Fᴇʙʀᴜᴀʀʏ 8, 2024
"Most people complain about neck pains, back pains or a pain of some sort, affecting their physical health. They ask for pain killers or a diagnosis from doctors, but what they fail to recognize is that the mind and body is connected. You can be the healthiest person physically and still get random pains, because of your mental/emotional state. Stress from a lot of things, depression and any continuous negative thought can cause fatigue, hypertension, joint pain, an upset stomach, headaches, etc. All that money is wasted at the doctor's office, when you only need to relax and control what you acknowledgement out of all the problems in your life. There's no need to worry about every little thing." Petro shakes his head. "Medicine will help you temporarily, because it's not a physical condition as you thought, it's in your head. If you don't improve mentally, the pain will always come back. For this reason, I say try to stay calm. No overthinking. No dramatic emotional breakdowns—"
"Emotions are a part of our everyday life, sir." Phillipeño raises a hand, speaking without permission, "We can't just shut it off, that's just as bad."
"I did not say shut it off." The short Russian man claps once, slightly aggravated because of the interruption. "I mean you should put limits on them. In life, too little of something your body needs will harm you and too much is the same."
"Nothing is safe." Alexa mumbles, peeking at both of them. She clears her throat, a dead look in her mismatched eyes as she says aloud, "Everything, anything can kill you at anytime and you won't even know when, why or how."
There's an awkward silence that travels with the breeze of the huge metal fan etched in the far corner of the studio. Phillipeño ponders on the words of his partner, while Petro looks at the girl with a bit of concern.
"Facts." Phillip states flatly after thinking about it.
This reality makes him nervous, and most of all, it also bothers Petro who quickly snaps out of his thoughts to change the subject.
"Alexa, today is your day. There's nothing to push back the process this time, so prepare yourself, child. Go to the medical room after class. I'll be there shortly."
Simply, she hums, "Okay."
On cue, a mobile starts ringing in a hidden pocket of the man's grey jacket suit. He picks out the Apple device delicately, answering professionally; his two students dive into a deep conversation and he walks out for privacy.
"Any updates on the target?" He asks, getting down to business.
They've been searching for Katya Sharpe for a week now.
"Yessir, but nothing you'd like to hear." Alan Whittaker, the top notch of Nobosklav's class, responds from the other line. "We still haven't found anything that can lead us to her. She just vanished, no tracks, not even a strand of hair was found in her room. She cleaned up well."
This is something Petro is not used to. In all his 25 years of running this secret institution, no one has ever ran away successfully. What's so special about this girl? Does she have connections? What the fuck is happening with these students?! They are all very different from the previous ones he's had every five years. They're all showing legendary talents, while assassin's before died quickly. They're all rebellious and filled with attitude, while others before followed orders, even if it was to get themselves killed.
Otherwise from Alexa, Katya is now the next special case, while Phillipeño has moved down to the third. This girl is making history.
Petro swears before hanging up and turning to see his students fighting in harsh whispers. Well, Alexa is the only one cursing, while Phillip is quiet, glaring at her.
"WHY WONT YOU ANSWER ME?!" She screams in utter rage.
The boy's posture weakens and he looks away. That's when she pounces, pinning a dumbstruck Phillip to the matted floor, a death grip on his arms above his head. Her lips are on his fiercely and her hair curtains their faces from prying eyes.....prying eyes....Pet–Petro, you shouldn't be looking...
"O-oh—" he clears his throat quietly, glancing at the tiles, then at his shiny tipped, leather shoes.
He nimbly walks away.