The Monster

Hot sweat began to form all over my body and, instantly, I knew it would be a bitch to get off of the bed in the doctor’s office, the sticky skin on my thighs already being tugged painfully every time I adjusted my dangling legs atop the leather.

Dr Lawson unwrapped the old bandage from around my upper arm and placed it in a metal dish. It was damp, a pool of red already beginning to form at the bottom of the dish.

“This is the third injury this week, Sahar. You’d think a broken leg would deter you from getting into more bother,” he sighed as he inspected the gash on my arm, tutting while he grabbed a cotton ball and some sort of antiseptic liquid.

I shuffled uncomfortably as he began cleaning up my wound, the sweat on my thighs feeling like adhesive against the bed. “It’s not bother, it’s part of the job. How long until the a/c gets fixed? I’m dying over here.”

“We’ve got a guy on it now, shouldn’t be much longer.” I felt a sharp pinch as he began stitching me up. “It’s ‘part of the job’ until you’re rolling around in a wheelchair all day and still manage to get stabbed in the arm. Then it just becomes ridiculous.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just stop training? Sorry, but that’s not an option.”

He rolled his eyes at me as he began wrapping a fresh bandage around my arm - this one clinical white and not doomed to soilage by my blood, the stitches a welcome addition; the feeling of wet fabric on my skin irritated me like no other.

“You don’t have to stop training entirely - just tone it down while you’re healing. Eight weeks and you can get right back to it. But for now, no intense combat.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me.” He fixed me with a glare, similar to the one my father often gave me as a child, the one that said ‘forget your pride, you know I know what’s best for you’.

Dr Lawson reminded me of my father - strict but reasonable. He was hard on us when he needed to be, but ultimately, our wellbeing was all that mattered to him.

The snowy white hair adorning his head and beard was what I imagined my father’s would have looked like had he lived long enough to see sixty.

I dragged myself out of my thoughts and huffed, rubbing my face with my uninjured hand (the other possessed a couple of sprains, second injury of the week). “I just don’t want to regress.”

He scoffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair and pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Regress? You? Aaliyah “The Monster” Sahar, the most esteemed trainee assassin in Tanjeneo?”

“We’re not in Tanjeneo anymore, Doc. I just want to sustain my reputation, that’s all.”

The base in Tanjeneo was about the size of an average barn; it was an open space that allowed little privacy. There had been mattresses lining the walls and a single cubicle (generously named, given that it was merely a bucket covered by a makeshift door of tarpaulin) for the bathroom.

Whilst the doctor’s office at the base in Tanjeneo had been just that - one office room, located in the tiny basement - the medical wing here, in Nontaru, had its own floor with multiple offices, an operating theatre, and a pharmacy window.

The new base in Nontaru reminded me of the building my father worked in when I was young. He worked in finance, and I remember believing the roof of the building touched the clouds. The inside had endless floors and labyrinth corridors, the employees walking around in their suits and pencil skirts that had colour pallets about as interesting as a chess board. The only difference between the Nontaru base and my father’s building was that, in my father’s office, the work was legal.

I shoved the wheels on my wheelchair bitterly as I made my way to the shooting range. Rosa was finishing up a set and gave me a smile as I rolled into the room, almost losing a wheel to a loose nail in the floorboards on the way in.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked as she approached me, her gun forgotten on the table behind her.

I raised an eyebrow. “What did I tell you about leaving weapons out of your sight? You can’t make a habit out of that.”

She rolled her eyes, not actually annoyed, but likely wishing I truly was a broken record so she could simply remove the needle and shut me up.

“I get it. What did he say?”

“He told me to take it easy, that’s all.” I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. “It’s almost time for your archery training. I’ll help you with that board you were struggling with.”

She shifted her eyes, uncomfortably scratching her head. “Well, I was hoping we could take a rain check?”

Taken aback, I furrowed my eyebrows. “Absolutely not. You have your first mission in a few weeks. You know how important it is to utilise your extra training privileges right now.”

“I’m still going to train! It’s just… well, Yasmin and I have been talking about training together for a couple of days. She’s amazing, Aaliyah. You’ve seen her! I really think it would help me.”

A pit formed in my chest. Yasmin Davies - a veteran trainee at the Nontaru base. Before our units combined, I’d often heard stories of her astounding intelligence and her combat skills said to rival that of seasoned assassins. I knew she would be a threat the second we relocated, but I never thought she would interfere with my personal relationships.

Rosa began training from a very young age. Being older and more experienced, I became somewhat of a mentor to this wide-eyed child who was clearly out of her depth. She had no living family, none of us did, so when she inevitably became like a little sister to me, it was easy to adapt to the softness that loving someone provided. It was strange; I hadn’t felt love for another person in a very long time - but, my god, was it welcome.

It had always been her and I. At least, until now.

I gave her a strained smile as I stifled the fierce desire to ball my eyes out. “Alright, let me know how it goes.”

“I will! Thanks Aal.” She gave me her million-dollar smile and ran past me, giving my shoulder a squeeze on the way.

She didn’t take her gun.

…

I remember my first mission like it was yesterday. Freshly thirteen, nerves safely tucked away deep within my subconscious where I was unable to reach them. I was confident, I had every reason to be. Even still, my hands shook where they were wrapped firmly around my pistol.

In this industry, a stealthy mission was synonymous with a successful one. Mine had been just that, and I had swiftly gone from ‘budding prodigy’ to ‘force to be reckoned with’. From then on, I was the one to beat. The Monster. When the Tanjeneo Assassin Training Centre came up in conversation, Aaliyah Sahar was the first name spoken.

Now, however, I was beginning to question my place.

I wheeled myself into the common area, passing trainees preparing for their sessions. Making my way over to the elevator, fully intent on dragging my feet (metaphorically, of course) back to my room and moping for the rest of the day, I glanced up at the leaderboard covering the left wall. My breath caught in my throat as I fumbled to turn myself around.

1 Yasmin Davies

2 Nora Williams

3 Aaliyah Sahar

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Second, I could deal with; Yasmin and I often alternated between the first and second spot, but third? I had never gone below second.

The leaderboard considered all factors involved in becoming a skilled assassin - combat skills, weapon yielding ability, negotiation and interrogation skills. The list goes on, and it’s difficult to keep up with everything that’s expected of us, but I’d never been concerned about my position on the leaderboard. Not until Nontaru.

Truthfully, I had no idea who Nora Williams was. How on earth had she managed to surpass me when I hadn’t heard a thing about her? She was clearly a Nontaru girl – but, even still, I felt I should have at least been aware of her existence. I’d been here for months.

Come to think of it, the only Nontaru trainee I could identify with certainty was Yasmin. My strongest competition.

Perhaps that’s something I should unpack.

Shaken by the leaderboard, my eyes narrowed and, with a newfound determination, I made my way to the archery range.

Through the window, I could just about see Rosa’s grinning face. A smile made its way onto my face, but was quickly wiped away when Davies came into view and patted Rosa’s shoulder. A scoff escaped me as I forcefully pushed open the door. Neither noticed my presence, and I paused as I glanced over Rosa’s shoulder where the arrow she had just shot was imbedded directly into the centre of the board. She had hit a bullseye. On the board she had been struggling with. The board I was supposed to help her tackle.

I didn’t stay long enough to hear the congratulations as I swiftly turned and raced out of the room, desperate to keep my emotions at bay as my eyes began to sting and my vision became blurry. In my haste I bumped my injured leg, the pain forcing a tear from my eye, the liquid dropping onto my hand, rolling down my sprained fingers and landing in the saddest, most insignificant little puddle on the floor. I felt a sudden surge of anger towards the droplet, and harshly rolled the wheel of my wheelchair over it as I left, satisfied with my act of defiance - yet the wet spot on my wheel remained, and I had the aching feeling it was there to stay.

I only ever held two things in my life close to my heart - Rosa and my reputation. If I lost both, I’d have nothing in this world that mattered, nothing worth fighting for.

Vision distorted, I paid little attention to what was ahead of me. I felt myself crash into something that fell to the floor with a force that, to my surprise, didn’t make dent. I was sure I felt the place shake. Or perhaps that was just me.

I watched as the boy clumsily stood up, cradling his wrist in his hand. He looked at me, his eyes widening once they found my wheelchair.

“I’m so sorry, that was totally my fault,” he exclaimed frantically, eyes wild in apology.

I sighed and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t paying attention either.”

“I guess we were both a little distracted, huh?” he chuckled, more relaxed now that it was clear I wasn’t upset.

I gave him a small smile. “I suppose so.”

Failing to sense that I wasn’t in the mood for a chat, he continued on.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

My head started spinning and my stomach dropped.

“What?”

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you before.”

I clenched my jaw, my face heating up. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been steam shooting out of my ears.

I abruptly began rolling the wheels of my wheelchair forward, narrowly missing his foot on the way past, but only because he jumped back. I wouldn’t have cared if I’d gone over it. Maybe I’d wanted to, just a little.

In Tanjeneo, everyone knew my name. Professionals would reference me, using me as an example to fellow trainees. No one had ever failed to recognise me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been asked for my name.

The icing on the cake, however, was when I heard his voice behind me, excitedly shouting Davies’ name. A glance behind me revealed the pair in the midst of some sort of silly handshake that, in all honesty, made me feel rather ill.

I saw red.

She had stolen everything from me. I was becoming a nobody in an industry where I was once the top dog. Rosa was paying no attention to me, I was as unimportant as I was pathetic - and I truly felt as though I had no one in my corner. Failure was never a word I'd associated with myself, but I was beginning to reconsider.

As I stormed through the corridor, the corner of my eye caught a black mound through the window of the shooting range. I reversed slightly and pushed through the door, approaching the table at the corner of the room.

Rosa’s gun.

It sat pitiably on the wooden surface, staring up at me in anguish - a forgotten friend.

A feeling of kinship suddenly arose within me for this object that had been treated with such little care despite being the most useful and loyal companion throughout the years.

Before I was conscious of what I was doing, my fingers wrapped around the gun and, without thinking, tucked it away between my thigh and the right side of the chair.

I continued on my way and took the elevator up to my floor. Just before the turn into the corridor, I noticed a door to my left was ajar – and it sounded as though someone was calling my name.

Pushing the door fully open, I made my way into the room, the door closing abruptly behind me with a slam.

The bed in the centre of the room, along with the smell of chemicals and the glass cabinets filled with pill bottles, revealed that I was in a first aid room – an empty one, at that.

Shivering thanks to the breeze that flowed through the open window, I heard shuffling coming from somewhere out of sight. In the corner of my eye, I noticed the doorknob of the little closet in the corner of the room turn slowly. The door opened, and out stepped Davies, giving me a smirk as she strolled into the centre of the room, directly in front of me.

“Sahar”, she spoke condescendingly.

My nostrils flared as her grating voice forced its way into my ears and stuck there like a tick. “Davies”, I muttered through gritted teeth.

Her smirk only grew at my obvious annoyance. “Rosa’s really improving, she’ll be ready for her mission in no time.”

I only stared, unwilling to entertain her.

“She hasn’t spoken about you all day. Come to think of it, nobody has. I haven’t heard a peep about you in weeks.” Her smug face expanded with the taunt.

My breathing increased and I began to feel lightheaded. A rage I had never known was rising to the surface and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to contain it.

“I’m injured, I can’t do anything.” I mumbled, exercising the breathing techniques that Dr Lawson had taught me.

She chuckled, flicking her eyes over me. “So, when you’re better, you’ll be able to rise to second place?”

The grin on her rather punchable face exposed the malice behind the question. Once again, I chose to remain quiet, my blood boiling so hot I swore I could feel it char the inside of my skin.

She breathed a sigh at my silence. “You’re no fun. I suppose I’ll just get to the point then.” Reaching behind her, she pulled a gun from her belt. Not entirely unexpected if her suspicious disposition – alongside her manner of luring me in here - was anything to go by.

Hyperaware of Rosa’s gun pressing firmly into my thigh, my fingers itched to reach for it.

Davies raised an eyebrow at me, intrigued by my lack of reaction. “You’re embarrassing. When they told me a Tanjeneo trainee was good enough to be my competition, I expected a threat – but, for lack of a better term, you’re a phoney. Your injury simply showed who you truly are - useless, mediocre, and invisible.”

My resolve didn’t last very long. My hand, almost involuntarily, snaked beside me and snatched the gun, pointing it in front of me with determination, aiming directly between her eyebrows. I never miss.

Staring down the barrel of her gun, mine felt heavy with the weight of my impending mission.

Heart racing, I locked in on the girl in front of me, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

…

The gunshot reverberated around the room as the body fell limp. The room deathly silent save for the ringing in her ears, the shock flowing through her body almost painful.

The gun had been empty. The weapon slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor with a clang, her heart and brain running at a thousand miles a minute.

A faint grunt tugged her from her thoughts as her attention was drawn to the open window. Nora Williams huffed as she pulled herself through the gap, the gun in her hand still steaming from the escaped bullet that was now firmly lodged in Yasmin Davies’ skull, her blonde hair matted to her forehead where her body lay limp, draped across the floor.

Williams walked leisurely towards Aaliyah as she apathetically kicked Davies' motionless arm out of her way.

Placing her hands on both arms of the wheelchair, she leaned down to whisper in Aaliyah’s ear.

“She was in my way, and if you know what’s good for you, I suggest you milk that injury like it’s your damn job and get yourself a few spots down that leaderboard.”

And with that, she sauntered out of the room like nothing happened, leaving a shell-shocked, panic-stricken Aaliyah sitting motionless, nothing more than dust in her wake.