The dimly lit club pulsed with the low hum of music, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. William tensed, expecting the sharp crack of a gunshot, when cold water splashed across his face. He blinked, wiping his eyes, and saw Zack grinning, holding a toy gun, its plastic barrel still dripping.
“Surprise! Guys, this is my club—I own it! Let the party begin!” Zack shouted, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the room. He bounced on his heels, popping the caps off beer bottles with a flourish, foam spilling onto the floor. The group—Billie, Bill-Board, Sane, and I—watched in varying degrees of amusement and unease. Before anyone could react, William’s fist slammed into Zack’s stomach. The impact echoed like a drumbeat, and Zack doubled over, retching his dinner onto the floor in a sour, wet mess.
William’s face was a storm of fury. “You don’t pull stunts like that in a room with an assassin! Are you crazy?” His voice trembled with rage, his finger jabbing toward Sane, who stood silently in the corner, his black-clad figure almost blending into the shadows. William’s point hit home—Zack’s recklessness could have deadly consequences in a group like ours.
We settled into a rickety booth, the cracked leather creaking under our weight. The others grabbed beers, the clink of bottles a sharp counterpoint to the tension. I opted for an energy drink, its metallic tang grounding me as I scanned the room. Sane, as usual, abstained, his masked face turned slightly, observing us with those piercing eyes. I wondered if beneath his stoic exterior, he was just socially awkward, maybe even longing to connect. The thought lingered as the club’s neon lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across his form.
The mood shifted abruptly when the door swung open, revealing a man in a tailored suit, his polished shoes clicking against the grimy floor. Zack shot to his feet, his chair scraping back with a screech. Fear widened his eyes and trembled in his legs, visible even in the dim light.
“Brother!” Zack’s voice cracked as he faced the newcomer. “How did you find me? What are you doing here?”
It was Gun Vaughn, his elder brother, CEO of Vaughn Electronics—one of the many enterprises under their family’s sprawling empire. His presence filled the room like a cold wind, his sharp features set in a scowl.
“What a fucking mess!” Gun’s words sliced through the air. “Where have you been? You know what—it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. The police uncovered your little operations here. Father’s done with you. You’re cut off.
"What?" Zack exclaimed,
"This club isn’t yours anymore, so you and your ruffian friends here better get out before I make you.”
Zack’s bravado crumbled. Surprising us all, he dropped to his knees, clutching at Gun’s pristine suit. “I was giving you all that money! The club wasn’t enough—I had to do other deals to keep up!”
Gun’s lip curled in disgust. “No one told you to sell drugs. Get out before I drag you out myself.”
“Wait a damn minute!” William interjected, rising from the booth, his broad frame casting a shadow over the table. “It doesn’t matter who owns this place—this is no way to treat customers.”
“Customers?’ Gun sneered, his eyes raking over us. “You mean a bunch of dirt junkies and drunkards?”
William’s fists clenched, and he lunged at Gun, the air crackling with his anger. Before he could land a blow, Billie and Bill-Board—ex-military twins grabbed his arms, pinning him back. “We’re not allowed to fight civilians!” Billie barked, his voice firm. The twins’ calm authority diffused the moment, though William’s glare didn’t waver.
“I guess it’s fine then,” William growled, “since we’re not fighting a civilian but an asshole.”
“Stop it, everyone!” Zack’s voice rang out, desperate and shrill. He stood, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry for the trouble, brother. We’ll leave.”
We filed out into the night, the club’s neon sign buzzing faintly behind us. The cool air hit my face, sharp with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt. Before heading back to base, William clapped a hand on Zack’s shoulder. “Let’s grab some food. Clear our heads.”
We found a diner nearby, its windows fogged with steam, the glow of fluorescent lights spilling onto the street. Over greasy burgers and fries, Zack’s tension eased, though his eyes betrayed the weight of growing up under Gun’s shadow—a life we’d all glimpsed that night. Sated and silent, we returned to the base.
The next morning dawned gray and heavy, the air thick with anticipation. It was finally time to begin our combat training.
Captain Agatha stood before us in the training yard. Her voice boomed,
“Today, you will engage in combat. Cipher, you’re up against Sane.”
Sane stepped forward, his black ninja garb absorbing the weak sunlight, his mask revealing only those tense motionless eyes. My heart skipped a beat. The squadron formed a loose circle around the dirt-packed ring, their breaths visible in the crisp air. We were handed wooden swords, their grips worn smooth by countless drills. Sane stood still as a statue, his gaze boring into mine, intense and unyielding.
I struck first, a low slash aimed at his legs, masking my strength as much as i could. The clash of wood rang out, sharp and hollow. Sane countered with fluid precision. And then he began attacking me, his movements deadly—each strike targeting vital points: throat, heart, gut. In a real fight, I realized, he’d kill without hesitation. I’d studied fighting styles extensively, but sparring with him revealed a chilling expertise. I parried and dodged, staying defensive, careful not to unleash my true power.
He adapted mid-fight, his attacks shifting with eerie intuition. In a blur, he twisted my sword from my grip and swept my legs, pinning me to the ground. The blunt tip of his weapon pressed against my throat, as I stared up at him. The fight was over.
“Good fight,” Captain Agatha said, her tone clipped but approving.
The training stretched on. Next, Drake Wilson traded blows with Abdu Wardak, the quiet mercenary whose silence hid a wiry strength. William clashed with Dmitry, their grunts echoing off the barracks walls. The twins, Billie and Bill-Board, fought as a seamless unit against Yukio and Zack, who struggled to keep pace. Captain Agatha took Diego and Loid Anderson under her wing, correcting their clumsy grips with a mix of patience and steel. As the only woman in our rugged squadron, she drove us beyond our limits, her presence a force of nature.
By the end, we each faced our weaknesses. For me, it was mastering combat without risking my team—a balance I hadn’t yet struck.
That night, the barracks settled into a rare stillness, the only sounds the creak of bunks and the distant howl of wind through the pines. I lay in my bunk, eyes closed, my mind racing with the day’s events. A shift in the air jolted me alert—a presence, close and threatening. Sane loomed over me, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight seeping through the window. This time, he held a real sword, its steel glinting coldly. His eyes pierced the darkness, unreadable and fierce. Before I could process his intent, he lunged, the blade slicing toward my throat with lethal purpose.