Her learning sessions on the computer and the other agents were as intense as the physical sessions with Nate. She learned how to disarm an attacker, pick a lock, and use a range of technical equipment. On top of her other physical training, she ran five miles a day and her sessions with the computer simulations became more difficult. Flipping Nate over her shoulder made her feel better about not escaping his Judo holds, even if she could only flip him because he let her. Still, she hoped she was capable of coping with dangerous situations.

Anita proved genuine and professional in their private session. She had a soft, melodic voice, and once she started talking about tech, she not only was an expert, but passionate about it. She fitted Arena for a custom earpiece, and explained the assortment of gadgets they used on missions for listening at far distances, planting bugs, and communicating with one another. Arena tried to pay attention, but her interest kept wandering to the screens, all flashing rapidly changing information. How did Anita kept up with all of it?

After meeting with Anita, Arena wandered into the empty dojo. She picked up a staff from the weapons rack, and began swinging it around, not sure what to do with it. Finally, she placed it back on the rack and sank down on the tatami. The person in the mirror looked alien to anyone she knew. She was sinewy, grim, and her eyes were puffy and dark.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The only thing Arena was really good at was riding the hoverboards. Surely that skill can’t be special for very long—she was already training Nate and Lorna, and there must be other agents in the CIA who knew how to surf. Why did they want to recruit her before she interrupted the hoverboard mission? How did they find people, or were they that desperate for new agents? The job was stable and had benefits, but it certainly wasn’t going to make her rich and the danger quotient was literally unfathomable.

The fact that she kept up with the training surprised her. She ached at night and even more the next day, but not much more than surfing. However, she hadn’t even gotten to paramilitary training or shooting. Jumping from a plane didn’t precisely terrify her, but it wasn’t something she sought out to do, either. Nobody would let her have a gun yet. What if that made a difference in a mission? Could she keep up? Could they, if they were spending all their time trying to protect her?

The Misfits were not what she expected spies to be. How different were other units? Was the pressure worse? Would she have a choice in going to another unit or staying with the Misfits? She genuinely liked most of them, and she felt comfortable there much more than she believed she would be. She tried to stay angry about the tactics with which she was recruited, but it became a burden more strenuous than the actual training.

Would the undertow be stronger than her will to survive?