Rebel

The streets of Cali were loud and chaotic, but six-year-old Rebel had mastered tuning out the noise. Her focus was sharp as she weaved through the crowded marketplace. Her small, dirt-streaked hands dipped into pockets and bags with the precision of someone far older, plucking wallets and coins without the faintest ripple of suspicion. She was a ghost, unseen and unnoticed, her movements honed by survival instincts. But she wasn’t unseen. Not entirely. Michael leaned against a lamppost on the edge of the market, his piercing gaze tracking her every move. He’d been watching her for three days now, curiosity growing with each passing hour. Most kids her age had families, or at least a group to cling to in the streets. Not her. She was utterly alone, moving with a quiet efficiency that suggested both talent and desperation. Today, though, luck wasn’t on her side. “Hey! Thief!” a burly vendor roared, clutching at his apron where his wallet used to be. Rebel froze for a fraction of a second before bolting, her small frame darting between legs and under carts. The vendor gave chase, joined by two others, their heavy boots pounding on the cobblestones. Michael stepped into the fray, moving with a calculated calm. It took him seconds to intercept the vendor, his imposing presence stopping the man mid-step. “Calm down,” Michael said, his voice low and commanding. “You’re chasing a child.” “She stole from me!” the vendor snapped, but his anger faltered under Michael’s steely gaze. “And you’re a grown man. Walk away,” Michael replied, his tone brooking no argument. The vendor hesitated before muttering something under his breath and retreating. Meanwhile, Rebel had ducked into an alley, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched the stolen wallet tightly, her heart pounding in her chest. She was used to running, used to hiding, but something about the man in the marketplace unsettled her. He hadn’t chased her, hadn’t shouted. Yet she felt as if he’d seen her. TI truly saw her. “You’re fast,” a voice said, calm and unhurried. Rebel whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she spotted him at the mouth of the alley. His hands were in his pockets, his stance relaxed, but there was something about him—something dangerous. “Get lost,” she hissed, backing up. She glanced over her shoulder, ready to bolt again. “You’ve got skills,” Michael continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But you’re wasting them.” “I don’t need your advice.” “No, but you need help,” he said evenly. “How long do you think you can keep this up? Stealing scraps, running from people twice your size? One day, you’ll slip.” “I’ve been fine on my own,” she snapped, though the crack in her voice betrayed her fear. Michael stepped closer, slow enough not to spook her. “Fine isn’t living. I can offer you something better.” She scoffed. “Like what? A warm bed and three meals a day? Is this where you pretend to care?” He didn’t flinch at her sarcasm. Instead, he crouched to her level, his sharp eyes meeting hers. “No. I’m offering you a purpose. A way out of this life—if you want it.” Rebel stared at him, her mind racing. She didn’t trust him, not for a second. But there was something in his voice, in the way he spoke, that made her pause. “What’s the catch?” she asked, her tone cautious. “You follow my rules. No more stealing. No more running. You train, you learn, and you survive,” Michael said simply. “Or you can stay here, waiting for the day someone catches you and decides you’re not worth sparing.” The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the cold grip of fear. She looked down at the wallet in her hand, then back at him. “Why do you care?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Michael’s expression softened, just enough to be noticeable. “Because I see potential in you. And because no one helped me when I was your age. Maybe I’m trying to balance the scales.” Rebel hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to run. But something—something she couldn’t quite name—made her take a step forward, then another. “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “But if this is a trick—” “It’s not,” Michael cut in, standing and extending a hand. “You’ll see.” With a deep breath, Rebel placed her small hand in his. It was rough and calloused, but steady. Strong. For the first time in her young life, she felt a glimmer of something she didn’t recognize yet. Safety. And so, her life with Michael began. After ten years away, I’ve been summoned back home. Strange, isn’t it? I don’t feel anything for Cali anymore. You’d think there’d be some nostalgia, but no—just indifference. That city is where my boss, Michael, found me when I was six, living under a bridge. I was good—so good at picking pockets that he couldn’t resist watching me. For days, he kept an eye on me, observing how I survived alone. Then, one day, he stepped in and took me under his wing. Michael is…complicated. Cold and strict, yes, but he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a parent. He never let me slack, never let me have a normal life. Not that a normal life is possible in our world—it’s too dangerous. His wife was killed during one of his missions, and he’s been emotionally shut off ever since. We live in the shadows, working for governments, private clients, politicians—anyone who can pay. The jobs are high-stakes, and the money is obscene, but we keep a low profile. I’ve learned to blend in anywhere, anytime, without leaving a trace. This morning, a letter arrived. It was a simple envelope with no return address, but I recognized the seal immediately: a blood-red crescent moon with a dagger at its centre. There’s only one group that uses that symbol—my “family.” The family I left behind all those years ago. The summons was clear: Return home. Immediately. The word home feels foreign, almost bitter. What home have I ever known? The Crescent’s fortress with its cold stone walls? The harsh training grounds where failure meant punishment? The dark corridors where I once hid, terrified of what my future would be. Even now, I can hear the voices of my trainers, the ones who turned me into the weapon I am. They taught me how to kill, how to disappear, how to wield silence like a blade. But they never taught me how to bury the pain of growing up in fear. I taught myself that. I had to. Standing here with the letter in my hand, the past I tried so hard to bury crashes over me. I escaped once, but I always knew deep down that I could never be free. If they’ve called me back, something is wrong. Shadow Axe doesn’t summon anyone lightly. And yet…they’re my family. For better or worse, they made me who I am. By the time I arrive, I expect to feel something—nostalgia, anger, maybe even sadness. But there’s nothing. No attachment, no emotion. The house is just another place. It’s beautifully decorated, of course, but none of it is mine. I didn’t choose the furniture, the art, or even the house itself. I’ve moved around so much that I don’t get attached to anything. Despite the luxury—the penthouses, the beach houses, the vacations—I’ve never felt at home anywhere. Truthfully, I’m tired. But my life doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the organization. That’s what I signed up for. The maids:(Bows) Welcome back mistress After a long bath, sipping wine and reviewing my next target, I step out of the tub. Two maids come in, wrapping me in towels. I don’t ask questions about the mission—none of us do. All I know is I’ve been given a name, and tonight, that person dies. On the bed is a ruby-red gown, slit high on one side. The fabric is smooth and luxurious, and it’s perfect. Red has always been my colour—bold, striking, and dangerous. I let the stylists do their work: hair, makeup, and jewellery. By the time they’re done, I look incredible. My shimmering red lips match the dress, and the reflection staring back at me in the mirror is stunning. Deadly. My phone rings. Michael. Michael: Hey baby Rebel: Hi daddy Michael: Does it feel good to be back? Rebel: Not so much Michael Michael: I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart, but hopefully you're just jetlagged. Now remember, no traces, no clues. Get in, make sure you are seen, deal with your target and exit. If you have any issues at all, call me immediately. Got that? Rebel: Copy, Daddy. Will communicate once the target is down. Michael: Stay safe Rebel Rebel: Bye Daddy (lìne goes dead) I tell a maid to summon the driver. Tonight’s party is high-profile, so I can’t carry a gun. No problem. I strap a small pistol to my thigh—just in case—and smile to myself. At twenty-five, my entire body is a weapon. I don’t need much to take someone down. Even my nails are deadly. I take one last look in the mirror. Here we go.