While still struggling to catch my breath, my ringing ears hear hand claps and whistles from upstair. Slowly I move my body to stand up. When I finally stand up, my men and Mr. Perez have approached me. I look at my chest. Paint is all over it while inside, it hurts like hell.
I grab my Mr. Chekhovsky's doll that still perfectly in shape. I smile and raise my arms to the sides of my body. "And that, my friends, is the reason why my future wife can have her yearly fancy vacations and my future kids can go to college," I utter to them with a little act of smug. They laugh.
"Was Bosch's test that hard, Mr. Chang ?" Jackson asks.
"No. Bosch's test only used the beta version, ten weapons, and the AI is still on its first phase of learning," Mr. Khamar answers it for me from the balcony of second level. I nod to agree.
"It is not about how hard the attacks are. It's about training your reflects to always protect Mr. Chekhovsky," I add.
"As example, what I went through is very little likely to be happened in daily life of Mr. chekhovsky. It may only happen in war. But the point is, at sudden attack, my reflect is to protect him. Put his safety first, against everything." My men nod in understand.
"Okay, let's get start it then," I clap my hands to encourage my men. "This training will be divided into fourth level. First, you will be splitted into two groups of five. The second, groups of three and four. Third, you will be paired. and last level, you will do it alone. On each level you need to be succeed twice. If you fail, you will be punished, a bullet hit by each members of other groups. I will randomly select the groups," I announce to them the rules.
The first level is doing great. The two groups are easily pass the test. The struggle starts to happen at second level. Only one group can pass smoothly, while the other two need to do it four times before they pass.
I decide to end today's training at 10 PM after finally all pairs made it trough third level. Only one level left. but it is the most difficult one. I know I promised them the training wouldn't stop before they all pass the fourth level, but they were too exhausted to continue. If I forced them to continue training, it may wound them. So, I told them to go home and get rest then meet me tomorrow morning at 7 AM.
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After taking a shower, I grab my beer and sit on my couch. Having a thought to finish a bottle of beer before go to bed, my mind reminds me that I haven't turn my phone since the training was over.
I reach the phone from the coffee table and turn it on. Not many messages. Only Andy who informed me he is back in town and some girls asking me out. It is Saturday night after all. If I don't have to train my men tomorrow, I will definitely catch up with the girls. It's been quite sometimes I don't have fun. It is even almost two months that I haven't had sex. I sigh. Am I getting old ?
My other phone on the side table is suddenly ringing, grabbing back my attention. I glance at its monitor, unrecognized number. So I put it beside my IP scatterer machine and plug cable on it before answering the call.
"Scorpion.."
"Speaking."
"I want you to kill someone."
"Excuse me, but who are you ?"
"I won't tell you unless you agree to do it."
I snort. It means that the caller is someone who doesn't get use his hands to be dirty, or at least looks dirty.
"Send me the victim's profile.." I tell him my email address.
"Done," he says after a minute. I open my inbox. A new mail from hardcock6789. This guy is really careful about his identity. I click on the email and immediately frozens to see the victim's profile.
"Will you do it ?" the caller asks impatiently after a minute of silence.
"No," I immediately answer after woke up from my stun.
"Why ?"
"She's not worth to die, obviously."
The caller laughs. "As an assassin you have a high moral," he mocks on me.
"Who are you ?" I ask him.
"You don't need to know since you refused me."
"Why do you want to murder the victim ?"
"It is really none of your business."
"No one would kill with no good excuse."
"Oh, really ? So a million dollar is not a good excuse ?"
I don't say a word.
"That's okay. I will find another assassin who agrees that amount of money is a good excuse to kill her." With that sentence the call is ended.
I slowly put away my phone from my ears then click the victim's profile that is attached within the email he sent. The first thing on the profile is a picture of the victim. Female. Beautiful face. Red hair. Green eyes. Red thick lips. Jennifer McCourtney.