lash of agony knocked him to the floor. He writhed, trying to signal for Robin to leave. He knew that he screamed something. Blinding flash, and the window exploded. She disappeared, and he screamed for her over and over again. He was dying, as the fire tore into his back, but the physical pain was nothing, next to the anguish in his mind. He had killed Robin. Because of him, she was dead. Congratulations, STN-J; mission accomplished.