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Story #3?

I worked all day on this. Ain’t I just the most productive person there ever was?



Oh god, how did I get myself into this mess… Confusion and fear burn through my mind, a sliver of excitement simmering beneath them. I peer around the wall of heavy crates blocking my veiw, ready to run at the slightest bit of sound or movement.

“I see you’re adjusting well,” an deep voice whispers in my ear.

I jump back, my heart pounding in my chest. A wave of relief pulses through my brain as a familiar face steps out from behind me, grinning and holding his hands in the air.

I smile and punch him in the stomach. I am rewarded with a groan of pain.

“Yeah Dylan, I’m really getting comfortable with the thought that a renowned assassin is after me. And thanks for the heart attack by the way,” I reply in an accusing tone.

“No problem, and your jab was a delightful use of my time as well.”

I roll my eyes and duck away behind another pile of crates, catching sight of a flash of red and green about 20 yards in front of me. I note the direction the colors were going and begin running in the opposite direction.

A hand grabs my wrist, pulling painfully against my efforts to run away. I sigh and turn around, shaking off Dylan’s grip.

“Listen, I know this person. And she knows all the tricks in the book. Right now she’s probably sneaking up behind us, and chances are she’s going to be coming from that way.”

“Well- then what do you suggest I do?”

He shakes his head and grabs my hand tightly. “No, what we do. If we split up she’ll just pick us off, starting with the weaker one of us.”

I gulp, swallowing the knowledge that, though I won’t admit it, he is stronger than me.

“Wouldn’t want her to do that,” I say with a nervous laugh “and here I always thought I would be the first one to go. Guess even I can be wrong sometimes.”

“‘Even a broken clock is right twice a day’ sounds like it fits you better.” Dylan smirks.

“It’s not an insult if it implys that I’m right.” He begins to say something, but I clamp my palm over his mouth and put a finger to my lips.

“Shush,” I whisper. “I think I heard somethi- oh my god, are you licking my hand?!” I pull my hand away disgustedly, now warm and moist, and wipe it on the back of my pants. I hear the sound again, even closer than before. Rough boots scraping against the rotting boards of the dock, thumping slowly towards our small pile of crates.

“Damn it, okay, what should we do,” I mutter. “Now you’re gettin’ it babe,” he says with a grin. “Okay, we’re going to climb to the top of these crates, duck low so we don’t get skylined, and wait for her to pass. Once she’s clear of this section, we can sneak into the water.”

“Okay, one, don’t call me babe, and two, what are we going to do once we’re in the water?”

“I know a place. Now hurry up and start climbing, she’s getting closer.”

I make my way to the top of the heap, ducking as instructed once I reach the highest crate. The thumping has now turned into a tap, and a long shadow is coming around the corner to our left.

A tall figure unknowingly reveals itself to us, pointy boots tapping patiently towards us, face drawn into a confident sneer, platinum hair pulled up into a tight bun. I wince at the sight of her trademark bullwhip. I’ve only seen it a few times, and just on TV. But up close it’s even worse.

They say that it’s owner spends hours each night polishing it, until its silver gray surface is practically a mirror. I stare, watching it snake through the air, flicking back and forth as if it has a mind of its own, and finally coming to rest curled tightly by its owner’s side.

My eyes widen as I see that my own face, and Dylan’s as well are reflected clearly on the cold silver. If she just looks down, she’ll find us. I shudder at the thought of what that whip could do to human flesh. I slowly grab Dylan’s arm to get his attention, and motion towards the whip.

He looks at it, then me, shakes his head, and lifts his crossed fingers in front of my face. I sigh and cross my fingers as well.  I anxiously look back, not to the whip, but to the face above it. The breath catches in my throat as I realize that her black eyes are focused intently on our two faces.

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