"Your feet are too slow. Again."
"Don't let them distract you. In a fight, you have one focus. Your opponent."
"Dead."
"Are you even trying?"
"Too slow."
Rin took her place at the edge of the mat once more, feeling especially talkative today. I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to lay down next to a bag of chips on the couch, and finally catch up on some of my shows.
The frustration had boiled in me to the point where I wasn't trying to hit her because I was training. I was trying to hit her because she was pissing me off. And every time she managed to disarm me of my weapon, the wood clattering against the ground with that god-awful, echoing clatter, my anger only grew.
I picked it up off the floor, for the millionth time that morning, and readied myself.
She paused and dashed.
The rest of my training wasn't so bad. Learning all the technicalities of Yuma's intel, Anon taught me basic first aid, Kanon showed me how to manage my gear and repair it if needed. But it seemed a lot worse when every day began with the infuriating task of sparring with Rin on that damn mat.
I could at least pride myself in the fact that it took her a lot longer to defeat me, now. On my first day, she had thrown the pole out of my hands in a matter of seconds. Now, our matches could last up to five minutes. Five minutes of me on the losing end, for sure. But five minutes nonetheless.
Her fighting style had grown familiar to me. Constantly dashing around me, her dodges a blur in my peripheral vision. I had to spin around nonstop just to keep my eyes on her.
I pivoted on my left foot as she dashed behind me, swinging her weapon for my side once more. It was an easy block. She spun elegantly on her heel, aiming for my other side, which I blocked again. Both hands were on the stick as I yanked our clashing swords up into the air, trying to pull hers from her hands. Instead, she pulled away from me, jabbing straight at my ribs and sweeping upwards between my hands, throwing the stick into the air.
It landed on the ground with that deafening clatter.
"God dammit!" I cursed.
"You left your chest exposed. Dumb move."
"This is fucking stupid," I muttered, shaking from a mixture of muscle strain and anger.
She held her pole in one hand, resting the bottom end against the ground. "You need to learn it."
"I'm not learning anything! I'm just getting beat up and bruised. How is injuring me going to help me learn?"
She stared at me, blankly. "You're getting angry."
"Yeah, no shit."
"Anger clouds your judgment. Makes you do stupid things."
I stared at my discarded weapon on the floor, unwilling to pick it back up.
She waited for me to say something. When I didn't, she sighed. "We're done for today."
I huffed. "Finally."
I went to pick up the stick, but she yanked it away from me first. I shot her a glare and then looked back towards the gym to find Flower sitting on one of the benches near the weights, watching us. A flush of embarrassment ran through me. There were now two witnesses to my little temper tantrum.
"You're going with her," Rin told me as she set the sparring poles back onto the wall. "Shower later."
I felt disgusting and wanted to shower now, but I didn't argue. I turned away from her, happy to feel my feet on solid ground, and walked over to Flower as Rin exited towards the living quarters.
"Quite the fight," Flower said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.
I rolled my eyes. "It's not really a fight."
"No, really. I'm serious. That was pretty sick."
I furrowed my brow. "I can't beat her."
"Yeah, but after only a week here, you're already better than the rest of us." She stood. "Better than me, at least."
"What?"
"Rin's the only one who really does that stuff. None of us ever worry about the hand-to-hand stuff. Except you, now." She started towards the armory.
It was the first time I had ever really talked to Flower outside of the occasional nods and greetings. She was a little intimidating to me, not gonna lie.
"It's just… it's so frustrating. I can't win. She tells me what I do wrong, and then when I try to fix it, I do something else wrong, and we just get into this cycle of… my ass getting kicked."
To my astonishment, she laughed. "She's trying to help you find your style, probably."
"My style?"
"Your fighting style." We entered the armory, and our conversation paused.
I had only glanced into the armory, never before seeing it in its fullness. A wooden cabinet sat against every wall, each with a shelf level with the ground and a shelf above it. With four cabinets against each wall, two shelves per cabinet, and an average of seven different guns on each shelf, there were enough in here for a small army. A worktable littered the middle of the room with tools thrown haphazardly across it. On top of each cabinet were stacks of gun cases, some ranging from the size of Rin's suitcase, to longer than the cabinet itself. Between the cases, different colored clothing was folded neatly on top of each other. Armor, I thought. Some were thinner than an average t-shirt, some vests were thicker than a lifejacket. Organized around the room were shoes, pants, vests, jackets, face masks, and the like.
"Damn," I said.
"You ever shot a gun before?" Flower asked, completely unaffected by the grand display of the room.
I shook my head.
"You ever seen a gun before?"
"... I mean, on TV and stuff."
She sighed, walking straight for a cabinet on the right. Some of the less-scary looking guns sat there. Plucking one off the wall, she spoke. "You're gonna need to know everything there is to know about these things. You can't beat everyone to death with a wooden pole."
I was still annoyed from my sparring, but I chuckled in response.
"There are, basically, three kinds of guns you'll hear about," she began, setting the simple-looking long gun on the table in front of us. She was careful to keep the barrel pointed to the ceiling, and then away from us.
Is that thing loaded? I wondered.
"Your three types are shotguns, rifles, and handguns. This is a rifle."
"What's the difference?"
She sighed again. I was completely clueless about these things, and it obviously displeased her. But if she was annoyed, her expression did not show it. "There are lots. Rifle ammo is measured by the caliber, and shotgun ammo is measured by the gauge. Rifles shoot a single bullet, while shotguns shoot a bunch of smaller pellets in a spread. Unless you have a slug, which we get into. But anyway," she picked up the gun once more, pulling back a small level on the side. "We don't use shotguns here. We need to be accurate, quiet, and a mobile. A shotgun is none of those things. There are a few here, but they haven't been used in a long time. You just need to worry about the rifles and the handguns for now."
I looked over the weapon in her hand curiously. The main body was a dark wood, accented by a black scope on top, and black hardware, including the trigger, the bolt Flower had pulled back, and the barrel.
"I'm starting you on something easy," she told me. "This is a .22 rifle. It doesn't kick, so it doesn't hurt, and it's quiet. See how, when I pull the bolt back, you can see into the chamber?"
I leaned forward, trying to see what she was talking about. "...I think so."
"That's where the bullet goes before you shoot it." Setting the gun down once more, she reached under the table, emerging a few seconds later with a small green and yellow box in one hand. "Come on," she called, picking up the rifle in the other hand. She leaned it over her shoulder. The barrel pointed straight into the ceiling.
"Rule number one," she said firmly. "Treat every gun like it's loaded. If I ever catch you pointing a gun at me, loaded or unloaded, there will be hell to pay."
"Got it, boss."
She cast me an amused look over her shoulder as we crossed the gym, and opened the door into the range. It was nothing but a long hallway with a seat at one end, and a paper target at the other. She set her items down on the floor. "Now, we need to find your dominant eye. When you're looking through the scope, you'll naturally have one eye that is more comfortable than the other." She faced down range. "Look at the target, and then put your hands like this."
She rose her hands in front of her, joining her pointer fingers and her thumbs together to form a triangle. I did the same.
"Now, look at the target through your fingers, and slowly bring your hand back to your face."
I did as she told, feeling a bit silly at the action. But, as I naturally drew my hands towards my left eye, I figured out what she was talking about. Trying to bring my hands to my other eye felt odd and uncomfortable.
"Damn," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "You're left-handed, aren't you?"
I nodded, dropping my hands to my sides.
"Well, that just makes things a bit harder for you. I've never worked with someone left-handed before, and we have no leftie guns."
"Does it matter?" I asked. Learning about these things was oddly interesting to me. I'd never took myself to be a gun-guy.
She thought this over for a second. "Yes and no. You can shoot a right-handed gun if you're a leftie, but you'll have to drop your stance every time you pull the bolt back-"
The words didn't mean much to me, but I nodded anyway.
"And the brass is going to be flying in your face. You'll have to wear glasses when you shoot."
"Brass?"
"I'll explain it all. Here-"
And thus began the first shooting session of my life. She shot first, teaching me how to load the bullets into the magazine, how to insert it properly into the gun. She explained to me that every time I shot, I would need to pull the bolt back to allow the next bullet into the chamber. I watched her intently. Even though it was a "baby gun," as she described it, it could easily kill someone if need be.
"Is this what I'll use when we go out?"
She was lying prone on her stomach, the gun pulled firmly into her shoulder. "Hah! Oh no. This thing is way too little for missions. You've got a range of maybe a hundred yards on a good day. And this thing won't kill anyone at that distance. Hurt them, yes, but kill them? Definitely not."
And then it was my turn. She plucked a pair of clear glasses off of the wall. Next to them were multiple pairs of brightly colored headphones. I remembered seeing her wear those before. "We don't need those?" I asked her, pointing to them.
"Usually, I'll always make you wear them. But the .22 is so quiet, we'll be fine without it." She handed me the glasses. They looked like sunglasses, only with clear lenses. "Put these on, and lay flat on your stomach like I was."
I did as she told, and she carefully handed me the gun. "Remember," she warned. "Downrange. Or else."
"I'll be careful," I promised, more than a little nervous myself. The gun wasn't too heavy, but after a while of shooting, I imagined it would be tiring.
"Now tuck it into your shoulder. It doesn't kick hard, but if you don't have it held firmly against your shoulder, it'll hurt a lot more."
I did as she told, holding the back of the gun with my left hand, pulling it into my left shoulder. I realized what she was talking about with the bolt. When she shot, she was able to pull the bolt back with her back hand. But I was going to have to pull it with my front hand, which would throw my aim off. Also, I had watched the shells eject out of the left side of the gun. They would fly right in front of my face. And Flower warned me that they were burning hot.
"Pull the bolt back, and aim for the chest."
"Wouldn't I aim for the head?" I asked, peering through the scope.
"Usually, yes. But you've never shot before, and you need to get used to the feel of it. So aim for the chest. It'll be easier to see where you hit."
I tried to steady the scope, which was shaking a bit in my nervous hands, and tried to remember everything she had told me. Make sure the safety is off, bolt is pushed forward all the way, pull the trigger slowly…
I pulled the trigger, feeling the gun recoil back into my shoulder, and a bang rang out through the range. It wasn't deafening, or anything, but it was louder than I expected. The brass flew out in front of my eyes, landing on the ground softly.
"You flinched," Flower observed. "But that's pretty normal for beginners. Not so bad, right?"
"No," I agreed. "It's not that bad."
"Keep going."
I shot a few more times, emptying the gun into the target across the room.
"Awesome," Flower said when I was done. "Put it down, make sure the barrel isn't facing us, and let's see how you did."
Doing as she was told, I followed her down the hall.
The target was a dark outline of a person. When Flower had shot, she had aimed for the head, and there were a few tightly packed holes in the paper right in the center. I never wanted to be on the other end of her gun, for sure. Mine, however, were spread across the torso of the target. No accuracy whatsoever.
I frowned.
When she noticed, she punched my shoulder playfully. "Don't be mad about it. You hit the target with almost every shot. That's better than most."
I shrugged, still a bit disappointed.
"We can't all be Annie Oakley on our first try," she reassured me. "Come on. Let's keep practicing."
Of all the training, shooting was probably the most entertaining. The more we did it, the more I felt my shoulder aching, but the improvement was worth it. Not to mention Flower was way nicer than I had expected her to be. After talking with her a while, I realized she acted like a slightly more mature version of Yuma.
When we left the range, I was stunned to find that we had killed three hours already. My sour mood from Rin's sparring was completely gone, and, despite the soreness of my shooting shoulder, I felt great.
We entered the armory together.
"Tomorrow, we'll try something a bit bigger," Flower said as she pulled the bolt back one more time, confirming it was unloaded, and placing it back on its shelf. The ammo box she had brought with us was empty. She tossed it in the trashcan on our way out.
Kanon was entering the gym just as we were leaving it.
"Just in time," she said, greeting us. "I've got your gear ready, Len. Let's go check it out."
Flower nodded silently in agreement, handing me off to my next teacher. She headed back into the armory as we left.
Yuma, Anon, and Rin sat in the chairs around the main table. Rin stared blankly at the wall, clearly deep in thought, while Anon and Yuma both peered at a laptop between them. A small duffle bag sat, opened, at the end opposite the three of them.
"You wouldn't be caught dead without these things," Kanon said, digging into the bag. "Learn what's in here. Memorize the list. I promise you'll need it. If you're ever missing anything, find it before you leave."
With her standing over my shoulder, I rummaged through the bag. There was a large first aid box with a tourniquet inside (which I only recognized from Anon's teachings); a flip-phone in a plastic bag; a small box which, upon closer inspection, contained a pistol with a box of ammo; a foldable knife; duct tape; zip ties; a flashlight; and a wrap of parachute cord. There was also a wallet with an ID in it. The picture was of me, but the information was definitely not. At the bottom, I caught sight of another plastic bag filled with neatly tied cash. Pulling it out, my eyes widened.
"How much money is this?" I asked.
Kanon chuckled. "Enough."
It was a stack of hundred dollar bills. It was hard for me to imagine the true amount of money these people must have. How much money is a life worth? The only answer I could come up with: a lot.
"Every time you use the phone," Kanon explained as I packed the money back into the bag and continued my search. "We need to get you a new one. Numbers are traceable. That's why it's a flip phone, and not an iPhone ten, or whatever they're on." She picked up the baggie. "This thing is the least likely out of all those smartphones to be tracked. Use it only when you need to."
Next, I pulled out a small, pen-like object. "What's this?" I asked.
She grabbed it from me, and, after pressing a button on the side, held it out as it swiftly extended into a baton.
I frowned just at the sight of it. There's my fighting stick, I thought angrily. From across the table, I swore I saw Rin smirk.
Kanon pushed the baton back into its original position. "In case you need it," she said, handing it back to me. "Fits in your pocket, too."
The final thing I pulled out of the bag was a radio, just like the one Rin had used the day I met her.
"Try to use this, when you can," Kanon said. "Instead of the phone. Your codename is on the side."
Turning the radio over in my hand, I glanced at the name scratched into the side. "Helgi?" I read aloud.
I must have done something wrong, because the entire room, stiffened at the name. Rin's eyes tore from the wall, brought back to life from her deep thought, and glared at Kanon and I. Yuma and Anon's conversation ceased, each avoiding their eyes from the showdown across the table. They lowered their heads into the laptop.
Kanon merely sighed, as if annoyed at the ripple the name had caused.
"You gave him Helgi's radio," Rin said flatly.
"Rin, I don't want to scratch another one of my nice ones up."
"Then scratch the name out and give him a new one." She spoke slowly. It wasn't hard to tell that underneath her steady voice, she was furious.
"We all know the name. Why go through the trouble of learning a new one?" Kanon grabbed the radio from my hands, showing Rin the name on the side. "He's Helgi, now. Not a big deal."
"No," she answered.
I stood there awkwardly, completely clueless to the situation.
Silence hung in the air as the girls glared at each other. Finally, Anon's gentle voice spoke up.
"...It's been, like, years, Rin," she said softly. "It's not a big deal-"
Instead of responding, Rin slammed her hands on the table. The sound echoed through the room as she stood, and stomped away towards the living room.
We stood in silence, watching her leave.
"Did I…?" The question hung in the air.
"No," Kanon answered, turning her attention back to my bag. "You did nothing wrong."
I watched as she packed the things back into the bag. "Can… can I ask who-" I cut myself off. Still feeling very much like an outsider, it was uncomfortable to ask for any details. So I stopped myself.
But it was too late. "Helgi was the guy here before you," Yuma said. "Name was Gumo."
I wanted to ask what happened, but I decided against it.
"You don't need to use the duffle bag," Kanon began, trying to leave the tense conversation behind. "You can carry all this stuff in a backpack, in a suitcase, hell, in your pockets if you can fit it all. Just make sure you have it at all times. Now, grab that radio. This knob is the volume, keep it low when you're on a mission unless you know you're completely alone. Here are the channels. Never touch this. You're already on the right channel. But if you ever accidentally change it, it's kind of a bitch to get back to the normal one. Here's what you do…"
This team is so badass I love all of them.
Thanks for reading :)
