Assassin's Academy

“Agent Reaper report in.” An official commands as the crackling in the earpiece drowns out the rest of his words.

“Agent Reaper report: target has been apprehended by local authorities and is currently in custody, mission status: successful.” I report back using the normal clipped tone I always do when working, which is usually more often than not.

“Good job Agent Reaper” The voice congratulates. “Report back to HQ.”

“Already here.” I reply as I move my hand to click my earpiece off. “Reporting to Commander Ems now.”

I let out a breath of annoyance as I slip past the glass doors of head quarters. This building has been disguised to be a mere financial office from the outside but in fact on the inside it is a fully government operated facility for special agents. They also commission the best of the best assassins, hence why I am here. Of course civilians aren’t made aware of this division of the government, it would cause a panic to know such skilled individuals walk the streets right next to them on a daily basis. Most people fight for a position like mine but I can’t even begin to understand why they bother, it’s an annoyance to have to be on call 24/7. Not to mention the physical training would do out any person who isn’t used to having a full workout daily that consists of multiple different muscle exercises, a 15 mile run, water exercises, and other movements to keep us in peak condition without killing us.

“Finished another mission, Reaper?” A special agent asks as I begin climbing the stairs to Commander Ems office. He’s practically bald with chocolate brown eyes and a hint of facial hair on his chin. He’s a computer specialist, that much is obvious just from his appearance and the way he fidgets with his hands as if he were still typing.

“Yes, Officer Contreras.” I confirm with a slight nod before continuing my climb to the Commander’s office.

“Is that your 18th this week?” He asks from far below.

“23rd.” I correct not bothering to glance back at him, I can already predict how he must look. He’s shaking his head in disbelief that a 16 year old has been given more missions this week than himself. His illusion of a kind voice isn’t enough to fool me, he’s jealous and he can’t hide that fact from me when his eyes display it so plainly.

I never could understand why he’d talk to me, most people think I’m socially awkward so therefore they stay away from me. The thing is I’m not socially awkward I’m just simply manipulative but I give off the impression that I am socially awkward to those who have no value to me as pawns. I have no need to manipulate useless people. For example I’ll appear to be someone’s ally if necessary or if I see value in it otherwise they’re just in the way and I hate when people are in the way.

I adjust my black sweatshirt to a straighter position as I knock twice on Commander Ems’s door. She hates when we look “rough.” Even if you’re coming back from a mission you should still look presentable, she once lectured to me for my shirt not being “neat” enough. This old lady is stricter than anyone I’ve ever met and yet still careless, it’s disappointing honestly.

“Come in.” She commands, her voice full of authority as usual. The door opens with a soft swish allowing me full view of her office.

Two pictures sit directly behind her and her desk with two book shelves both to the right and left of her. In front of her desk there’s four chairs arranged in a square shape allowing conversation between multiple people. It’s a strategic set up so that when the conversation is initiated no one can dare to look away from Commander Ems’s lectures without her noticing.

“Congratulations Zero, that’s your 468th successful mission this year and 57th this month.” She congratulates as her sharp brown eyes scan me over, looking for even the hint of a wrinkle in my black clothing.

“Thank you Commander.” I reply as I hold eye contact with her, which brings me to another thing she hates. If you can’t hold eye contact with her then she’ll give you yet another long lecture of the positive effects of being able to make eye contact.

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Grey Houndson has a car waiting for you outside.” She shoes me off with a flick of her wrist before turning back to her stack of papers, notifying me that I’m safe to make my exit without getting yelled at.

This agency has been buzzing quite a lot lately. I’ve been deployed more times this week than normal which can only mean the crime rates are steadily rising. It isn’t only me though, even Grey (the only father figure I’ve practically ever had and an on call assassin) has been deployed a few times. It’s rare for them to be so desperate that they have to call Grey in.

“Is that the top assassin?” A voice mutters as I make my way towards the exit of the building.

“Mhm, they say he’s completed more missions than most of the people here and he’s much younger.” Someone else adds, judging from the pitches of their voice they’re most likely girls and since they’re talking about me so openly they must be new.

Special agents are at no risk to have their names disclosed to others but for assassins that’s something that has to be kept secret at all costs. We constantly go by our code names, mine being Agent Reaper for grim reasons that I prefer not to dwell on. So therefore the only people that know my real name are Commander Em, the higher ups, and lastly one of the best assassins known, Grey Houndson (who also happens to be my legal guardian).

“Did you guys ever hear about that murderer they were calling The Grim Reaper a while back?” Someone else asks in a hushed tone, this voice deeper is but still smooth. Only 45 more seconds of walking and I’ll be out of here and away from their foolish whispers about me.

“Of course, who hasn’t?”

“Well, I heard that it’s him. That Agent Reaper is that murderer.”

I slow my walking slightly at the sudden comment, he shouldn’t know about that. In fact he shouldn’t even suspect that. The government here worked hard to cover up those tracks, no one should be suspicious of me. Something is certainly off. My guess is we have a mole, someone working for Dexter most likely. He always did like to have informants and I predicted something like this may happen. But still they’re standing on dangerous ground by talking about me like that.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous!” One of the girls exclaims as a laugh escapes into the air joined by someone else’s. “The government would never let someone like that work for them!”

“It probably was just a silly rumor after all.” The man says sheepishly and with the confirmation that their suspicions are elsewhere I finally make my exit.I’ll finally be able to escape this retched building.

If they found out the truth then I might’ve just had to kill them.