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(continued)

Pacific Ocean, 201 miles off the Oregon coast

May 12th, 2019

That’s not supposed to happen. He’s got the brains of an animal I was told when I took this assignment. He didn’t think like a human when he went into this state, that’s what I heard, and I know I heard right since I was listening intently. So what the hell?

It hits me only a moment later, but thankfully it doesn’t come with a sudden strike or blow that might end the story for me. Instead I realize that even a dumb animal can learn how to avoid danger when they sense it, and since this kid is still human part of him must still recognize the danger that certain objects can bring. He’s not as dumb as I was led to believe obviously, and that makes this game just a little more dangerous, as well as unpredictable. Now I really have to think about how I’m going to put my next few plans into motion.

The first thing I want to do is make sure that the little shit isn’t hanging on to the railing just to mess with me. So thinking I peer over the railing, gun still drawn and ready to pump a few shots into my adversary if I need to. A quick look however tells me that he’s not, and the blood trail I see on the deck indicates that he’s entered the lower level and is probably-

Yep. Just as I turn around I hear the snarl of anger as I spin and fire off several rounds before he tries to grab for the gun in my hand. The kid is just too fast somehow and not a single shot finds its mark, not even from less than ten feet as he closes the distance, lashing out as I manage to move aside just in time to avoid his raking fingernails and deliver a painful kick to right knee as I hear the thing crack and buckle. That’s a small victory, but it comes with an instant cost.

Be it adrenaline or whatever is racing through his veins the kid finds the strength to straighten that knee for just a split second and lash out in turn, and the fist he clubs me with leaves me seeing stars for a moment. I’ve been hit a few times in my life, first by a boyfriend in junior high that didn’t realize I’d learned how to hurt people in grade school, and most recently by a commanding officer that had decided I was an easy piece of meat to intimidate during basic training. They’d both been taught very quickly that I don’t suffer idiots that see my slight frame as weak, and both of them had been sent to the hospital soon after.

Of course in the case of the latter I was just about kicked out of the Army for striking a commanding officer, but had been welcomed back when the trial had been over. It was more than a little controversial thanks to the circumstances, but I ignored the stares, the whispers, and the added pressure that came from the incident until being discharged from the Army nearly six years later. I was still in my mid to late twenties at that point and had been skilled enough to sign on with a band of mercs that had been very hush-hush about their operations.

But back to it, right? Those individuals that had seen me as weak had paid the price since I can hit a lot harder than you think. But this kid made those that had struck me in the past look like weak little bitches. His knuckles felt like stone and the force behind them was enough to send me staggering into the nearest solid surface. The glass doorway leading in front the deck cracked and almost shattered as I fell into it, but it didn’t give way.

You might find this funny or not, but I actually pride myself on not passing out at that moment.

(to be continued)

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