While still struggling to catch my breath, my ringing ears hear hand claps and whistles from upstairs. Slowly, I move my body to stand up. When I finally get to my feet, my men and Mr. Perez have already approached me. I glance down at my chest. Paint is splattered all over it, and inside, it hurts like hell.
I grab my Mr. Chekhovsky doll, still perfectly intact. Smiling, I 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 say, adding a little smugness to my tone. 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 was still in its first learning phase," Mr. Khamar answers from the second-floor balcony before I can. I nod in agreement.
"It's not about how difficult the attacks are. It's about training your reflexes to always protect Mr. Chekhovsky," I add.
"For example, what I just went through is highly unlikely to happen in Mr. Chekhovsky's daily life. This kind of situation only happens in war. But the point is, in the face of a sudden attack, my reflex was to protect him—to put his safety above everything else." My men nod, understanding my words.
"Okay, let's get started then," I say, clapping my hands to energize them. "This training will be divided into four levels. First, you'll be split into two groups of five. Second, groups of three and four. Third, you'll be paired. And the last level, you'll do it alone. Each level must be completed successfully twice. If you fail, you'll be punished—one bullet hit by every member of the other groups. I will randomly select the teams," I announce.
The first level goes smoothly. Both groups complete the test without trouble. The struggle begins at the second level. Only one group manages to pass without issue, while the other two have to attempt it four times before succeeding.
I decide to end today's training at 10 PM after all pairs finally complete the third level. Only one level remains, but it is the hardest. I know I promised them that training wouldn't stop until they all passed the fourth level, but they are too exhausted to continue. If I force them, they might get injured. So, I tell them to go home, rest, and meet me tomorrow morning at 7 AM.
After taking a shower, I grab a beer and settle onto my couch. Planning to finish a bottle before bed, I suddenly remember that I haven't turned on my phone since training ended.
I reach for it from the coffee table and switch it on. Not many messages. Just Andy informing me he's back in town and a few girls asking me out. It is Saturday night, after all. If I didn't have training tomorrow, I'd definitely be out with them. It's been a while since I've had fun. Almost two months since I've had sex. I sigh. Am I getting old?
My other phone on the side table suddenly rings, dragging me back from my thoughts. I glance at the screen—an unrecognized number. I set it beside my IP scatterer machine, plug in the cable, and answer 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 take the job."
I snort. That means the caller is either someone who doesn't get his hands dirty or at least wants to keep them looking clean.
"Send me the victim's profile." I give him my email address.
"Done," he says a minute later.
I open my inbox. A new email from hardcock6789. This guy is really careful about his identity. I click on the email and immediately freeze when I see the victim's profile.
"Will you do it?" the caller asks impatiently after a minute of silence.
"No," I say immediately, snapping out of my shock.
"Why?"
"She's not worth killing, obviously."
The caller laughs. "For an assassin, you have a strong moral code," he mocks.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"You don't need to know since you refused the job."
"Why do you want her dead?"
"That's really none of your business."
"No one orders a hit without a reason."
"Oh, really? So a million dollars isn't a good enough reason?"
I remain silent.
"That's okay. I'll find another assassin who agrees that a million dollars is a good excuse to kill her."
With that, the call ends.
I slowly lower my phone, then click on the attached victim's profile once more. The first thing I see is her picture.
Female. Beautiful face. Red hair. Green eyes. Thick red lips.
Jennifer McCourtney.