There were still two more days of festivities, but I didn’t feel like going into the city the next morning. Thankfully, Penny was so hungover that she wasn’t feeling up to making the trip either. Instead, we lounged in my room, eating greasy potato pancakes and cheesy eggs for breakfast. Penny delighted in telling me the blow-by-blow of her evening make out session with Harris.

“He’s totally a good kisser,” she said, for the tenth time that morning. I gave her a genuine smile. Penny usually crushed on boys from afar and, while she had a lot of boy friends, she’d never had a boyfriend.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” I replied honestly. I genuinely liked Harris, even if he was one of Donavon’s friends. He’d always been nice to me, and last night, after the initial awkwardness had worn off, he’d treated me like he always had before I destroyed his cabin. Hmmm… I probably wouldn’t blame him if he did think I was a little crazy; sane people didn’t destroy whole structures when they were angry.

“I did! And he even sent me a message this morning to ask if I wanted to have breakfast. But my head hurt so bad, I totally wasn’t up for getting dressed and doing my hair all cute.” I laughed. Penny’s red hair was sticking out every which way, and she still had dirt smudged on her face from rolling around with Harris the night before. She was wearing a thread-bare, standard issue McDonough Athletics t-shirt that I estimated she’d owned since she started at School, and gray sweatpants speckled with nail polish and hair dye.

“What about later? Are you going to hang out with him tonight?” I asked, trying to match her enthusiasm.

“I don’t know! Should I?”

“I don’t know,” I laughed. “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know! I liked kissing him, does that count?”

“That counts,” I confirmed.

“Did you do anything after we got back?” she inquired.

“No,” I said, a little too fast and a little too emphatically. My pulse quickened and my face flushed just thinking of Erik’s hands touching me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Penny laughed, flipping from her back to her stomach so she could see my face.

“It wasn’t a big deal. Erik just walked me to my room.” I refused to meet her eyes.

“And?” she pressed, her eyes shining with excitement.

“And nothing,” I replied, trying not to let my voice sound too dejected.

“But you wanted there to be an ‘and’.” Penny nodded her head knowingly.

“I think I did.” I buried my face in my hands.

“Are you embarrassed?!” Penny exclaimed, her green eyes growing larger. “He’s totally hot. Every girl I know talks about him. Any of them would trade places with you in a second!”

“Why? He barely even kissed me,” I whined. Last night, I’d been upset about the situation. Had I done something wrong? I wasn’t the most experienced kisser—Donavon was the only person I’d ever kissed—but Erik hadn’t even given me a chance to show him the amateur I actually was. Did he not feel the same current of electricity when we touched? The sensation was so overwhelming, I thought for sure that it had to be our combined reactions I felt. Did he regret the kiss? He must. That was the only explanation.

“Barely?” Penny squealed. “Barely kissed you? So he did actually kiss you?”

“Sorta,” I muttered, humiliated all over again.

“How do you ‘sorta’ kiss somebody? Did his mouth touch yours or not?”

“It sorta did,” I mumbled, my breakfast squirming in my stomach, making me wish that I hadn’t eaten so much.

“What happened after he ‘sorta’ kissed you?” Penny questioned, her expression hungry for every detail.

“Nothing,” I said, clearing my throat.

“He didn’t say anything? He just left?” Penny looked incredulous.

“Yeah, he just left,” I confirmed. “I think he regretted doing it,” I added in a small, humiliated voice.

“He didn’t regret it. Give it time,” Penny said wisely.

“Penny?” I asked hesitantly.

“Hmmm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Totally.”

“Is it wrong to have feelings for Erik? Donavon and I just broke up. It feels wrong.”

“No way, Tal. For starters, you and Donavon broke up like months ago. It’s not too soon to have a crush on Erik. It only feels wrong because you’ve never had a crush on anyone besides Donavon. Trust me. I have crushes on people all the time. You’ll totally get used to it by the third or fourth one.”

Had it really been months since the fight? I guess it had. In the days following the incident, time had slowed until the seconds ticked slowly by like dripping molasses. I even tried to will time to speed up, but to no avail; I guess even my superior powers had limits. Now, looking back, I realized the last several months had flown by. Even so, the emotional and mental lacerations left from Donavon’s betrayal were still stung. Every time I thought the gashes had scabbed over, I remembered that… that blonde, and a dull ache in my chest grew steadily stronger until I thought my heart might explode all over again.

“Thanks, Penny.”

***

Penny returned to her room after breakfast to sleep off her hangover, and I took the opportunity to make good on my promise to Mac. I headed to the workout arena and spent the afternoon training with the simulator. I set the simulator to “random” and pulled on an adapti-suit and a Sim headset. The Sim headset had an ear piece and goggles. The ear piece acted like a team leader, feeding me audio instructions regarding the randomly selected Sim scenario. The eye goggles kept scrolling coordinates of my location within the Sim scenario and kept track of mission statistics. Henri once told me that the simulator is programmed with over a thousand different Sim scenarios; despite my best efforts, I only made it through four.

After my afternoon with the simulator, I headed to the indoor target range and set up a handful of practice dummies. I intended to rotate through the targets, alternating between knives, a scoped rifle, and a handgun. Throwing knives has always been my specialty; knives were far easier than bullets for me to control with my mind.

The weightless tungsten carbide blade, in contrast with the heavy steel handle, felt natural, like an extension of my own small hand. I closed my eyes, envisioning the space just slightly to the right of center on the target’s chest. I released the knife in my left hand first, directing the dagger blade-over-handle as it twirled through the air and sank deep into its mark. I liberated the one in my right hand just as the first made contact. I summoned two more knives that had been lying by my left foot. I didn’t wait this time, launching both simultaneously. I beckoned the next two, and let them both fly the instant my fingers closed around the cool handles. When I finally opened my eyes again, ten knife handles protruded from the dummy’s chest, the blades embedded to the hilt. Satisfaction washed over me.

I held my left hand out to my side, parallel to the ground, and bid the rifle to rise. The heavy barrel sailed towards my outstretched palm. My fingers curled delicately around the cylindrical shaft as I tapped the orange glasses from the top of my head down onto the bridge of my nose. I ran my finger over the sensor on the sidepiece, activating the simulated targets. In the same motion, I tossed the gun lightly in the air, catching it in my left hand, my index finger sliding neatly onto the trigger, and the butt of the gun landing heavily on my left shoulder. A little showy, I know, but what I lacked in actual skill, I liked to make up for in finesse. Reaching for the barrel with my right hand, I cupped the bottom to steady the rifle. Squinting with one eye, I peered through the sight with the other. I pulled the trigger ten times in fast succession as ten Sim targets danced across my vision. Several of the targets disintegrated, but over half were still standing when I dropped the gun against my left side. I touched the sensor on the sidepiece again, and my Sim statistics digitally appeared on the left lens. Kills: 4. Wounded: 3. Misses: 3. Overall score: 55%. Yeah, I sucked.

I hit the sensor a third time and a countdown appeared on my left lens, counting down from ten. I extended my right arm, calling a handgun resting close by, while I tossed the rifle to the floor with my left. The handgun flew through the air, landing hard against my palm. In the same motion, I brought my left hand to grip the opposite side of the pistol handle. A “1” appeared on my lens, and I readied myself to fire. I breathed evenly, in and out, in and out. Focus. I concentrated on each bullet as it spun through the rifled barrel of my gun, trying to guide the bullet’s trajectory towards the intended victim. I felt the bullet explode through the end as the gun powder residue blew back, coating my white knuckled hands. Once I emptied the entire clip, I lowered the handgun and hit the sensor to display my Sim statistics. Kills: 3. Wounded: 7. Misses: 0. Overall Score: 65%. Slightly better, but nowhere near good enough. Feeling only slightly dejected, I reloaded.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I poured myself into bed sometime after midnight. I couldn’t muster the energy to shower, so I settled for peeling off my workout clothes; damp with sweat and reeking of gunshot residue.

I woke up early the next morning, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination. I pulled on black mesh tennis shoes and headed to the woods as fast as my short legs would carry me. I performed sensory honing drills as I ran, cycling from one sense to the next without skipping a beat. I could still hear Mac’s words pulsing in my head, as though he were running alongside me, screaming in my ear. Do you still want to be a Hunter, Natalia? I ran harder. If you fail your solo mission, I won’t be able to save you. I ran harder. You have two choices, Natalia. Revenge, I screamed to myself. I pushed harder. Do you want your parents’ deaths to be for nothing, Natalia? My chest constricted, and my lungs seared until they felt as though they might burst. I willed my body to outrun Mac’s words. Erik hadn’t sent me a message or come to see me the day before, not that I actually thought he would. Regardless, I would have to see him the following day. While I was still confused and hurt over what happened several nights ago, I really wanted to see him. The feelings I was developing for Erik were so different, so much more intense, than my feelings for Donavon, that I was starting to wonder if I’d ever truly loved him. I felt as if I hated Donavon but could I really hate him if I’d never loved him? After all, hate is love’s counterpart, right? At seventeen, did I actually know what love meant? I know that I knew hate; I hated the man who was behind my parents’ murders. I’d loved them; the type of all-consuming, unconditional love that you only feel for those who share your blood.

I couldn’t wrap my head around all of this and it hurt to even try. If it weren’t for my feelings for Erik, I never would’ve doubted the feelings I’d had for Donavon. Even though we were young, I’d thought Donavon and I were family. We’d shared so much. He’d been the first person to like me, let alone say that they loved me. Now, I was left wondering if any part of it had been real.

Instead of going back to my room after my run, I jogged straight to the practice arena. I had programmed five Sim scenarios at random before I suited up, purposely choosing scenarios that listed firearms as necessary weapons. I strapped the knife belt around my hips, holstered two handguns to my thighs, and slung the strap of a scoped rifle across my chest. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a glass-paneled wall and jumped back, unnerved by the steely-eyed soldier staring back at me.

As soon as I walked onto the arena floor, the lights slowly dimmed until I was left standing in total darkness. I lowered the Sim glasses into place and tapped my ear piece, causing it to activate. A fluorescent white light appeared overhead as the Sim scenario materialized around me. I found myself in a dimly-lit hallway, with water trickling down the cement walls. I ran one gloved finger horizontally across the stream; my finger, safely ensconced in the soft leather, felt wet when I pulled it away.

“End of the hallway, make a right,” a mechanical voice said into my right ear. I took off at a jog, expanding my senses as I went. The Sim scenarios were often more difficult for me than a real hunt; I had to rely on normal, albeit superiorly trained, senses to guide me. I couldn’t feel the minds of the opponents in the scenario because they were holographic images and not real people. Fortunately, the holograms still made noise when they moved, so I heard the two men before they rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. I dropped low into a crouch and reached for the gun strapped to my right thigh. I didn’t hesitate before I pulled the trigger once, moved the gun millimeters to the left, and fired again. Both holograms fragmented before breaking down completely. I straightened, and covered the distance to the end of the hallway in record time. I turned to the right and slowed slightly, waiting for my next instruction.

“Third door on left. Proceed to the top of the staircase and turn right,” the mechanical voice said.

The mission statistics started scrolling in front of my left eye. Disposed: 2. Remaining: 20. Ammunition: 95%. Time remaining: 28:04. Target: Unacquired. Health: 100%.

I’d just passed the second door on my left when I heard the soft thud of footfalls behind me. I spun on one foot and reached down to my knife belt, grabbing a handle in each hand. As I turned, I dropped down to my knee, releasing the knives. Both blades struck the lead hologram, and he crumbled into nothingness. The two men behind him kept coming for me, and I grabbed for the gun that was snug against my right leg. I wasn’t fast enough. Both men squeezed their triggers, several rounds hurling toward me in the narrow corridor. I fell backwards, flattening myself against the hard ground and blindly returned their fire.

Unlike in real life, I couldn’t mentally stop these bullets because they weren’t bullets at all—they were electrical impulses. If one struck me, my suit would register the hit and fire tiny, painful electrical impulses into the injured area until the simulation ended. One of the holograms’ bullets found my right shoulder and I felt the tell-tale shocks attacking my skin. The bullet must have only skimmed me because the impulses didn’t penetrate my muscles, but remained superficial. It still hurt.

I cocked my head to the left and fired my gun again, squeezing off six quick rounds into the holograms. Both flickered and then disappeared. I scrambled to my feet and took off in the direction I’d been going before the interruption. The mission statistics flashed again. Disposed: 5. Remaining: 17. Ammunition: 80%. Time remaining: 25:04. Target: Unacquired. Health: 95%.

I pushed open the third door on the left. The stairwell inside was pitch-black. I felt the stairs under my feet, rather than seeing them. I misjudged the height of the first step and banged my shin hard against the lip of the second. I swore loudly. I cautiously climbed the remaining stairs, and pushed open the door on the landing. I stumbled noisily through the doorway, and into a brightly-lit meeting room. Five holographic men sat around a conference table. Their heads snapped toward the door in unison. Crap. If I’d been quicker, I might have been able to creep silently along the length of the wall without being noticed. I did a quick sweep of the room. Two armed men stood several feet back from the table, one on each side, blocking the exits. A huge glass window was on the opposite side of the table from where I stood.

One of the exit guards raised his huge gun and fired. I dropped to my knees and covered my head as shards of holographic wood rained down from the splintered door I’d just come through. The second guard raised his gun to fire. I tucked and rolled as the ground exploded where I’d just been kneeling. I felt a deep shock in my left arm as one of the guards’ holographic bullets found a home in my bicep. The electric pulses cut all the way down to the bone, rendering my left arm useless. Gritting my teeth against the unpleasant sensation, I gripped the handle of a gun with my right hand and fired toward the guard on my left. I mentally yanked three knives from my hips, and sent them whooshing through the air towards the right guard. Both guards fell to pieces within seconds of one another. The men at the table appeared unarmed. Not a threat, I decided. I darted to my right in a low crouch, through the now clear door. I rose to my feet and flattened myself against one of the walls, waiting for my next instruction.

“Turn right. Target: end of hallway,” the mechanical voice informed me.

The mission statistics obscured my left eye’s view: Disposed: 7. Remaining: 15. Ammunition: 65%. Time remaining: 19:52. Target: In sight. Health: 75%.

I sprinted for the door at the end of the corridor, cradling my left arm to my chest as the electrical impulses fired repeatedly. I wanted to bust the door down mentally, but I knew that wouldn’t work. When I reached it several seconds later, I turned the knob with my right hand—locked. Of course it was. I flashed to a different mission, a real mission, where the knob had refused to turn. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I raised my right arm above my head, clenched my hand into a tight fist, and steeled myself against the impending impact. I brought my elbow down as hard as I could on the knob. I heard a sharp crack and felt pain radiate outward from my funny bone. Ugh, that hurt worse than I’d anticipated. I looked down; the holographic door knob was dangling uselessly and the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped into the room.

A scientist stood behind a table full of beakers and brightly colored vials. Was this really happening? I shook my head again. It was like déjà vu, except I knew that this had actually happened. I gritted my teeth and raised my throbbing right arm, pointing the gun at level to the scientist’s chest.

“Kill,” the mechanical voice ordered.

Icy fear pumped through my veins for the first time since starting the simulation. I hadn’t intended to program any kill scenarios. I swallowed over the lump in my throat. The man held up his hands in surrender. His head was bent when I walked into the room, but now he raised it until his hard, gray eyes met mine. He looked nothing like the balding man from my actual mission. He actually reminded me a little of Mac. I sneered at him before pulling the trigger, without hesitation. I fired a single shot. It buried itself in the space between his knitted eyebrows; he then disintegrated.

“Vacate the premises to complete the mission,” the mechanical voice ordered.

Several inches in front of my right lens a floor plan of the simulation appeared, “X”s marking the exits. The closest one was back in the conference room. I spun on my heel and tore from the room.

Disposed: 8. Remaining: 14. Ammunition: 62%. Time remaining: 14:52. Target: Acquired/Deceased. Health: 55%.

I weighed my options. Fourteen potential combatants remained in the simulation. I could barely move my left arm and my right arm throbbed. My fingers were twitching too much to get off any more steady shots. I needed to reach the nearest exit and get out if I wanted to complete this mission successfully.

I retraced the steps I’d taken just minutes before, and found myself back in the now empty conference room. I tapped the side of my glasses to bring up the floor plan with the marked exits again. I reached out and tapped on the “X” that marked an exit in the conference room. A different floor plan, only of the room that I was now standing in, took shape in front of my right eye. The “X” was on the huge picture window. I walked over to the window and looked out. The room I was in appeared to be thirty stories high, maybe more, overlooking a city I thought might be D.C. I wasted several long moments contemplating my next move. I was actually still in the practice arena, not thirty stories above the nation’s capital. Therefore, if I did jump out this window, my fall would not be nearly as far as it looked. I also knew I was probably on the top level of the practice arena, and jumping out of this window would, in reality, still be a solid five-story fall.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs from the basement behind me. I made a snap decision. I wasn’t strong enough to fight off any more attackers. I fired the remaining bullets in my gun at the window, my hand shaking so badly that I was glad my target took up an entire wall. The holographic glass shattered in front of me. The footsteps grew louder. I backed up several feet, took one last deep breath, and sprinted the short distance across the conference room, throwing myself through the broken window.

I let the glorious rush of adrenaline engulf me for several seconds before I mentally slowed my falling body, floating the rest of the way to the arena floor. I landed on my back with a soft thud. The Sim scenario evaporated around me as the lights in the arena came back on. I waited for my final mission statistics.

Final Statistics: Disposed: 8. Remaining: 14. Ammunition: 53%. Time remaining: 10:31. Target: Acquired/Deceased. Health: 55%. Overall Score: 86%. Overall Rank in Accordance with Attempts: 1/2136 attempts. I beamed. Not too bad, I thought, smiling to myself. Not too bad at all.

When I finally returned to my room that night, my body ached from the physical abuse. My mind buzzed from the strain of a day full of mental commands: directing bullets and knives in multiple Sim scenarios. Despite all of that, I felt alive, invigorated, and most of all, happily exhausted.

Mac was right about one thing: my solo mission, also known as “the–mission–I–needed–to–complete–before–I–could-graduate,” would be coming up soon. I decided to continue my early morning runs and sensory training, even when our regular training schedule resumed after the holiday.