No really, Call me a Ninja

She marched straight into the training room, where Vance was wiping down the array of firearms on the table. Darius stood nearby, reloading a magazine like he was doing it in his sleep. They both glanced up when they saw her, expressions somewhere between confusion and suspicion. Never they had thought a time would come when she would seek them out everything considered.

"I'm done," she announced dramatically, arms crossed over her chest.

Vance paused mid-wipe. "Done with what, exactly?"

"Gun training. No more endless rounds of it, okay? I'll take it seriously if you want me to continue basic training or if you get some fancy new space age Glock or anything else, but I'm done pretending guns are the solution here."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "So, what then? You're too good for guns now?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm saying guns aren't my solution. Not with how fast I am. I want more close-combat training. Especially with something I can hold. Something that doesn't run out of bullets when I'm in the middle of fighting off some mutant monster."

Vance shot her a sideways glance. "Something you can hold? What, you trying to be a ninja now?"

"Exactly," she shot back with a smirk. "I've been practicing with knives already, right? But I need to get serious about it. No more half-assed throwing stuff. I want to slice."

Darius chuckled, shaking his head. "So you're too good for guns now? Going all medieval on us?"

She shrugged, smirk still plastered on her face. "Maybe medieval is exactly what I need. Guns don't work on those beasts. They don't pierce through their skin. But something sharp... well, maybe I wouldn't be standing here wondering if I could've saved those rookies if I had something better in my hand."

There was a beat of silence. Vance sighed, putting the gun down and wiping his hands on a rag. "Fine, Ninja Girl. You want close-combat? We'll see how you do."

Training with Vance took a sharp turn from the casual knife-throwing sessions she'd been used to. Now it was full-on close combat, with him pushing her harder than ever. They traded blows—her trying to land hits with the knives, him dodging and countering with terrifying ease. It wasn't long before she realized how even with her speed she wasn't cutting it out even against Vance let alone those beasts. "What are these guys even? Are they also genetically modified like me? What are their powers even? Beating the crap out of me?" She needed to find a way get in close and land those hits up close and personal. 

If only she had something bigger. Sharper.

They moved through weapons like a revolving door. She tried out different blades—daggers, machetes, even a staff with blades on both ends. Each had their strengths, but none of them felt quite right. Vance threw her around the training room without much effort. She couldn't get close enough or hit hard enough to make a dent.

The days blurred together in a series of bruises and near-misses. One afternoon, after dodging an especially brutal strike from Vance, she caught a glimpse of a practice sword hanging on the wall. It was long, elegant, and most importantly, sharp.

She grabbed it mid-session without saying a word, and the moment the sword was in her hand, something clicked. The weight was perfect, the balance just right. She charged at Vance, the blade slicing through the air with precision. He dodged, but she could tell from the slight widening of his eyes that he hadn't expected her to adapt so quickly.

The sword wasn't just fast; it flowed with her movements, almost as if it were an extension of her own body. Every swing, every parry—it felt natural in a way none of the other weapons had. She landed a hit, a clean strike across Vance's chest. He stumbled back, grinning despite himself.

"Well, look at that," he muttered, brushing himself off. "Maybe you are a ninja after all."

Darius, leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. "A sword? Seriously? You realize we're not in a video game, right?"

She wiped the sweat off her brow, grinning. "Tell that to the beasts that keep ripping people apart. Guns aren't cutting it, and throwing knives are only good if you've got space and time. I need something for when they're close—really close. This feels right."

Vance and Darius exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. "Alright," Vance finally said. "You want to fight with a sword? We'll make sure you know how to use it. But don't come crying to me when you realize those things don't come with reload buttons."

She snorted, adjusting her grip on the hilt. "Trust me, that's the whole point. No more reloading." She paused for a moment, then grinned again. "Plus, it'll make me look cool. Admit it— a Ninja has a nice ring to it."

The next several days of training became more focused, with Vance drilling her on every possible scenario she could face with a sword in hand. How to block, how to counter, how to use her speed to her advantage. She moved faster than ever, pushing herself to her limits and beyond. But as her movements became sharper, so did her thoughts.

Every slash she made, every swing of the blade, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just training anymore. It was survival. The beasts were faster than any agent, stronger than any weapon they'd tried so far. She knew guns were useless, especially against the black beast—hell, even the other four monsters had shrugged off bullets like they were nothing.

As the training wore on, she couldn't help but think more and more about the sword. It wasn't just the weight of it or the fact that it could slice through flesh. It was the feeling it gave her—the certainty that this was the weapon she was meant to wield. Not because it was cool or flashy, but because it was effective.