3. I Was Once A Redhead
Training. I both despise and look forward to it. As much as I hate these scientists examining my stats like I'm some lab rat, some part of me welcomes the exercise.
At least, it's been an even mixture of dislike and anticipation until Dr. Brigid comes in. Now, even on the sight of her, Max's Mood-O-Meter is more at 95% annoyed than anything else.
That evening right before dinner, I'm running on one of those inclined treadmill things for a warmup. It's supposed to increase my endurance but just makes me feel really tired, if only because the treadmill is inclined at an angle more suited to mountain climbing. She frowns at me, as if that's supposed to get my attention. I stubbornly stare straight ahead as I concentrate on running.
"I'm here to provide you with more details," she says. I pretend not to hear her. Seeming miffed, she continues. "This assignment has been modified since we last spoke. Now, you have another goal in addition to the deaths of these two. You must also gather information and report back to us thrice daily."
"Where did this new idea come from?" I demand. My voice comes easily, without exertion, even though my pace is fast. "We're assassins, not spies. You never asked us to get 'information' before."
"You must prove that you're versatile," Dr. Brigid leans against the treadmill, nodding to herself as if it makes sense. "Besides, the information we're asking you to retrieve is especially important. The future of the entire human race is in your hands."
I'm getting sick of the whole 'saving the world' thing, to be honest. "What if I don't want it to be in my hands?" I snap back with a scowl.
She responds calmly as ever, not even hearing what I say. "You must do it, Max. Now, if you'll let me tell you exactly what-"
"It makes me want to stop working for you miserable whitecoats!" An odd tremor is in my voice, which sounds unusually loud in my ears. I take another breath, but find myself lacking for words as Dr. Brigid's gaze becomes frigid.
"Reconsider your arrangement with us?" Her voice has become smooth. "And why would you do that?"
"As if I'd spend the rest of my life working for you," I say snarkily, my feet pounding on the treadmill. Bravado rises in my chest. "I don't want to be the hero of your stupid revolution. Dylan can be Mr. Poster-Boy-of-Science if he wants. I'm not stopping him."
I look again at her, and Dr. Brigid's face is impassive. "I understand," she says, but I doubt she understands at all. A hard glint flickers in her spectacled eyes. "Since you don't wish to speak with me, I'll print out another packet and leave the information in your habitat. I'll see you later." With that, she glides out of the training room.
Stupid Dr. Brigid. She doesn't even know what she's talking about. I shrug. At least I'm leaving tomorrow.
Maybe it's going to require some traveling. I almost smile as I remember flying all over the world to wherever the target might be. But we've never had time for sightseeing - it was always straight to the job, to the shadows to find our target. Sometimes our job requires us to become new people entirely, to transform into cultured chocolate festival attendees or brisk businesspeople or diehard sports fans or animal rights activists for the day. It helps us blend into the crowd and execute the mission with ease. Let's be honest, no one suspects you when you're holding a giant Hello Kitty purse and always asking where the restroom is.
I might have even been a redhead once. It was actually pretty convincing if you ask me.
Oh, I guess you're wondering about the part where I almost get killed. Well, that comes later. Stick around.
His voice is as quiet as his presence. "Maya, do you think we can continue trusting these people?"
She gives an airy shrug. "I don't really have anything to worry about when you're around."
If she'd been expecting some slight smile and a kind response, she was disappointed. His face remains as cold as a statue's as he speaks. "You'd do better to remain a bit more cautious."
"Oh, you," she answers, flashing a flirtatious smile. "You're the one who's supposed to be all suspicious. It's my job to let loose and relax." Seeing his unamused look, she elbows him in the side. "Oh, come on. Lighten up a little."
"This is not the time."
"Fang, you're just being a stick in the mud as usual!"
"I do my job." He says, his voice barely audible.
"Well, you might be a good bodyguard, but you're a terrible companion."
He remains silent, shaking his dark hair so that it only partially covers his eyes.
"Fine," she huffs. "I guess I should be on the lookout. Didn't they say we'd be in extra danger right before the plan is launched?"
"Don't worry." Fang looks up, eyes scanning the skies. "I'm prepared."