Chapter Two

The next day, I woke at 6 PM, with sunset about thirty minutes away. Plenty early enough to watch the sunset and prepare for tonight's adventure. Sytra called, right on time.

"Are you ready for your date?" she asked, excited for me. I laughed. "You have to stop calling it that." I sighed.

"Do you know what the assignment is?" she asked, slightly concerned. Our work could be considered dangerous.

"No," I sighed. "It'll be a surprise." I looked out towards the direction of the meeting place, surrounded by a darkening sky. "Dixter's.. not exactly the person that would turn down a dangerous job. He likes getting paid well."

"So it's a dangerous surprise date!!" She exclaimed, even more excited.

I laughed harder. "No! You have to stop saying that," I exclaimed. "I'm about to go. Wish me luck!" I said, knowing fully that luck wouldn't help. Not where we were going.

"Good luck!" she said with an off tone that suggested that she was thinking the same. We both knew that I was going somewhere very dangerous.

"Bye, Sy." I said with a note of uneasiness.

"Bye, Feck." She hung up.

I sighed. She only called me Feck when she wasn't happy with my choices. This time, I thought it was more the fact that she was scared. She wanted the "date" to go well, but she also really didn't want me to get hurt on the mission.

I climbed over buildings and scurried through alleyways, making it towards my weapon stash. I hadn't really felt like using my grappling hook for the past two days, so I'd left it here. But I needed some other things for tonight.

I found what I was looking for: a small crate under some loose metal. The spot was perfect for hiding a stash. Concealment in an abandoned place. You couldn't ask for much more.

I pulled it out, looking things over. My grappling hook, or my grappler, was a well-made iron claw attached to special grappling-hook-specific wire. It was strong and could support my weight, but broke easily when I needed it to. I slipped the grappler's metal wristband on my right wrist, under my jacket sleeve. Next, I found my knife. The blade was long, silver, and sharp, perfect for a knife. It was my favorite one, my second knife. I strapped it to my thigh. Last but not least was my crossbow. It was metal, tight-strung, and foldable. Well-built. Great for the job. I tucked it away in an inside jacket pocket.

I left my other two weapons here, a short dagger and a small pistol. I didn't use them often. They weren't really my style, but I needed backups.

Prepared for the night, I stood up and got ready to move. The meeting place was a fair distance away, and I really shouldn't waste time. My jacket lifted as I raised my arm and closed one eye, focusing on a metal rod that was supporting part of a tall building. I aimed and fired my grappler, expertly capturing the pole. I pressed a small button, and was pulled towards it. I loved the feeling of the air whooshing past me. I grasped the support and reeled in the wire with a press of a button, the line zipping in obediently. I looked around for my next shot.

I traveled like this for a while, careful and alert. I slipped onto the roof a couple buildings over from the complexes, like he'd said. I sat down against a wall of concrete, sliding down it. Now, it was the waiting game.

It was midnight, as in I was an hour early. I would have been earlier, if only the commute time was less. Traveling around the city took effort and time, especially the way I did it.

To pass the time, I started humming quietly to myself. A sweet, high song that you probably wouldn't expect out of someone like me. I liked it; I found it soothing. Sometime later, I switched over to low and slow, my other go-to. I loved both equally, I sang them both well.

I tipped my head back, leaning my head against the concrete. My chin stuck out a little, but I liked being slightly dramatic. I started adding words, closing my eyes. I lost myself in my song.

I finished a piece, opening my eyes slightly. I felt a presence, but it was calm, and so was I. I turned my head to meet Dixter.

I smiled. "Hey."

He looked a little shocked. He probably didn't know I could sing, let alone that well. His eyes were wide, like he'd just witnessed a wonder never seen before. They shone, once again giving him child-like qualities.

It looked cute on him.

"I.. I didn't know you could sing," he said, still slightly startled. "You're really good." he finished, looking sheepish.

I smiled. He acted like he liked me. It was adorable. "Thanks." I said with sincerity. He looked down, his eyes distant, like he was lost in thought.

I stood up. "I think we have work to do." I paused, waiting for a reaction.

He looked up and fixed his stance, remembering why we were here. "Yeah. We do."

"So. What's our assignment?" I questioned with a fading smile, still enjoying the past moment.

His tone turned serious. "We have a new one from Chief. Some illegal things are happening in a building close by. It's been undercover for months now, and Chief said it was time to strike," He paused and looked up at me. "Ready?"

I nodded, prepared and glad for information. Chief always gave the top assignments to her top people. It was a privilege and an honor.

I felt ready.

"Alright, let's go. It's about a street away," He pointed in the direction behind me. I nodded, and off we went.

While we walked, he talked. "Chief said it was a small illegal gun production factory. Something about them being overpowered." Dixter said.

I shivered. Overpowered guns seemed highly dangerous. We'd have to be extra careful. "What weapons d'you bring?" I asked him. I needed to know our odds of defeating them.

"I got my gun, my rope, my grappler, and my good knife," he paused. "You?"

"I have my crossbow, my grappler, and my best knife," I replied with a smile. "I think we'll make it." We'd both trained heavily in our youth, and were amazing at combat. We've honed our skills over the years working for B.L.A.D.E., accomplishing every mission that Chief threw at us. We were amazing.

Sytra came too, of course. Our trio had an unbreakable bond that could only have come from saving each other's lives constantly, and fighting in battles together. We were a power team.

Chief had watched us accomplish every assignment successfully, and her confidence in us grew. She gave us harder and harder missions, knowing full well that we could handle it. I loved her trust in us. It was an honor few B.L.A.D.E. members were given.

Over the past few years, however, Dixter wanted more. More money, more danger, more honor. He distanced himself from Sytra and I, leaving our trio for a time. Instead of mourning our loss, Sytra and I got busy growing closer. Our moves became more in sync, and soon enough, we were the power team. The duo. The one and only Feckter and Sytra.

So when Dixter asked me to come with him tonight, I was ready. I wanted him back, whether I liked it or not. I missed him. I thought. I actually missed him. Even though he'd left.

I shook my head slightly, clearing away my thoughts.

We stopped in front of a large, old, seemingly empty building. It was grayed from years of lack of attention. The roof appeared to be partially caved in, and the paint from the exterior walls was peeling.

What gave it away was the noise. The grinding, metallic sounds of machines working. The movement of people also added to the sound. Some shouts, conversations, and footsteps riddled the place. Chief had said it was "small," but I guess "not industrial" counted.

We moved into the alleyway to the right of the building. We silently used our grappling hooks to get to the roof. It was slanted, and made of panels of glass. The once-clear windows were now grimy from lack of cleaning. I watched glows of orange and red flash behind the grime, and I assumed they were sparks from the working machines.

We crouched at the bottom of one massive, slanted window. Ignoring how close we were, I wiped my gloved hand on the dirt to give us better visibility. We leaned closer together to look inside.

Workers in white clothes milled about four sets of machines that were pumping out guns. They pulsed with an odd white liquid that glowed in some parts, flashed in others, or stayed dim. The shades of white swirled around in its many containers. This odd solution could be seen in layers of tubes intertwined with the machine, then being pushed into the glass containers of the guns.

The liquid has to be the overpowered part, I thought to myself. That's the only unusual thing I see here.

"I'm thinking it's the liquid. You?" I whispered to him very quietly.

Dixter exhaled through his lips, a sign that he was thinking. "We don't know for sure until we get down there." He whispered, the same volume as me.

I nodded, and started to stand. "Okay. Let's get mov-" My whisper was cut off when he grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

"Look!" He whispered harshly, pointing through the wiped window. "They're testing them.." his quiet whisper trailed off.

I looked in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, the guns were being tested. One worker was aiming at a cut-out of a person. They lifted it and aimed with their face close to the gun. Their face was covered in a protective shield, and their face was masked.

I didn't know how they could see through all that, but I didn't have to question their aim much longer. They fired, and the liquid turned into sharp-looking shards that sliced through the target's head. Upon contact, the shards quickly turned the cardboard into a flaming, ashy mess. I could almost hear the shards shattering into a million pieces behind the target.

So it sliced and burned, I thought. An odd combination. I wonder what its original purpose was.

"Looks dangerous." I whispered under my breath. Dixter nodded in response. "Plan?" I asked him very quietly.

"Plan A is that we drop in and kill everyone, then get the machines. Plan B is we drop on the machines, then get them," He paused. "We don't know their numbers. We might be outmatched." He looked down at the working machines, debating whether to call the mission off. His face told me he'd rather take on the challenge.

"I think we can do it," I smiled at him. "We have a lot of training. We've done this a thousand times."

He looked at me with a new look in his eyes. "Yeah. You're right. Even if they have overpowered illegal guns and fifteen times as many people, we can still win," he paused, looking me in the face. "And we know how to fight together."

I recalled the past, ignoring the blush from our closeness. It was true. Our little trio had bonded tightly in past years. We knew each other's moves, our weapons, our patterns of combat, you name it. We had the experience, even with a third of our trio missing. Even if the time had dulled our skills together, we could handle this.

"Okay. I was thinking plan B," I whispered to him. "We have to be invisible. We drop in, disable the machines silently, then bring the rain." I paused. "What do we do with the guns?"

"Chief said to collect information and destroy the machines. Leave no man alive," I nodded in response. He slowly stood up. "We have to find an entrance point. Come on." He nudged me. We made our footfalls light as we raced along the edge of the building, suddenly aware of time. Our silhouettes were highlighted by the lights of the widespread city.

I felt dangerous.

We reached a staircase on the back end of the building. We cracked the door's lock and headed in, careful to not make any sound. We reached a high platform with a thin metal railing. It reminded me of a high catwalk, like ones used for theater productions.

We creeped out onto it, careful to not let the metal make any noise. We were under the ceiling, the grand slanted glass panes. Large electric lights buzzed above us, giving us visibility. We got a wide view of the entire place. We could see every worker dressed in white, every movement, every machine. The perfect spot for plotting our moves.

I silently gestured to the machine closer to us, then to me. I gestured to the one to the left of it, then to him. He nodded, understanding.

We went back to the stairwell, careful to make sure there were no workers above or below us. We reached the door that led out to the small hallway behind the machines. It was the hallway above the ground level, to avoid being seen.

We got to work. I crept quietly to the closer one, the machine I'd gestured to for me. I scaled the side of it, making sure no workers were there to see me. I opened the panel on the machine's side and pulled out a large green wire, which shut it down effectively. The machine's many blinking lights faded, alarming me slightly. I prayed that no one would notice. I waited to break the containers of the swirling white liquid until after we'd killed all of the men.

I carefully dropped back into the small hallway, and saw that Dixter had done the same. He'd disabled his machine as quick as I had.

I smiled at our unseen success. The last two, A voice in my head reminded me. The other two machines were across the room, and were, annoyingly, still running.

I nodded at Dixter, and he nodded back. We went back into the stairwell to cross the room to get to the other machines.

Two left. The voice continued. Two left until we can start hurting people. I wasn't excited at the thought, but Chief had commanded that no man be left alive. I sighed silently. I wish I could stop evil without killing. I supposed no one could go running home to their boss and telling them that B.L.A.D.E. members attacked this little project.

We crossed the large room in yet another hallway, watching for workers. This time, on the opposite side, we repeated our steps for getting rid of the machines.

Two disabled machines later, we pulled out our weapons. Our strategy was to alarm the least amount of people, least not have the entire building pointing overpowered guns at us. That meant "hit the head and pull the body." A classic tactic that we were taught in our younger years.

We parted ways and pulled out our weapons. We silently knocked out two workers without raising any alarm. I pulled the body out of sight, and judging by sound, Dixter had done the same. Thankfully, the noise all around us covered our sound. We were hoping to hit a few more before the worst was upon us.

"Hey!!" A man in white shouted. "What are you doing here?!" He yelled in alarm, his masked face displaying wild concern. He might know we're B.L.A.D.E. agents. I thought, watching his crazed movement.

That means he also might know how high our rate of success is.

I chuckled quietly to myself. "Someone must be scared of us." More of a taunt to get me in the mood more than anything. I put my knife away, flicking out my foldable crossbow. The arrows were numerous, and I was thankful I was this prepared.

Dixter laughed, closer than I thought he was. We weren't exactly screaming our positions. He had his gun out, his weapon of choice.

He fired first, sending everyone into panic. He took down two workers, his aim impressive. While he was busy, I got the ones that were running to the phones to call for backup. They would never dial a number; I made sure of that.

What we weren't prepared for were the remaining unnoticed workers that grabbed the nearest weapon. Which, unfortunately, were the overpowered illegal guns sprawled throughout the building.

I poked Dixter to make him aware of this. He understood and shifted his aim, taking out a few more.

Then they started firing.

The shards of the liquid-turned-solid shifting white liquid came flying at us in multiple directions.

In response, we quickly separated and ducked behind some supply crates.

I knew we'd have to cooperate if we were going to survive. I shouted to Dixter, "You get the ones on the left, I'll get right!" He agreed and started shooting, popping up from behind the safety of the crates to take his shots.

The pieces of shards and the fiery danger surrounded us, slowing our progress. We kept taking them out, one at a time.

A large shard hit the wall in just behind the crates I was taking shelter from. It shattered close to me, and its remains flew everywhere. The concrete was scorched, leaving a stain of burnt orange.

Then time stopped as a wave of pain crashed onto me. My pant leg was ripped and burning, and a shard protruded out of my calf. It was in at a diagonal, to the left of the front leg bone. The skin was a raw and wounded red.

I almost cried out in pain, but stopped myself, grinding my teeth instead. We still had work to do. Besides, I couldn't pull out the shard. My fingers would be toast. I prayed that the odd heat of the shard would hold off any blood, and would hopefully protect the wound. I painfully got back on my knees, turning around to shoot more.

I tried my best to ignore the roaring pain and fire with the most accuracy that I could muster. Dixter was holding off pretty well, but I needed to support him. We'd already taken out most of the building, but there were still workers around. They either hid or fired guns.

Finally, a few minutes later, there were only a couple workers left. I shot two right in the head, and Dixter finished off the last one. They all fell back with a satisfying thud.

We slumped to the ground, avoiding the scorched mess that was the concrete all around us. I watched him lean his head back on his crate, completely exhausted. Shooting because your life depended on it was no easy task.

"Dixter," I whispered softly, closing my eyes and resting my head. The pain was killing me. Literally. "My leg." It came out as a desperate whisper, barely escaping my lips.

I heard a gasp come from his general direction. "We'll get out of here in a minute. Let me kill any hiders first. You stay here." He commanded, needing me to make it out of this cursed warehouse. I gladly rested, trying my best to cope with my burning calf.

He stood and walked away quickly, my health in mind. I heard his footsteps echo through the now-silent warehouse, stalking like a hunter.

He found some straggling workers, which he took care of quickly. A couple shouts later, he returned to me.

"We need to get you out of here," he said with concern in his eyes. "Can you walk?"

"Probably not," I replied honestly, attempting to stand. I was shaky, and my limbs felt loose. He steadied me, grabbing my arm. The pain was worsening with every moment. "I don't want to make you carry me."

"It's fine," he said, and swept me up. I wrapped my hands around his neck to avoid falling. I forgot how strong he was. I felt his muscles through his shirt, but I was in too much pain to blush.

I struggled to say, "Grappler."

He nodded, liking the idea. "It's our best shot." He lifted his arm that was under my legs so that he didn't drop me. He trained his eye at one of the broken ceiling windows, aiming for the support beam.

"Hold on tight." He warned quietly, and pressed the grappler's button.

We went flying towards the ceiling. On the way there, he dropped a small object. I didn't see what it was, and I was in too much pain to figure it out. I held on tight, pushing myself closer to his chest. I would have been embarrassed to be so close to him, smelling his cologne, and being carried away by him, except I could barely feel anything but pain.

I was dying.

"Hurry," I whispered, my voice ragged. Usually I wasn't like this, but I'd never felt the painful effects of overpowered guns before. It felt like a shard of burning hell.

A few roofs away from the warehouse, he set me down. He'd picked one with a light, which I was thankful for. I needed some serious bandaging.

"You have bandages?" I asked, praying for a yes.

"Yes, of course." He fished around in his many jacket pockets. He finally produced a roll of white bandaging and a tube of first aid ointment. I sagged in relief, then tensed. I knew what came next.

"This is going to hurt like you won't see tomorrow," he warned, looking me in the eye. He'd prepared to take out the shard, something I was not excited for.

I nodded. "Please. I want this over with." I need this over with.

On the count of three, he yanked. I started to watch my vision swirl and shift with the amount of pain pulsing through my skull. I couldn't take it anymore. I cried out, tears leaking out of my eyes.

The shard was hot enough to burn solid concrete, and it could easily tear apart exposed skin. Dixter's hands were burning and smoking, but he got to work anyway. He waited for blood, and when it didn't come, he got some ointment and calmly spread it on the long, nasty cut. He then wrapped my leg in the bandaging.

All the while, my eyes aren't working properly. It was getting harder and harder not to scream. Once the bandage was on, the ointment began to take effect. It cooled the skin and relieved a portion of the pain, which I was immensely grateful for. Any release was like a piece of heaven.

"That's a lot better," I said, looking at Dixter. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "People get hurt. I'm just glad you're okay." He smiled, but it seemed off, like he was hiding something.

I gasped. "Your hands!" I exclaimed, reaching for his arm. "Are you okay? Did it burn you?"

"Y-yeah. I'm fine." He replied, a little shaky. I could tell from the look on his face that he was dealing with a lot of pain. His hands would likely be scarred. He grabbed the roll and started wrapping his own hands, hoping to give them a little protection. Dixter didn't wear gloves like me, so it was a raw skinned burn.

While he put his things away, I asked him a question that had been nagging at me. "What did you drop back there?"

He smiled dangerously. "Oh right, I forgot."

He pressed a button on a handheld device, and suddenly the warehouse's interior blew up. Time went into slow-motion. Pieces of machinery flew out of the broken roof, trailing smoke and bursts of red fire. Flashes of white shot up, and I figured it was the white solution exploding.

All the while, he was smiling in an odd way, like I find satisfaction in blowing up warehouses. His silhouette was blacked out by the massive explosion behind him, and it lit his face up, revealing a slightly terrifying expression. Like he loved the danger, the destruction. He looked crazy.

It was odd, how he could be the sweet I'll-bandage-your-wounds potential boyfriend one moment, and then the unsettling I'm-a-crazy-killer-that-likes-explosives shadow of a man the next. It scared me a little.

Can I trust his dark side? What if it went wild one day, and he lost control? The fact that he was so good at taking out those workers was kind of unnerving. It also didn't help that he had left the trio for more, like our little missions weren't good enough for him.

I hated the thought.

The bright light of the explosion brought me back to reality. After snapping back, I realized what the device was. It was a miniature remote-controlled bomb, one small enough to only blow up an area the size of the warehouse. Thankfully, it didn't destroy anything else. Though I did feel bad for anyone sleeping nearby. Scratch that. I felt bad for all of Kistra.

I supposed it was a smart move. I smiled to myself. The evidence is gone. The entire factory is gone.

Thankfully, the ointment had done its job effectively. The once-blinding pain was fading fast. I just had to figure out how to walk, and worry about Dixter.

"Is the wrapping going to help?" I paused, still concerned about his hands. "Will it stop the pain?"

He laughed. "Feckter, please. Don't worry about me." He gave me a gentle smile, like he was secretly glad I still cared for him. All traces of his little I'm-a-murderous-monster moment were gone. It was messed up, seeing him switch between the two so quickly.

The soft look on his face made all of my anxieties disappear. "We still going to that paint shop?" he asked, hopeful.

It was my turn to laugh. "If I can walk."

He smiled again, lighting up his already-handsome face. The sight brought some redness to my cheeks. He was just so.. Ugh.

"I'll try to stand." I warned him. He stood to help. What a gentleman.

"Careful," he said. My knees wobbled a little as I stood, pain shooting up my leg. I held out my arms to steady myself. Dixter immediately wrapped an arm around me for support.

God, I hated feeling weak.

"Got it?" He asked, starting to let go. I didn't want him to leave my side, but I nodded anyway. I appreciated his awareness. It was kind of unusual for boys.

I spread my arms again, trying to put weight on my bad leg. "I think.. I think I can walk," I paused. "But, I prefer other types of transportation." I smiled at him, looking up. He smiled in return, already pulling out his grappling hook.

I made sure my grappler was still attached to my wrist, then we headed out.

"Follow me." He said, turning. "Naturally." I replied, smiling at his back. I had a feeling he was smiling too. He aimed and fired, taking himself to the next building. I watched him land safely, then look back.

I aimed and pressed the button on my grappler, more or less on one leg. My aim was perfect, as usual. I was careful to use my good leg for the landing. I landed next to Dixter with satisfaction. He nodded, glad to see that I could be independent.

We aimed and shot, making our way over. I closely followed Dixter, happy to see that he glanced over his shoulder every couple of buildings to make sure I was okay.

Finally, he dropped into an alley. "Come on," he said with a wave. "We're here!" He almost jumped up and down, the excitement filling him. I smiled at the reappearance of Dixter the Excited Child. I dropped down next to him, my long hair swooshing down behind me. I mostly used my good leg, but my bad one was still throbbing from being used from time to time.

He almost pulled me along, then stopped himself, remembering my leg. "Come on, come on, come onnn," he repeated, sounding like an impatient five-year-old.

I laughed softly and hurried, walking as best as I could. I followed him down the alleyway, further from the street and closer to the surrounding buildings.

What I saw stopped me in my tracks.