That night, after a delicious dinner, I take a shower and put on sweat pants and a blue long sleeved shirt. I look on my computer for my cousins again. Still nothing. I soon get bored and decide, since Jama and Ronnie are both sleeping, to explore more of the house.



I get out from under the covers of my bed and slip on some slippers. I grab a flash light just in case and slowly turn the handle of my door opening it. I peek my head out and look down both hallways making sure nobody is awake, which I’m pretty sure no one is. I finally walk out of my room and down the right hall, down the stairs.



I remember seeing a door around the corner that I would like to look in. Probably a closet. I guessed earlier. But when I walk over to it and open the door I figure out there are stairs on the other side. I feel for a light switch on the side of the wall but feel none. I decide to turn on my flashlight and see how far the stairs go down. I walk down ten stairs then turn left, then walk down ten more and turn left again. I do this about ten times before I reach the bottom.



I look around only seeing pitch blackness. I repeat my motives from before and feel for a light switch. I soon find one and switch it on. I almost gasp at the sight.



The whole ceiling was a huge white light. The walls were concrete. Along the walls were outfits worn by manikins. Weapons stored in cases and portraits of people in between the weapons and manikins. The whole middle was wide open.



I turn off the flashlight and go up to one of the pictures. It was a boy in his early twenties. I read the caption underneath. John Bail. Born November 2nd 2000. Loyal soldier and Prodigy. Died: 2030. Death caused: Gunshot. Fought in Water war of 2019-2024.



I look at the portrait again seeing the outfit that was being worn by the manikin was indeed the outfit the man was wearing in the picture. He looks noble and proud. The weapons listed must have been his when he died. I walk to the next portrait of a woman. Then another and another. I count about twenty on one wall and the same amount on the other. The room is still huge to fill up more. The pictures range back years.



Each picture has a caption and some kind of weapon and outfit to go with it. Some captions stated what the person did during their time at war or who they killed. I see something on the back wall and walk over to it seeing a table with books and notes. Then I look up and see Portraits of victims with red X’s on them. Some are clean. I recognize some of them. Union leaders, Commanders, and Sargent’s.



Then I spot him. I stare blankly into his eyes. I can barely breathe. My throat collapses as I stare into the eyes of a murder. My father’s portrait hangs proudly, without an X, on it. He wears a commanding Union uniform. I feel my body burst in anger. “I will kill you.” I hiss.



I soon find the guts to look away from him and turn my attention up to the Union leader. Hudson Grey. It says under the picture in gold. I look at the man. He has a mustache and gray hairs starting to poke out from his black ones. He wears a red cloak with ampules on his shoulders. He has on a star pendent and has dark brown eyes, they’re almost black.



I scrutinize the other people up there without the X’s on them finding about over half of them are still alive.



“I see you have found the sacred room of Prodigies.” I whip around seeing Jama standing in the middle of the room smiling at me. He is walking with a cane and has his atomic leg taken off. He is favoring his left leg trying to support his body weight.



“The sacred what?” I ask confused not moving.



“This room was used for training purposes, it still can be, but people have decided to put up the history of the wars upon these walls.” Jama says limping towards me looking around. “These men date back almost to the civil war. Each one has a history and a meaning in life.” Says Jama.



“Did you train as one?” I ask. “I don’t think I saw your portrait on the wall?”



“You probably did, you just didn’t recognize the name.” He walks, limps, over to a place in the wall only a few away from the end. He stops in front of one and looks up at it. I stand next to him looking up at the caption:



Andrew Kendral. Born: 2000. Became Prodigy in: 2043. Lost leg during bomb incident in 2049. Retired as a Prodigy in 3049 after incident. Became known as Jamahoro and helped train the new Prodigies.



“Why did you change your name?” I ask confused.



Jama looks at the picture. I can tell he’s studying it closely for some reason. Then I see a tear come out of his eye and fall down his cheek. “I am no longer Andrew. I never want to be the man I was, Kimberley. Maybe if I was Jama and instead of Andrew I would still have my leg today.”



“What does that mean?” I say curiously. Jama hesitates then stares at me. He sighs and walks over to a chair sitting down. I stay sanding.



“Andrew Kendral was a man who had nobody to look after, nobody to care for. After his father and mother died and he was left alone with his older sister, Cindy, he never wanted anything to do with his life. So at the age of fifteen he started to drink. Yes, and I mean drink.” Jama stops at that part but continues on after a second. “He was an alcoholic. He couldn’t stop. Soon he was given a mission with his sister in the war front. He felt lousy that day after drinking two bottles of scotch. Andrew could tell the bomb was coming but his mind didn’t react enough. Soon the explosion came without warning. He flew back unconscious. The thought didn’t occur to him until three days later when he woke up that his sister had been killed.” Jama stops again taking in the moment.



“There was nothing left of her. Nothing. It was all blown to bits. That’s when Andrew realized his leg was gone. But that didn’t matter. He was drunk. He soon realized that if he didn’t drink that day then he could’ve warned Cindy, she could still be alive today. But no Andrew made the decision to kill her when he started drinking. After that day . . .” Jama takes in a deep breath before going on, “Andrew was no more. He changed his name to the Jamahoro. He never went by the name Andrew again. Andrew was dead. Andrew is no more.”



“After that I swore my life to help the training of the War Prodigies and hopefully, one day pay for my mistake.”



I see the tears start to form in Jama’s eyes. I can’t help myself from leaping into his arms. He hugs me tightly back. “I’m sorry I whisper in his ear.”



“It’s not your fault.” He says. I push away standing up. “Well what happened afterwards?”



“Never drank again. I haven’t touched a bottle of wine or alcohol since the incident.” He looks across the room at a portrait of a woman with a muscular figure. She has short blonde hair and brown eyes. One thing was by her picture, a sword. But I realize it wasn’t hers. It was Jama’s. It was with him in his picture on his belt. “So after she died, you devoted your life to this.”



“Yep, do you realize something though Kimberley?” He asks me standing up from his chair. “About all these Prodigies?” I look around at all the people and their weapons. “No.” I say.



“All these people haven’t see the end of war beside me, but I don’t necessarily count. I retired before my time was up. Everyone here has either died or has won the war for their country but died shortly afterwards. No, no one here has seen the end of a war.”



I nod my head in understanding looking around some more at the pictures. Then my eyes spot at a young girl at the end of the wall. I get up and walk over to it looking at the face. I don’t recognize it at first. Then I read the caption underneath it. Luka Undersnon.



“Luka,” I gasp. She was only ten. “You trained Luka?” I turn to Jama who stands up hobbling over to me on his one leg. He comes next to me looking at the picture. “Yes. Even though she was young she had a lot of potential. I only trained her for a year though. Then she returned to Logan and the lodge. The year after that, I was told she died in a fire explosion during the bombing of Thero Oil Plant.” Jama sighs. “I was horrified on that day. I couldn’t believe it. I remember she had a sister as well, but she was never seen again after the explosion. She just ran away after she heard the news. Nobody ever saw them again.”



I comprehend the whole story in my head. Luka was trained by Jama for a year. Then she was at an Oil plant that was bombed. She died, and her sister took off after hearing the news. If she was never heard from again then she is surly dead. I remember Logan telling us Luka died on a winter day. Her sister would have to be nuts trying to run away. In all reasoning, she’s dead.



I look at Luka then think of how I’ve been trained. I have been trained to fight. I’ve been trained to know surprise technics. And I have been taught a great lesson.



When I was still new to the lodge and it was my first month there, I remember I couldn’t do as many things as the other kids. I remember when Blake and I were fighting. I could feel my legs give out, my whole body went numb. I remember I fall to the ground feeling dazed. Blake dropped his weapon and rushed to my side calling Logan. I could feel Logan rush beside me kneeling down putting a hand on my chest. “Kimberley, are you okay?” He said calmly. I could feel my hearing come back into place then sat up. I looked around seeing all the people in the room who were fighting all make eye contact with me.



I thought I wasn’t meant for this. I felt my eyes become blurry again, but not from nausea, from tears. I got up and ran out of the room crying, “I’m not meant for this, I’m not meant for this!” I curled up on a couch outside the training room crying to myself.



Then I heard the door shut and I looked up from where I was sitting. Logan sat down next to me sighing. “What’s wrong?” He asked.



“I don’t fit in here.” I cried. “I don’t belong here. I’m a loser. I’m weak!” I stammered. Logan smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Kimberley,” he started, “Look at me.” I did as he commanded. “Do you think the people here were just born with this strength and the ability to fight, huh?” I wiped a tear away from my face. “Kimberley, none of us are born with this, you have to earn it. You’re not a loser. You’re not weak…”



“Then how come I feel like that.” I said looking down at my feet. “I see Blake shoot a 20ft shot with a bow and arrow and never miss. I see Jason shoot a gun and never miss a target-”



“Because, Kimberley, they have trained longer than you have.” He told me. “They have been here longer. Don’t worry you’ll time will come. You will be just like them.”



“But, they’re experienced. I just started.”



“You know what the qualities of a quitter are?” Logan asked me. I turn my head back towards him listening. “They’re weak, they whine. Losers give up. You know what I say to that?”



I shook my head. “I tell myself when I feel like I can’t take it anymore, when everything around me just is bad. I say to myself ‘I give up when my heart stops beating.’ That’s the time you should give up.”



I looked at him. “So you’re saying the only real time to give up is when your heart stops beating?”



Logan nodded. “If your heart doesn’t give out then you haven’t complete your task in this life. You’re not a loser, Kimberley. You just need to understand that this takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight, nothing does. Do you understand?”



I thought for a moment then nodded. He smiled back at me.



I snap out of my memory and look at Jama who is still staring at the picture. “Jama.” I start to say turning my whole body towards him. He looks down at me with his blue eyes.



“I will never give up. I’m not a loser.” I can see he tilts his head up listening and taking in what I have to say. “I’m not weak. You can push me however hard you want, as hard as you want. But I won’t crack under the pressure of you. I will only give up, when my heart stops beating.”



Jama and I stay silent for a second then he smiles. “Now that is, the attitude of a winner. The attitude of a Prodigy.”



“No,” I say sternly. “I don’t want to be called a Prodigy of War. That means your life is perfect and special. Everyone looks up to you. No, I’m not a Prodigy Jama, neither is Ronnie.” He stares at me in confusion. I stand straighter with my eyes locked on his. “I would like to be called an Assassin. Assassins make mistakes, they are frowned upon by their opponents, but their opponents can never beat them. An Assassin does what’s right for others, and also what’s right for them. I’m not a Prodigy Jama, I’m an Assassin.”



Jama grins with a proudness. Already I go on Jama’s good side. He walks up to me and grins down. “If you want to be an assassin, you shall be called the American Assassin. How about that?”



I grin slightly as he puts his arm around me. “Come, let’s go back to bed.” He leads me to the stairs. I allow him to go up first while I take one last look at the room. Then shut the lights off following Jama up the stairs.