Chapter 8 #2
I step over the fallen body and make my way to the next door, following the same routine ingrained in my mind. The door flies open, and like before, a target comes into view as I expel another bullet directly for a kill shot.
Just like I was ordered to do.
The next door appears, and I kick this one in, bursting into the room like a white flash as my confidence surges.
The room is empty, and my senses heighten in the deafening silence.
I move to the edge of the room, placing my back against the wooden wall while I catch my breath and allow myself to pause and listen.
The timer’s countdown is distracting, but I drown out the ticks.
Tick.
Tick.
A near-silent rustling makes my senses scream, and I carefully move to the corner, crouching with my gun held forward. I see a warped hand wrap around the doorframe, followed by a hybrid peeking around the door. Black hair and dark horns sit atop his head—a Void demon in his true form.
My mind travels back to the first time I saw a demon transformed as a child.
I was walking home with my father from the movies one evening.
I was no older than eight. My dad never showed any fear—he was strong physically and even stronger mentally—when we crossed an alleyway, and a Void demon sat deep within the darkness, waiting to prey on some poor soul that crossed its path—us.
The demon was tall with pale skin, as if she had never seen daylight, and dark horns protruding from her wild hair. She smiled at me, showing rows of sharp teeth as she moved forward. My father noticed her seconds after I did, pulled a gun from his belt, and fired without hesitation.
After that night, he began training me to protect myself from whatever lurks around the corners of this city. Everything good about me came from my dad, and everything horrible came from my mother. Some days I feel the bad outweighs the good.
Unlike angels, who have only wings, demons can take many true forms. Some have only black wings, while others may have horns, claws, and bodies that are completely unrecognizable—it all depends on their ancestry.
The obsessive ticking pulls me from my thoughts.
The demon creeps farther into the room, and smoke follows him like a cloak.
He screeches when he notices me waiting with a smile on my face.
I squeeze the trigger, and the bullet finds its home directly between his glowing red eyes.
He crashes to the ground in a tangled mess between the doorframes.
I push forward, knowing that not many rooms remain within this arena I’ve visited many times before.
My back aches from overworked muscles, and even holding my gun forward is beginning to hurt.
However, Shaw still lurks inside, waiting for my arrival.
The difference between him and the others hiding within these walls is that he also has a gun.
I move through the next door, finding no one hiding, and continue pushing forward.
Even without being able to see the timer, I know I don’t have much time left to reach the end. I rush forward, my heart racing, and do everything I can to steady my hands. The countdown is starting to mess with my head, and I feel a flustered sensation creeping up.
Push it down.
Door after door, I push through the maze, following the routine like muscle memory, finding empty rooms one after another.
I make sure to close each door behind me for security in case Shaw or a Void is behind me.
I take a break and push my back against the wooden frame, collecting myself.
I close my eyes and listen, blocking out the timer's ticking again, which is ready to buzz at any moment, while my heart pounds like distant thunder.
My eyes snap open when I hear footsteps echoing in the distance, two doors away, and I focus on the sound. Confident, large, and cautious yet loud—Shaw.
I’ve been on enough assignments with him to recognize his steps anywhere. Without realizing it, I’ve crouched into a position where he will immediately see me if he enters the room—it’s basic training never to be here.
I move to bound forward and pause.
Shaw has been on enough assignments with me as well to know I would never be in plain sight. I’d choose the route that most untrained people would never look first, so with every nerve in my body screaming, I crouch back down and wait in plain sight for Shaw to round the corner.
The footsteps grow louder, as does my pounding heart, praying he will fall for my deceit. The seconds tick by, and I know time is running out.
Come on, Shaw.
A broad shoulder catches my eye, and just as I thought, instead of checking in line with the opening of the door where I currently hide, Shaw moves into the room, whipping his body in the opposite direction.
His sandy hair is a mess, and I notice he wears a bulletproof vest, unlike me.
He glances around and pauses, realizing that I set an easy trap for him, but before he has time to turn, I squeeze the trigger and aim directly for his protected shoulder blade.
The noise echoes through the arena as Shaw spins from the blow.
With his finger still wrapped around the trigger, his body twists and dispels a bullet directly toward me.
The second shot echoes at the same time the buzzer goes off, signaling that my time is up, and I have barely completed the assessment.
My chest heaves, and I do all I can to slow my breath as Shaw lies on the ground, clutching his shoulder.
His eyes search for mine and widen, growing wild when they stop an inch from my forehead.
A round bullet hole splinters the wall near my head, and I do all I can not to let my jaw drop.
I stare at Shaw as he rolls to his side, slowly standing to race over to me.
“Mara, are you alright?” he pants. “I’m so fucking sorry. My finger slipped.”
I just stare at him, unsure of who stands before me. I cut my gaze to the hole and stifle the tremble in my hands.
Shaw is a trained professional with years of experience that surpass mine.
His finger didn’t slip.