Target To Save

Please, this is worse than any torture I’ve been through.

It’s High School.

She yanked the black combat boots with reddish-brown splatters – the only evidence of the centuries of crimes she had committed- over the pristine white socks. Years and years of training and brainwashing pushed her natural instinct to kill over the edge, but instead of grabbing the knives that were just in reach, her fingers danced around the laces, tugging the string. When she finished with two perfect identical bows, her gaze wandered up to her -friend, if she even dared to have those-, boss Jazia.

Her arms were crossed and biceps were bulging -in return, the delicate tattoo of the arms of the Sisterhood announced its presence, the fire dragon glaring-, and a perfectly manicured eyebrow was raised in the air.

If Ileia hadn’t had about two-hundred years of experience with espionage, lying, and killing, the hard mask that Jazia wore would have been read, cracked with annoyance. If she had never even touched the assassin reign, then maybe even a little boredom.

But, Jazia’s long caramel face -her brilliantly shaped disguise- caged her emotions -keeping them out of the light. It told Ileia everything she needed to know.

The younger -yet somehow mentor- assassin’s turtle green eyes held over seventy years of pain mixed in, but swirled with amusement and flashes of pity.

The two stood, almost glaring at each other, a storm of contrast -age, personality, hair, eye colour, skin tones. Breaking the heavy gazes, Ileia’s eyes rolled in annoyance.

As Ileia stood up to Jazia’s shoulder -not because Ileia was short, no, because Jazia was a skyscraper, towering above the rest- she glanced at the taller assassin and as her head moved her hair trickled down her back like waves of the ocean -the blue colouring and everything.

“So, you’re saying that I have to go into the fray yet again, right after we just got back, to babysit the president’s son because the president was stupid?” The young girl spat, her blue eyes flashing, electricity running through them.

A smirk floated onto Jazia’s face, “Isn’t the president your friend?” Raising the other perfect eyebrow, her tan skin almost shimmered in the heavy heat that held hold of the hut.

The young girl scoffed, her nose wrinkling, “I don’t have… friends.” She spoke the word ‘friends’ as if it was mold growing on an old banana.

Jazia hummed, her face in mocking disbelief but didn’t take the bait.

-Now wasn’t the time for this fight. -

“Look Ileia, I know this isn’t ideal, but what matters is that you get the job done,” Sighing, Jazia strolled across the room and started rummaging through the draws for hidden weapons.

She picked up a cold handgun, checking thoroughly and then handed it to Ileia who was complaining, “Yeah, and do what? Babysit some child?” The young girl grabbed the gun and stuffed it in her waistband, her fingers quickly missing the cold metal. “I am an assassin, I kill people, I don’t save them.”

Ileia rotated her ankle, not really paying attention to the conversation they were having but making sure that the knife she had placed wouldn’t nick her. Standing up, she stretched, the other hidden weapons staying -silent- in their hiding places. Before escaping out of the collected heat, her hand snatched three more throwing knives that laid innocently out on the desk. With as much finesse as only an assassin had, she strapped on the extra blades -just to be sure- and marched to the door.

Right before she stepped outside, she stalled, taking a deep breath and stood under the doorway, her hands running up and down the material. Sighing, she looked back into the barren room trying to reassure herself, “I can kill them all and leave no evidence. No one will know.”

Her hands let go of the frame, and she ignored the indents of her fingers in the wood and Ileia strutted out the door of the condensed yet empty hut. She slid onto her bike, a blue motorcycle that stood proudly.

Jazia clicked her tongue trailing after Ileia, her tone light, “Tt- You shouldn’t go on your bike, people who look your age don’t use bikes, most can’t even drive.”

Ileia kicked back her stand and rolled her eyes, her hands dancing on the handles, “I am going to try to not kill the president’s son, suffer in a hot heated mess called high school, and relearn everything I have learned these past two hundred years.” Her voice had turned into a sneer, “I made this bike, I will ride this bike, and I will kill you if you even attempt to take away my baby. It’s my choice."

The last sentence was nothing more than a whisper, but Jazia grinned, holding out her hand, their pinkies touched, and Ileia zoomed off leaving Jazia in the dust.

Jazia stood there and shook her head, a playful smile danced on her lips, “That poor kid won’t last a day.”

And with that Jazia twisted her hips and strode up into the hut laughing as called her boss.

☠☠☠☠

Even with all her shortcuts, Ileia still arrived late to the preppy high school that was called Ida B. Wells Preparatory Academy, or IWPA for short.

The first thing to notice about IWPA was their love for details and elegance. The school’s lawn was trimmed to an inch, but the grass all stopped in a perfect circle around a flawless lake with exquisite ducks gliding around in perfect bliss.

Ileia couldn’t hold back a scoff -not that she tried too hard, the picture-perfect school just rubbed her the wrong way, making her blood boil and stomach twist.

The school itself was three stories of pristine white brick, giving it more of a castle look -but Ileia was sure no magic was in there. The two main doors were red, drawing the eye, but there wasn’t much door, mostly windows -which must have been a security nightmare.

Ileia didn’t pause to marvel at the false magic. When she reached the obnoxiously red windowed doors, she paused. The handles were cool under her hot hands and she gently pried the door open. Her eyebrows scrunched up at the doors not being locked, but she shrugged and marched in all her glory.

At the shiny front desk -which was honestly hard to look at- sat a young pristine lady who didn’t even notice Ileia’s combat boots loudly clicking in the hall.

As soon as the assassin reached the desk, her eyes narrowed in on the lady who had strikingly green glasses and a bun that sat on the top of her head -almost like an army soldier at the ready. Automatically, the assassin’s eyes checked the women head to toe, but there were no weird folds in her clothing or any other tale-tell signs of a threat. There was only a very professional outfit, and midnight skin that made her blue eyes shine like the stars at night, but her gaze was busily darting around on the computer.

The secretary quickly glanced up, her stare finding Ileia for a second -1’s and 0’s sprinting through her blue eyes-, but her gaze locked back down on the screen in front of her and the secretary’s fingers flew on the keys once more.

Biting her lip, Ileia tilted her head, -the women’s forehead was smooth, no tremendous amount of stress, her fingers long, non-calloused, yet they typed all day. Ileia waited a second, then two, the click-click-click of the keyboard filling the space, and so she cleared her throat. The click-click-clicking didn’t stop, but the receptionist slowly looked up, her fingers ever so slightly hesitating before each tap. The assassin -not that she was anymore, as she was now saving some, what a headache- opened her mouth, but paused, for not even a second. Pulling herself together, she straightened her back, “Excuse me, Miss...”

Ileia trailed off, letting the word float in the air and the unasked question melt the tensity in the women’s fingers. The typing finally stopped and the secretary stretched her fingers, curling them then straightening them over and over again. Ileia bit her lip, running the word nervous in her mind over and over again to kill the smile that was threatening to erupt.

-It had been over a hundred years since Ileia had last been to school, which was a disaster in itself, but if she could evade most governments for over a hundred years and her father for about twenty, she could handle High school.-

The woman’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, dipping down and up again in the air almost as if she was still typing in her mind, “Jacklyn, Miss Jacklyn.” Her voice was kind, kinder than her eyes trying to pry Ileia open.

Ileia ignored the -way too- curious gaze and smiled, bouncing on her toes, “Miss Jacklyn,” She announced, almost as if she was proud of herself for getting the name, “I’m new here,” -stating the obvious normally worked- “and I am so, so sorry I’m late, but I was wondering about my schedule,” Ileia’s lips twitched downwards involuntarily as Miss Jacklyn glanced suspiciously at her. The secretary’s gaze moving slightly past Ileia’s face and to the bright blue hair that trickled down to her waistline, then to the lack of a backpack.

Attempting to follow the hardened gaze, Ileia gave an over-exaggerated look to the wall behind her, then dropped her head slightly as if just now she noticed the lack of supplies. Turning back around, she plastered on a sheepish smiled, pulling in her shoulders and slouching, her mind was reeling with excuses, “I... I used to be homeschooled-”

Partly true. Both the Sisterhood and the Bleeding Hearts taught her how to read, to write, to do math, to kill. It was different -they just taught more than what was offered here- but she learned just the same.

-But homeschool? Could she really call Bleeding Hearts a home? The place that drugged her up and messed with her mind, putting in false realities instead of facts? A place where her job was take down entire countries and empires without raising a hand? Where useless slaughter was a synonym for fun? A place where the “greater good” was just a figment of the imagination only if you listened?

The answer was yes. Yes, she could.

Bleeding hearts was her home for over a hundred years. It was her haven, her green tea on bad days, the only thing she knew. It was the place where she learned to breathe before you shoot and how to spell cemetery. And after all that time, all the attention and deaths, something changed. Something weird, something new, she grew. She got a taste of freedom.

But the Sisterhood, on the other hand, was very different.

The rules were different, where mentors could be younger than you if you had been there longer and killing was no longer a tool just to used like an everyday hammer. The people were different. There were no men no fathers because they were all packaged and sent to the Brotherhood. There was only a group of girls becoming better, becoming more. There was no torture into killing. No missing facts or empty lies. There was only a system for runaway girls, girls who had left everything, everyone they knew, to get away from the ugliness of their past.

And could she really call that home?-

Ileia started to breathe again, and then thanked every pig who ever flew that her mouth was still running, “-and it’s been kind of rough,” -playing on the hearts was always a win- “now that it’s just my older sister and me, we didn’t have time to grab the materials,” she gave a rough laugh, “or really plan anything.” Shrugging, she forced her eyes to mist and looked to the ground.

It wasn’t hard to fake the weariness, they had just gotten back from Russia -broken, bloody, and cold- when Ileia was asked -forced- to protect the President’s stupid son -the president was so lucky she liked him.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Miss Jacklyn quickly changed the subject, “You must be... I-l-” there was a struggle with the unique name that Ileia was extremely used to, but the lady’s frown lines came to light.

An innocent smile played on Ileia’s almost blue lips, a predator to prey, “Ileia,” her voice dripped with false serenity, her confidence returning full strength, “I - lee -a. It’s weird, I know.”

There was a pause, and Ileia could almost see the woman’s brain turning. “I…I like it.” The woman concluded, nodding, “Here, Miss Ileia.” She emphasized Ileia’s name -for some weird reason-, a sincerity creeping onto the secretary’s lips.

Miss Jacklyn handed the assassin a piece of paper with way too many colours and English letters. There were seven columns, that held times and places, and Ileia blinked, the information already sinking in. The woman continued, “Today’s a day two, so you have A block first.”

The block popped into her mind, Math.

-Great, just great. -

“Just down the hall dearie, to your left,” The woman flung her hands in the general direction of “just down the hall” and “to your left”, which Ileia tried to follow. Her eyes darted between the two motions, and she furrowed her eyebrows.

She pushed out a “thanks” and a forced smile. Ileia turned sharply on her heel and sauntered down the hallway taking her time as her gaze tore apart the rooms around her. Eyes catching room numbers, she slowly counted to one hundred and ten. Finally, she found the cold, barren room filled with heartbeats and breaths.

Right as Ileia’s fingers brushed the cool, harsh metal, her fingers stopped, hovering in the air. She let out a breath, a million ways to play the play ran in her mind, but each was slowly torn apart. The worst part of the whole stupid job -besides the timing, place, people- was the name that she was supposed to protect, the one she was supposed to save, was missing in her mind.

In the blanks where he should be, there was nothing but a mother and a father she knew.

Her target’s first name was told to her, of course it was, but the pain that laced through her body at the time as her sister pulled a needle in and out of her skin was kind of distracting.

Shoving the memory of pain away, her fingers grasped the shockingly cold handle. Ice ran through her veins and she pushed open the door, the plans she once held were only tatters at her feet. Plans normally fell apart; if you could improvise, you could win.

And Ileia wasn’t a loser.

Silently, one foot found itself through the doorway then the next. The room was mute and the squeaking door attracted each and every eye, including the two bodyguards who towered by the entrance.

“Excuse me, but you are-” Ileia’s eyes snapped to the teacher who had spoken. Age ran through woman’s shoulders, yet they stood straighter than most did. Gray hair rained down her back in a simple braid, but it kept most of it out of her glowing face.

“…Ileia. Excuse me, but this is Honors, right? I’m new, and my sister was running late... so... here I am?” Biting her lip, Ileia gave a slight shrug, but an unspoken apology ran through her lips.

Smiling in return, the teacher nodded as if she knew exactly what happened, “Ahhhh, you must be Ileia.”

Ileia restrained from banging her head at the nearest hard object -she had literally just said that.

Marker still in her hand, the teacher’s eyes lit up, “Welcome to my class -Honors Math,” The older woman’s gaze searched through the posters of X’s and Y’s before settling back down onto the blue haired girl, a soft, warm, smile on her face, “And please try to not be late again?” Raising an eyebrow, the teacher let a pause waft through the room before continuing with a flourish, “I am Ms. Smith,” Then she pointed to a kid who’s eyes were blurry and gaze was off, “Sit down next to Mr. Scottsburrow.” Her lip wrinkled at the kid, but she gave Ileia a pleasing smile, “If you need help, ask, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Uhh… yeah, thanks,” Quickly she made her way towards Scottsburrow, but the closer she got, the closer the guard’s hands gravitated to the guns. Intensity ran through their gazes as they stared holes into Ileia.

The name of the student rang a bell in her mind, but his first name -and why he so familiar -floated just out of her reach.

The kid must have been the president’s son -or someone else very important- otherwise, the whole trigger fingers -the ones that have been circling around their weapons like hawks to prey-, the tense shoulders that got tighter every step were for no reason at all.

Quickly she sat down -ignoring the muscle mountains that glared at her by the door-, and Ms. Smith turned around and moved on, continuing with the lesson. Bouncing her leg up and down and up and down and down, her hands rested in her lap, not being able to take notes without paper or a writing utensil -which she so conveniently didn’t have.

But the notes weren’t the biggest problem, the information was seared into her brains from years and years of training and pain. But she was just sitting here, hands stiff and her head alone in the air, not stuffed into the paper. Something stirred inside her chest. Tapping her fingers, she bit her lip, silently cursing the president for his timing. Focusing on the board, her eyes tightened, keeping up with the quick motions of the teacher’s hands.

Movement caught her eye, and Ileia drew backwards. Without looking at her, Scottsburrow handed her a binder. Ileia glanced at him, confusion lacing her face, and she slowly, tentatively, opened it up. Nothing. There was only lined and lined and lined paper. A never-ending sea of blue and white.

No message, no threat.

Something in her throat caught, but she managed a nod at the wooden pencil that he gave her, yet he didn’t seem to notice. Putting the tip of the pencil down into the paper, she grinned and started to trace nothing, not caring for whatever was being taught. The words washed over her as her mind raced. Her pencil scratched unrecognizable doodles, but her eyes slowly drifted around the surrounding people, her head still. Categorizing threats, Ileia’s fingers tightened around the wood and it started to splinter.

Bullies flashed past her eyes, she barely paid attention to the bodyguards -there was two in this room, one of them she knew, one she didn’t-, and disregarded the nerds. Details stored into her mind as fast as she could register them, ignoring the stories the pieces put together.

Startled, something pressed into her shoulder -a nudge. Her head shot up, her whole body tense, her fingers twitching, the pencil almost shattering, the cracks into the wood filling Ileia’s ear.

No one noticed.

Her eyes found his gaze, his deep brown eyes, looking past her. His eyebrows raised and he slightly tilted his head. Turning around, she finally noticed Ms. Smith’s hands that held stood on her hips, and the voice that was coming out of her mouth. The teacher was calling her name.

“-eia. Miss Ileia.”

Ileia’s eyes focused on teacher. Wincing, she forced a huge dopey grin, “Yes, Ms. Smith?”

The teacher frowned, and crossed her arms, a contrast to the giggles that were worse than nails on chalkboard. Ileia’s fingers twitched to the one of many hidden knives that laid under her jeans, but she took a deep breath, clenched her fist and then let the grip go.

The frown etched into the teachers face and the braid on her back slowly shifted, “Ileia please do pay attention, and would you be a dear and answer the question on the board?”

Deer was an utterly ironic name to call Ileia. A deer was frightened easily, it was prey.

Ileia wasn’t prey.

Shifting her head to look at the board, a laugh bubbled up. The simple numbers danced in Ileia’s brain, but she took her time as she slowly wrote the whole equation on the paper, the answer twirled on the tip of the lead.

After a couple of awkward minutes -seconds, whatever-, Ileia lifted the pencil off the paper, the answer still blank.

Clearing her throat, she spoke up confidently, “It’s seventeen x to the forth and the square root of 5 plus twenty-four y squared and the square root of seven.”

Nodding, a small smile graced Ms. Smith lips, but before she could open her mouth to say anything, the bell rang. Brain flying, she immediately pegged the notes as F, C, and A, then cursed at herself silently for the useless information.

Standing up, she looked at the boy who was repeating the same motions next to her. He was taller than Ileia, but he wasn’t as tall as Jazia. He flung his letterman jacket over his shoulder -how he got the jacket as a freshman, Ileia didn’t know, but he played football, if the jacket had anything to with it.

She nodded at the boy, her gaze on the desk, “Hey, thanks for the binder, do you want it back? I’m Ileia as you probably know,” Holding out the binder, she bit her lip.

The boy glanced at her, clearly showing his distaste from the twitch of his lips to the cross of his arms. His eyes lowered to Ileia’s combat boots, rising to the leather jacket, and stopped at her brightly coloured undershirt with some pun that Ileia couldn’t name.

His lip curled, eyes quickly glancing to the guards and then back to the assassin, “You can keep it. Wouldn’t want you to look like more of a fool than you already do, now would we?” He bent down and picked up his backpack, his arms quivering under the thick black sac, but his face never changing from the sneer.

Crossing her arms, Ileia’s jaw clenched then she forced it to relax. Her fingernails dug into her skin, sending flares of pain, which she ignored. It was only the first day.

Her fingers twitched -yet again.

“Thanks for the gift," She spat out, “And honey? I look like less of a fool than you do.” Forcing a wink and a playboy -girl- smile, she grabbed his -her- notebook, and strutted to the door, her eyes focused straight ahead.

Stopping her, the two mountains of muscles moved in front of the door, blocking her exit. Raising an eyebrow, she let herself get pulled outside of the classroom. There was no tension in her body as they nearly dragged her through the halls. No one whispered as they marched past, no one blinked.

Any newcomer was a threat.

When she was finally pulled into the cold, stone room, Ileia drawled, “What’s up, Jack? How’s the new addition, a girl, if I am correct?”

She smirked as his eyebrows shot up, his face paling. It seemed like the six-foot guard forgot about one of Ileia’s most redeeming -more likely annoying- qualities.

Startled, his hands started to fidget, “Um, yeah. Intela, is it? It’s been a while,” His eyes flashed to his partner, then his gun. At the sight of the black metal, he straightened his back and crossed his arms. Shifting his weight, he tried a glare in a way that was -supposed to be- threatening.

Ileia forced her lips down, smothering the little ball of sunshine that started to rise in her chest.

He shifted again, glancing at the gun next to him, “What are youdoing here?” Breathing between each word for dramatic effect, he tried again.

Eyes leisurely wandering around the room, Ileia nodded, but didn’t provide him the answer he wanted. Giving an unnatural grin, she shifted her weight. He gave her a nervous smile that triggered something.

Something shatter next to her face. Blood dripped off of her fist as she slowly turned around. The voice in her ear started yelling, but she snarled and tuned it out.

“Look, Kid, you don’t have to do this,” A voice pleaded to her, young, new, raw. Intela’s gaze shifted around the room, at the destruction she had caused.

Her eyes settled on the boy, on the one who spoke, standing in front of her. His arms were out-reached, cold, cool, metal in his hands. A gun. The man’s hands shook, just ever so slightly, and Intela attacked. Fear shattered in his eyes as he pressed the trigger again and again, missing his mark each time.

Begging he never stopped shooting, “Please, I don’t want to do this, you’re so young.”

Gliding under the bullets, she let the air that the flying metal forced aside bush up against her. Her eyes narrowed, and her hand reached for her ankle. The voice in Intela’s ear spoke up, “Le Primtear is your target. Leave him.” Crackling, the voice held urgency in its tone. Closing his eyes, the man pressed the warm trigger again, but the gun only gave an empty click.

Intela froze, a cruel smile growing on face.

“Leave him,” the voice warned.

Intela’s eyes met the witnesses and she jumped. Yelping, the man scuttled back and pulled out a stick. In return, she tore a knife out of its hidden sheath and angled it at the man, a cold emptiness filling her veins.

The round metal hit the sharp blade with a clang that ran in her ears, the knife vibrated in her hands from the force against it. Releasing the pressure on her blade, she spun and her target moved with her. A deadly dance.

She swept the ground underneath him, the voice yelling, and yelling, and yelling. Rage slowly filled her lungs, then her chest. Her body twisted mid-air. Bringing the hilt of the knife down on the man’s head, she landed in a crouch.

Breathing heavy, she glared at the man who’s face seemed so peaceful as he lay unconscious. Snarling, she regripped the knife.

Then she could hear the voice again, “Intela, you listen here right now! You bring that blade down you can never come back. We don’t kill innocents.” Fear raged in the voice as it called out to her. It shook not because of the technology but the human behind it.

The blade dipped in Intela’s hands. Its point lowered to ground, the handle slipping through her sweaty hands, almost too heavy to hold. Heavier than the weights she used every day, than the cement blocks that had broken in her anger a few days ago, and cars that she had once thrown aside. Frozen, she didn’t flinch when a screeching noise filled the corridors of the government, red flashing. Standing up on shaky legs, she finally listened to the voice.

She took a hesitant step away from the body of the boy who couldn’t have been more than twenty-three -the boy who lay, unknowing the danger he was in, his forehead smooth without worry. Regripping the knife she glanced at him.

Her hands twitched, and she took another step back, her eyes on the kid. The rules from the Bleedings Hearts running through mind: Leave no witnesses. All those who oppose must never wake again.

Stirring, the boy shifted under the harsh gaze, but her didn’t move after that.

“Le Primtear. Finish the job.” Jannie commanded, there was none of that childish joy that Intela once heard.

Ignoring the call of his blood, the rules of her father, Intela turned and fled the hallway, leaving the bodies and the boy behind.

Ignoring the panic from that raw moment as the glitchy memory faded, she spoke up, “Nah, it’s Ileia, now,” Smirking, she bounced on her heels -more childish that she would ever admit-, “How’s the job now, I didn’t get you fired, did I?” Grimacing, Ileia tried to remember the report from the government that year, but nothing came up.

-Ileia didn’t know if he had been fired because of her, but she remembered he was good, for the government.-

Jack gave a hearty laugh, bending over and everything, but his eyes staying on the blue haired girl, never straying to his partner. Smirking, Ileia’s eyes light up, remembering why she had a fun personality.

-It did help when they liked you.-

Jack happily continued their conversation, much to the eyebrow-raising and hunched shoulders of his partner, “Actually, they were impressed that I held myself for that long. I just want to know-” Shrugging, he trailed off, but they both knew what he meant.

Ileia snorted.

-Relatable.-

“Me too. Me, protect someone? The president must have something loose in that head of his.” Rolling her eyes, Ileia placed her hands on her hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

The second man -the one who hadn’t spoken the whole time- tensed, his muscles flaring, his hands twitched to his gun. Giving a nervous smile, Jack held out his hand, forcing the guy to retreat.

-People barely whispered that she didn’t have a good side, or a soft spot. Their voices lowering when they said if she did, it would be reserved for Jazia, the President, and his wife. The whispers would rise when they said they didn’t know any details. Then the name Surithem would be mentioned, so quiet it was hard for even an enchanted, an experiment of a human, to hear. -

Pulling himself together, straightening his back, Jack forced a couple more routine questions that Ileia danced around, a smirk on her face. By the end of the interrogation, the guards had learned nothing, only information with holes worse than swiss cheese. The buff guy glowered and she could feel his eyes try to burn holes into her as she retreated, but Jack just waved as she left the room with her head held high, dancing into the busy hallway.

She was going to kill this, and no one would ever see her coming.