Twirling to land a kick at his wrist, one blade clattered to the ground. Shock luckily registered him for a flashing second and I began to swipe the daggers out.

He leaped over the flying blade, his natural instincts saving him. With both hands on the one sword, he deflected more daggers the ping ping noise bouncing off.

Feeling the burn in my shoulders as I grew my speed, his ability to deflect each death wish only heightened the intensity. I heavily drew an irritated sigh and threw harder. At last one of the daggers managed to pin him right in the shirt, nailing him against the wall of a pub. He tried to wrench the knife out of the wall but it was no use, the blade dug right into the brick.

Curious eyes fixed on me as I advanced, my opponent trying to rustle out of his shirt but I threw another dagger, making him repel. I hurled another on the other side of his shirt. My blood ran cold, feelings iced.

My hand swooped up one of his swords as I made my way. I went up to him and expected to see terror, but instead there was no fear in his eyes. I bended in closer with the sword pressured to his neck. He winced but didn't slip out one word of defeat. I breathed on his hot cheek, ready to murder. Suddenly I felt a tug on my foot and tittered to the side, arms catching my fall to then pin me to the wall. My opponent and I reversed positions. Not looking good Jess. I winced to feel his own breathe skim across my cheek, holding my wrists above my head.

His shirt was torn, the earlier daggers around his feet. Damn shirt—why was it so easily ripped. His big boot trapped both my feet and I haven't felt so vulnerable in a long time. He seized my own sword and traced it along my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Clicks sparked in my mind, the magic turning the gears. He was stronger. Heavier. Faster. I had no idea how to counter or find weaknesses. I had one shot. If I could get out of his grip...I had one move before he could trap me again. Moves in combat are made to set off a reaction and a response. They are steps—once one was made you had another. Consecutive action.

Blurring my opponent, I focused on the rusty water tower standing beside the pub. Training my vision in closer, I propelled my energy towards it and spotted the loose leg, the metal barely holding on with a single bolt. One shot. Relocating my gaze on the man in front of me, I met his dark eyes. I took in a deep breath and the concentration built. Listening to the sound of his blade whipping back to slice forward, I transferred my weight at an angle where with enough twist, I slipped out one hand. I drove my fist into an upper cut, his jaw snapping back. He recovered quick and now he was lunging.

At that moment I spun around and hurled the dagger at the center leg of the water tower. I held my breath to watch the destruction unravel.

One metal leg collapsed, making the whole ground shake. Then another came, everyone diving on their stomachs. I gripped the daggers that hung from the wall. My heart pummelled my chest, my eyes shutting tight.

A wave of sticky liquid splashed down, pouring everywhere. It felt like a bucket of juice just dunked over me. It had been a while since I last took a sip of alcohol, but this was a chug of strong rum. I coughed, almost drowning from the sudden flood of burning liquid. I wiped away the drink from my face and looked around. I found all the men with their tongues out, some splashing in puddles, others rolling around, already drunk.

"The water tower didn't have water," I bluntly spoke aloud. "Really Romane. You filled a water tower up without water, replacing it with rum. How classy."

My attention stirred straight to a bobbing head with a Jamaican hat. I ran over and found him licking from a puddle of rum. I shivered, grossed out. Then I bent down and dug my hand in his pocket, pulling out my pouch and my opponents. I hooked them to my pants, quickly adding weight. Free money bitches. Not going to put that to waste.

I pulled on my hood, covering my face more. It was time to go and I didn't want anyone to notice me leaving. Another fighting situation would surely end me. I hustled along the streets, snaking through the madness.

I sprinted back into the forest and the scenery slowly started to change. Light started to leak through the trees and daylight was fast approaching.

The sound of the stream flowing made me feel better, knowing that I got back unharmed. I jogged back to the river and unbuttoned my drenched cloak and let it fall to my feet. I was relieved to lessen the weight off and removed the wet gloves.

I tied my long damp hair into a bun and smoothed down my pants. Quickly, I didn't waste time afterwards and tracked back to the tree. Romane said to rewind my steps in order to finish.

Weaving back to the tree, I climbed through the branches until I reach the branch that I jumped onto earlier. I steadily balanced my toes on the branch, slowing walking farther out. My hands were spread at a wide length as I look forward. Finally I attained at the edge of the sturdy branch and glanced down to find the patio on the third floor.

An red X marked the spot.

I hesitated and bit my lip. Gosh. Heights. Trying to steady dizzy head, I clenched my fists and counted to three. "And go." I leaped, swiftly going airborne.

I slipped out a grunt as I my two feet hit hard, allowing my body to roll along the wooden deck. Finally, I stopped with my back flat on the deck. The early morning sun beamed along my face, telling me to get up. I rose, making sure I didn't break anything.

The hard platform creaked as I walked along.

And then life turned into a flash of white.

+++

"It was a test," Romane explained.

We were the only two that occupied the rooftop again, the skies a bright blue for lunch. Shortly after the light flashed I recently exited the white room I entered before the test began. It was confusing since I entered a forest when first going into that room and when I exited it was a plain box-like room.

"You know those cliché stimulation rooms?" he suggested. "You were in one of those."

I had to draw sarcasm, "Nooo. Really?" His solemn face shrunk any of my humour. Gulping, I quickly asked, "Did I pass the test?"

"It was an evaluation. To see what I have to work with." He poured me a cup of tea and handed it over. "You have sympathy but lack in the common sense department. Your accuracy is excellent yet your speed and strength are terrible. You produce strategies quite fast and know how to think on your feet. Taking on identities is your strong suit. You have no skill in combat." He paused. "I told you that already didn't I?"

"You don't have to rub it in," I scowled. However his compliments flourished my heated cheeks, sending me to cower behind my long hair.

He took a sip at his cup, leaning in his chair. "Now the real training begins."

As he stared into the skies, an idea popped in my head. I searched my pants for the bag of gold and frowned to get nothing. "Dammit."

He grew his own frown but for a different wrong reason. "What's wrong? Did you get hurt?"

Annoyed, I crossed my arms. "No. I stole some money and was hoping I'd get to keep it."

He flattened a dry look across his face. "It was a stimulation."

"I know but I was hoping—"

"Meaning none of that was real and it was all digitally done."

"Yes but—"

"Thank you for reminding me how you aren't a Visionary and have no high intelligence skill."

Like a child I did what I could only do to the dangerous, gang leader of North America.

Stuck my tongue out like a proud mother fucker.

♦♦♦

"I...can't...do...it..." My arms trembled beside my head. The muscles burned and I puffed another wheeze. "Going...to...fall..." I gritted my teeth and tried heaving the bar up. And then it went downhill. "Oh gosh. It's falling. Shitting shits. Abandon ship! Abandon ship! Abort! Abort!"

"C'mon Wildcat! Push yourself!"

"Man going down! Man going down!" My shoulders were on fire and the rack was too high to rest the bar on. It slowly started to drop closer to my chest. Arms not focusing it was cranking down at an angle, targeting to my neck. "Romane! Ro-MANE!"

"What?"

"FUCKING HELP ME NIPPLETART!"

The bar was easily hauled off my hands and landed with a clank on the rack. I rose from the bench press, panting exasperated breathes. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I turned to my failing spotter and threw my hands up. "Why didn't you come to my rescue earlier?!"

Romane shrugged. "You seemed fine to me."

"I was going to DIE!"

"You had no weights on."

"So?"

"You were lifting nothing."

"The bar was heavy, 'kay!? Don't question it."

He put his arms in the air too yet again, for a different reason. "Not planning to." Grumbling profanity under my breath, he managed to wear an amused smile which I itched to rip off. "We have a lot to work on you know."

Although I replied with a snarky comment after, I hated how he was right.

Why were all the gang leaders' right?

Because they're older, wiser, and probably have three times the score of your IQ.

"It was a rhetorical question," I grumbled to the internal voice.

"What did you say?" Romane spoke, the entertained hilt still warm.

"Just talking to the voices in my head," I said with a laughed and even knocked on my brain.

You're such a freak Jess.

The enjoyment vanished from his features and I watched his smile twist into an impassive expression. He studied me hard as if he were reading my mind.

Shifting uncomfortably, I removed myself from the bench and gave him a perplexed look. "Problem?"

"The new phase," he answered in disbelief. "This is the new phase."

"Phase...?" I darkened a glare, reminded by the news of my drug. Funny. I was actually pretty close to forgetting all about that.

He took my hand and rushed me out of the gym, into the sleek white hallways. Eagle's nodded and smiled as we pasted but Romane failed to acknowledge them, driven to his unknown mission. I on the other hand returned their waves and greetings with a wide grin.

Disappearing into his office, he slammed the door and clicked several blinking buttons before I heard a solid lock. Exhausted, I collapsed on his white sofa and ignored the fact I was wiping my sweat along the expensive cushions.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm making myself quite at home," I called. My one leg was dangling off the couch with my other arm, sprawled like a pancake. Romane paid no attention to my comment as he focused on closing all the blinds and basically locking down the office.

Serious shit was going down.

I was a teenager.

Those two things didn't really mix if you feel my bubble gum. Or float my boat. And any other cliché lines you can think of.

"Okay," sighed Romane and he craned his neck over. "I think we're safe—" He stopped to stare at me. "What are you doing?"

"Chilling," I replied and made a duck face at the ceiling.

He stomped over, ready to pull his hair. "This is no time for 'chilling'!"

"Dude." I set my tone to a mellow voice. "Take a chill pill."

He snatched my wrists and rose me off my back, twirling my body around so my back slammed into his chest. He slithered, "Don't you dare tell me what to do. Now shut your mouth, and sit properly." He roughly freed my wrists and I tried not to faceplant into the couch. Which I failed at. Jumbling into an appropriate sitting position, I cleared my throat and obeyed.

Realizing I settled down, he shook his head and picked a bottle of vodka off the alcohol cabinet. Sitting on the opposite couch, he was about to pour himself a glass then decided against it. Instead he chugged half the bottle and I observed wide eyed, horribly fascinated.

Following the dosage, he propped the tipsy bottle on the table and leaned back. "Wildcat. I want to tell you a story. Some things might be hard to believe but I want you to hold in all the questions you have until I say so. Okay?"

This was the first time he asked for my permission before ordering me around and I was knocked for six. His question was flying around for a few awkward moments of silence, and I nodded before it stretched. I sat back as well. I had a feeling I was going to need to hold onto something.

"Once upon a time—"

How creative.

"—there was a gang called the Snipers." Attention has been caught. Now reeling in... "No one knew how they began but everyone knew who they were; the family who was inseparable. Believing in hierarchy; lower class with no power vice versa to the higher class, they stated if you weren't one of them, you didn't deserve to be on top. That persisted until as time progressed, other gangs became stronger and was seen as a threat to their high position."

"In the early 19th century, the Snipers decided to produce a weapon that would make their family invincible. But Snipers have a genetic trait for getting too caught up on listening to one another and forget the ethical side. Every few years they had different experiments, concluding into different versions of the drug. Their goal was to create a drug that enhanced all six senses—yes, I am also talking about the sixth sense."

"A sixth sense is basically an extrasensory perception that is beyond the five common senses; to smell, see, taste, hear and touch. It's the ability to perceive something that isn't there. Such as when you feel like the guy behind you is staring or when you feel like you forgot something at home. It's that gut feeling. Some people believe it extends to connecting with the spiritual world or talking to dead people. The Snipers aren't after that aspect though. They are after the thought of the ability to perceive and expect things before they happen. To see where the bullet will hit before it even leaves the gun. While heightening the other senses would be extraordinary. A super human. A mutant."

"Except like all scientists, things go wrong. This an illegal act at the time and how if anyone knew what they were up to, people would start snooping and possibly, would want to steal their research. Swore to never tell, the Snipers decided to play it safe and to always eliminate the failed experiment or 'Project'. They wanted no evidence about this drug, afraid it would fall into the wrong hands since during that time, and the rising gangs who threatened their hierarchy were the Eagle's Eye and Cold Bloods."

"When producing the seventh experiment, aka Project 8, moles and double crossers became frequent. Eventually the Cold Bloods managed to find out about this sixth sensed drug, a war broke out. It was a massacre, hundreds of both Cold Bloods and Snipers dying per day. It was a fight over the drug and the Eagles viewed the battle from above, waiting to strike at the winner. Power, wildcat. Power is what all gangs want. It is what drives us insane."

"Then a brave solider from the Cold Bloods—he ran as a one man show. He realized just like the Eagles that the Cold Bloods were losing. There were more Snipers to begin with and he noted it would be the end soon. He decided if the Cold Bloods weren't going to have the drug and all its research—no one would."

"The solider was one of the Cold Bloods greatest warriors. A young fellow. He managed to destroy the Snipers base and all of the drug's existence which included generations of research. Everything was eliminated with the new nuclear technology and the bomb harmed many of the Sniper youths. You can now tell who was born and raised within the Snipers—those with a scar from the explosion. That decreased the number of Snipers and you could tell—when you hurt family, vengeance will rise."

"The soldier almost escaped too. Poor soul. The Snipers found him and were ready to bring death upon him. Yet the solider was a Cold Blood and knew had manipulative skills like a Seducer and created a strategy a Visionary could only create in seconds. He had the strength of a Dynamo to stay alive for that long while still having the power to be demanding. He had a proposition and confessed before he destroyed the drugs, he injected one into himself. He injected Project eight, the latest drug at that time, into his system. They couldn't kill him—he was the only piece of information left of their generations of work. He then continued, saying they could have his child, the child being Project nine. The drug was proved to be a genetic transferring substance. Now, the Snipers never before had a willing candidate to breed with drug. Only Snipers tested the drugs ever since the beginning. And since they strongly believed in choices, they never forced a family member to breed—it a dangerous risk."

"The entire Council there during the kidnapping of the solider, they decided to agree to his terms and freed him. He would have to report back to them in a year with news, and plugged a tracking device in his arm. Not a fool, the solider managed to extract the tracking device. Then he disappeared off the Earth, no one sure where he went. He just...vanished without a trace. And soon, once it dawned on everyone that the drugs were gone, the rest of the Cold Bloods started to disappear too. "

"What the Snipers didn't know was that the solider only made that bet because him being a player, he thought he would never have a child. Him being a young fellow, he was early in the Cold Blood stage and wasn't a full member—still able to feel certain emotions. He had his memory purposefully removed, incapable of handling the gang life. He couldn't forgive himself for the lives he'd taken so wanted to forget."

"Little did he know that was the biggest mistake because not knowing the dangers of having a child, his wife carried the seed that held the child of Project 8. That project inside his wife's stomach, was Project 9; You wildcat."

I didn't notice my knees were brought to my chest, arms wrapped around them with my chin resting on top. I was shaking. My father. Brian Daniels. The goody two shoes cop—was a Cold Blood.

But Romane wasn't finished.

"Before you break into any reaction, I want to let you know about the drugs the Snipers produced. Before the research was exploded, the Snipers recorded each phase the patient went through after the drug was injected. Ever since Project 8, they had four phases."

"Phase one: Expansion to perfect body. Muscles and bones flawlessly proportioned to get a healthy body weight."

"Phase two: Possible side effects such as extremely dry skin or rashes with anxiety usually being the cause."

"Phase three: Emotional vulnerability and sensitivity."

"Phase four: The increase of the sixth sense."

"These phases might not happen in order, the results changing throughout each Project. When at the bench press, and with your acts in Hong Kong, as the first and only participant of Project 9, I theorize you are experiencing a new phase. Phase five: Erratic ego alternations."

Things were diving into my mind faster than I could handle. I reached for the bottle of vodka and chugged. Bad idea. A second later I started hacking and snatched the offering bottle of water Romane quickly attained.

The flames streaking down my throat weren't the reason why I was lightheaded. The Gods mustn't have pitied me because something then happened.

A bolt of realization struck my head. How the scarred Snipers were all perfectly shaped, flawless appearances...they were doused with a drug. Project 10. I was the only offspring of Project 8, making me the only copy of Project 9. How they managed to create a new drug...

But that wasn't the main matter. The Snipers were using the revenge from those youths who got hurt younger in the explosion, to persuade them to take the drug, Project 10. I recalled so many model-like figures from their base. So many.

The Snipers were creating an army.

"How do you know all of this?" I asked Romane, unsure if he knew about this frightening possibility.

He sat beside, rubbing small circles in my lower back. "Wildcat. As an Eagle I like it here in the skies—not because I want to look above but below—I can see everything. Therefore I know everything. I have my share of sources too."

I swung the bottle up and shot more alcohol down my mouth. I wanted to drown these emotions, obliterate the mixed feelings that made me want to explode. My dad being a Cold Blood, how he made a deal, the new phases, the army.

Why were they building an army? I didn't understand. There were no more Cold Bloods.

With your acts in Hong Kong, as the first and only participant of Project 9, I theorize you are experiencing a new phase. Phase five: Erratic ego alternations.

In Hong Kong. My actions. The voice in my head. They were very impassive. Deadpanned. Unemotional.

Signs of a Cold Blood.

The next breath struggled into a wheeze.

My heart was disappearing.

ϮϯϮ

Just to be clear, Romane is 21 years old. And yes, some of this writing is quite immature and childish because this story takes on the perspective of Jessie, who is sixteen.

Yah. Feel free to be crept out by the age difference but meh. DEAL WITH THE REALITY THAT PEOPLE DON'T HAVE TO BE AROUND THE SAME AGE TO BE ATTRACTED TO ONE ANOTHER.

I read all the comments so to those readers who are asking questions about things that happened earlier in the book, I have not forgotten about them. I strategically placed them in the future parts so please be patient : )

It's 4am here...gosh, again I'm sorry for mistakes!

Hope this chapter cleared some things. What do you think? I know some of you thought her dad was a Cold Blood. Did you expect the other things? No?

Thanks for reading! : D

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