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An old abandoned warehouse sat in between the Entertainment District and High Park. Red brick outside was smeared with dirt and vandalized with graffiti. The entrance to the headquarters of the Realists was only through the damaged front door. Anybody could walk in, sure, but only those that knew about the Creed would be brave enough to jump down the multiple story hole into a wide and strongly reinforced net. It was a daunting task every time for Sam but the sooner she jumped, the sooner it'd be over.

The first time she had to learn to get back in by herself, her parents literally pushed Sam over the edge as they yelled to Sam to keep her back first, and to trust in the creed. However, Sam's ingrained fight or flight response caused her to perform a graceful belly flop.. After that, she learned her painful lesson. Even if it was ten years after the incident, it always gave Sam the chills just thinking about the pain of belly-flopping into a net while expecting there to be a slab of concrete.

The wind rushed Sam's dirty blonde hair up past her face as she turned to her back as her azure eyes naturally closed. Butterflies in her stomach told her to flail but her trained mind told her to do the opposite, to stay straight and silent. She only made a slight peep as the net hit her like a pound of bricks, it always came sooner than Sam expected it to. After regaining her balance, Sam got out of the net and made the short walk to the entrance shakily where she was greeted by none other than her mentor.

Shane was a man in his forties with a round face, grey eyes, kind glasses, dark hair, and a body that would be attributed to your typical neighbourhood barbeque dad. His voice was usually kind and fatherly towards Sam like she was his own daughter. He wore a pullover hoodie from Old Army and loose bleached jeans with a pair of Old Balance runners. If Sam was a regular person, she wouldn't've suspected Shane to be a seasoned killer. Just like Sam, he, too, was born into the Realist faction. It was his grandfather that was part of the first generation of the Realists post-World War Two after he moved from Germany to Canada to escape the widespread hate and oppression of his heritage.

"Has he passed?" Shane started walking into the main room when he saw Samaria. His question sounded more like an interrogator asking than an actual father.

"Hello to you too," Samaria retorted while shaking from the chilly wind.

"Did you do as the council asked?" His hands were clad behind his back like he was some sort of wise man.

"When haven't I?" Shane shot Sam a concerning look, "But, yes, he passed in his office. However," Shane stopped beside Sam just short of the mess hall, "why did he have to die in his office?"

"Sam," Shane starts before being cut off.

"I know, I know, -" Sam waved her hands around in the air mockingly - " 'It's not our place to question the council, only to carry out their wishes.' But for once I wish you'd just tell me why?"

"I wish I could say, but you know that we must trust the council," Shane sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't the first time Sam had questioned the creed and Shane sensed it wouldn't be the last.

Sam just walked on into the crowded area. A dull roar of her brothers and sisters was like music to her ears. The small metal tables were all packed with people either sitting down or standing around them. Drinks lined every surface ranging from water to juice, to beer. The mix of familiar scents creating a homely sense around the teen.

Off to the left side of the room was a long hallway that divided into the training room and classrooms. The building was quite large, however, it only housed two hundred and fifty members. Deciding to keep their numbers low, as this was the only headquarters for the Realists, they only limited themselves to two hundred and fifty people at a time.

In the middle of the mess hall was a caged stair spiral that was wide enough for two people that lead to the quieter upper floors.

Sam climbed the steps, stopping to talk to one or two people about their day, careful not to tell them of the True she ran into. If she did, they would outcast her for not killing Adriel, or actually fighting him, at least.

Halfway up, the stairs broke off to lead to a whole floor of single bedrooms and one room for co-ed showers, on the highest floor were the same bedrooms and showers but for more "Privileged" members. The rule was that if you hadn't died after three years of killing, then you had gained the privilege to sleep there.

Sam decided to go to her small room on the middle floor. In it was a beige tiled floor, a metal desk with a laptop and a desk chair with a blue cushion, a closet for all her clothes, a metal bed frame that housed the desk underneath it, and beige covers for the bed. It might've seemed barbaric and tiny to some, but to Sam, it was all she'd known after her first kill.

She slowly climbed the ladder attached to the bed frame only to flop on top of the bed with the grace of a tired killer. Sounds of people passing faintly echoed in the hallway. A million thoughts were in her mind about today, she couldn't have her typical nap. Instead, Sam decided to go back down and get dinner.

The whole way down the staircase she saw that most people had left the mess hall. There was still some noise from people drinking and playing cards but her stomach wasn't terribly hungry for food. Sam still walked towards the meal line to get something in her body. They typically limited how much a person got because to them, a fat Assassin is a dead Assassin. Sam had gotten used to it, but when she was a younger teenager she had to sneak in more food just to cure her hunger pains.

Carrying her plate delicately back to a small metal table with four chairs around it, she sat down just before her two friends joined her.

"How was your mission? You're back so soon," Dimitri, a small, seventeen-year-old, boy spoke up as he gently placed his utensils down before sitting in the chair delicately across from Samaria. His brown hair was cropped short to his head while his ice-blue eyes looked up at her slowly, almost as if there was a vision right in front of him and he didn't want to disturb it.

"Silly," teased Athena as she sat on Sam's right side, placing her food just as harshly as she sat down, "She usually takes a nap after her missions."

Athena was a slender but tall girl that was the same age as Sam. If Athena was a regular person, she would be put into some prestige dance class immediately. Her grace and balance was stunning and matched up by perfect hair that was dyed into a pastel pink that faded into white. Sam sometimes thought Athena was a mermaid in her past life, if only she wasn't so rough sometimes.

"In any case," Dimitri looked up from his pasta at Athena before looking back at Sam with a noodle still on the stainless steel fork, "How'd it go? Who'd you kill?" His voice was almost ecstatic with the prospect of talking about killing.

"Be a little sensitive, Dimitri, you don't know how hard it can be to kill," Athena scolded.

"It's okay," Sam raised her hand to calm down Athena. If Sam didn't calm her down, her temper raged like fire, "I don't mind. It was okay, the council didn't give me a reason for this one, however. But the best part -" Sam leaned in towards Dimitri -"Was how fat he was."

Dimitri stared at Sam and slowly chewed his food. He always loved all details from others because he wasn't old enough to kill yet. One more training year, and he'd have his first blood.

"Are you not hungry?" Athena pointed at Sam's food with her fork and the last bit of her own food in her mouth, "I'll eat it."

"Yeah," Sam pushed her plate slowly towards Athena, "Okay."

Without another word, Sam slowly got up to leave and go to bed.

"Goodnight," Sam mumbled as she passed by Athena and Dimitri. Her two friends waved to her and talked to each other with no ounce of worry for Samaria.

The small bedroom had the same harsh and unnatural glow as usual when she turned on the light. After she closed the heavy door, she changed into a pair of red sweats and a black tank top. Her muscles started to ache with each movement and Sam knew that tomorrow would be worse. In her mind, she knew it was finally time for bed and Sam couldn't wait to sort out her thoughts tomorrow when she had the day off.