Rubbing her sore legs from landing on them, Toren looked around at the small metal room she had landed in. There was but a single door on the opposite wall, a chest on the side wall and a camera in the upper corner. There was obviously a speaker somewhere too because the Director was talking to her. “This will be your test, Ms. Night. It is quite simple. In the chest, you will find tools essential to your trade; using those tools, get through the door without tripping the alarm.” She could just see him sitting back in his chair, a snide smile plastered on his face. Fine, she would do his little test.
The chest had a padlock on it, nothing too complicated. Toren extracted a hairpin from the underside of her hair and picked the lock. Inside the chest was a complete set of picks, a short sword and scabbard that was to be worn around her waist, several throwing knives and something else that pricked at her memory. This chest had a false bottom. Adjusting her body to block the camera view, Toren pried it up and smiled mischievously.

The Director leaned forward eagerly. What was the girl doing? He saw her adjust herself to block the camera and then couldn’t see anything else. She checked all the equipment and moved to the door. Less than a minute and she was through. Smug, he leaned back folding his hands in front of him. It was only to be expected from the world’s greatest assassin and thief, after all, this wasn’t the first time this revival she had used these skills. The girl had broken into a military surplus store when she had runaway from her adopted parents for basic survival supplies: a pocket knife, food and some clothes. The store manager had been confounded on why the thief hadn’t taken any money from the register, but that wasn’t Ms. Night’s style.
She was moving into the next area, time to test her combat skills.

Toren snorted in disgust. The alarm was nothing to take out and the lock she could have done blindfolded. The next room was larger, shaped like an arena with no visible way out other than the door she had just used. What nasty surprise did they have for her next?
The door slammed behind her and a section of the floor moved. In the space where it had been was emerging an ash-monster, and this one was huge. Toren backed against the wall searching for a crack where the door should be or an access panel. There wasn’t any. Now the creature was lumbering toward her, sniffing her out. Her mind reeled from the strange sensation that seemed related to these things. They wouldn’t let it kill her, would they? She didn’t know how to fight! Or did she? The feel of the short sword’s hilt in her hand was oddly comforting, her feet slipping into a defensive position of their own accord.
The thing lunged for her and missed. With the dexterity of an acrobat, Toren flipped over its back, drew her blade and parried its clumsy backhand swipe. This one was strong; if they just traded blows it would overcome her own strength and kill her. She rolled out of the way and threw a dart into its eye. It howled; a sound so basic and subhuman it made her skin crawl. It slashed wildly at her, frenzied. She cartwheeled to the right and slid in behind it. There was a soft spot on its neck where she could slip in her blade. With a running start, she propelled herself onto its back, jabbed the sword into its neck and slashed to the side ripping it out. The thing took a last breath and disintegrated into ash taking Toren by surprise. She landed on her back, hard. Somewhere, fans kicked on and blew the ash away looking like fine snow before it was sucked up by a vent.
“Brava, Ms. Night. You are exceeding expectations at every turn. Now, if you would proceed through the door, we will set you up in your rooms.” The voice was unfamiliar, yet it was clearly excited and it made her smile, slightly. A door slid open noiselessly on the opposite end of the hall revealing a brightly lit hallway that reminded her of a hospital. Her handler was waiting there, jotting down notes on her clipboard and nodding appraisingly.
“This way,” she commanded in her clipped, professional voice. Toren followed her down the office hallway to a heavy steel door marked “Authorized Personnel Only”. Ms. Tanen typed in a short pass code on the electronic keypad (Toren made sure to remember it) and the door unlocked with an annoying buzz. The hall beyond was vastly different. Wood paneled walls and lush carpet led Toren to believe it to be a manor home complete with portraits and the occasional vase of flowers, it also led her to mistrust it.
Her rooms were down the hall, a flight of stairs and to the left. At first glance, the room appeared to be like any other in an expensive home—bookcases, a computer, four-poster bed, wardrobe and a door leading into the adjoining bathroom, but the Assassin’s sixth sense told her something else. Behind the paneling was her weapon’s cache along with various other tools, the computer contained files on several high-profile people and information on her enemies, the wardrobe contained several outfits to fit every occasion in which she might find a target and behind the bookcase was a secret stair leading to, what? Toren tested the bed while she waited for the handler to leave. She didn’t trust the woman, she didn’t trust anyone here, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to relax in their presence.
The door shut with an audible click and Toren jumped off the bed and ran to the computer. Maybe it had something on it about where she was. It asked for a password. Shit, she thought. She tried just pressing enter. No dice. Her name? Nada. What about her title? They had said she was the Assassin, right? A welcome message popped up and Toren grimaced. She would have to change that. The files on the desktop were all sorted by country, but there was one that was just marked Avengers. She clicked on it first. When the window popped up, it contained a picture of a monster similar to the one that had been set upon her earlier today. There were pages of information. Different breeds, population densities around the world and even graphs on homicide rates broken down by city. There was only one paragraph she was interested in right now.

Avenger: most commonly referred to as a monster, it is actually a being created from the wrongful death of another human being. They are made from ash and dust from which are human origins. An Avenger takes on the appearance of the deceased so the killer knows whose death is being avenged. Originally created from a spell to discourage riffraff from their illicit activities, the Avengers have gone beyond their function by going after innocents after avenging the original death.

Toren pinched herself; this had to be some really bad dream. She was awake. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. What was her part in all of this? Just who did they think she was? She had always been an excellent thief, but it didn’t warrant the title of Assassin, she didn’t kill people.
A soft knock on the door broke her train of thought. Locking down the computer, Toren peered through the peephole. It was the guy from before…and he had friends. Groaning at the interruption and for her own stupidity at ever getting on that bike, she undid the lock and opened the door. “What do you want?”
“And here we thought time away from the Branch might mellow you out some.” The boy from earlier said. “We’re here to jolt your memory. Now move over, we brought beer.” He shoved her out of the doorway. There were four of them all together, all different ethnicities—African, English, Latino and Middle Eastern. The Englishman was the guy from earlier; he handed her a beer then took a swig of his own. “So just how are we supposed to jolt her memory anyway?” They all turned to the African.
“We just talk to her. Don’t tell her our names, our titles, anything like that. Don’t even give her a timeline of any sort.”
“Are we just supposed to play twenty questions with her?” Latino asked. He was going through her books.
“Don’t touch the ones on the bottom; they’re booby trapped.” She swirled the beer around experimentally. Did she drink? The bottle felt comfortable in her hand as if she had sat at a bar and drank often. This room felt like home. The boys’ presence was comforting and those stasis pods…
  The bottle shattered on the floor, she shook violently, her whole body convulsed and she was on the floor. A whimper escaped from between her lips and then she screamed, curling in on herself. Images flashed to the front of her mind and then disappeared—people, places, events—years upon years of experiences all relived in a single moment of time. She was breathing heavily by the time it was all through, greedily sucking air into her depraved lungs. Strong hands deposited her on the bed, tears streaming down her face.
“I told you not to give her that beer until afterwards.” That was Jared, African. He was the Healer and the oldest.
“I have another one here. I thought if she drank it before, it would loosen her up a little.” Sean, English. He was the Soldier and the third oldest. Toren reprimanded herself for the feelings she had for him earlier: he was like a brother, nothing more.
“She probably thought it was drugged.” Fared, Middle Eastern. He was the Archer and second only to her as the youngest.
“Why would we do that?” Sean again.
“What do you think? She didn’t know who any of us were much less why a secret government agency basically kidnapped her!” Finally, that was Miguel, Spaniard. He was the Mage and the second oldest.
“Calm down. It’s the first time we’ve ever had to deal with something like this. None of us have woken up during a move before, for all we knew, she could’ve remembered everything and stayed away on purpose.” Jared explained.
“Guys?” Toren rasped. “I have a really bad headache now.”
“The alcohol helps. Here,” someone put a new beer in her hands. She took a long draw, and then started cussing.
“Toren’s back.” Sean smirked. Sipping at the dark brew this time, Toren paced, absentmindedly running her free hand over certain objects to insure no one had touched them in her absence.
“What the hell?! We were asleep for just over a decade and they still haven’t found that scroll? I’m starting to get tired of this gig!” It was the same rant she had every time she woke up. The scroll in question was the spell to wipe out the Avengers for good.
“How do you know we haven’t already found it?” Miguel questioned. He was always trying to find out just how strong she was, because she never showed her true power, using as little magic as possible and precise movements to take down her enemies—a true challenge for the last Master Mage.
“If that was the case, the Director would’ve sent you idiots out to find me sooner.” Sean acted as if he had just been wounded. Jared shook his head in disbelief. Toren had a way of reading people like an open book; but, now that the little sister of their makeshift family was back, things might get back to normal; and Sean might stop sulking, the Healer commented to himself wryly.
There was a soft knock at the door. Toren’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. There were very few people she could trust in this place and, besides the four guys who are always there, the rest had probably left. Fared reached for the door handle, but he apparently took too long. The heavy door slammed open causing all the room’s inhabitants to wince. A rack of clothes zoomed into the room accompanied by a high disembodied voice. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. It is such a nice change to finally be able to dress a girl. These guys have no respect for fashion and protest at some of my best designs…”
“That’s because your designs make us stick out like sore thumbs.” Sean protested.
“Anyway, if you’re going back out into the field, you need to look good! I did up all these designs, but I have to make sure they fit. I read your file and apparently your height doesn’t differ at all between each sleep cycles…” The guys snickered in the background knowing Toren hated to be reminded just how short she was and how she wouldn’t be getting any taller, “but all these should look so good on you and be flexible enough for work.”
“Um, excuse me, who are you?” This person sounded ditzy, but Toren had just gotten very scared for some reason.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I always forget to introduce myself. I’m Ahmi, the Branch’s financial consultant and volunteer fashion designer.” The woman was a blonde Indian, and not American Indian, but one from India. She looked like a model—tall and perfectly proportioned. From out of the corner of her eye, Toren noticed that Fared quickly looked away, blushing. Interesting, she thought. “Anyway, try this outfit. I designed it for maneuverability, stealth and hand-to-hand fighting.” Ahmi pushed her into the bathroom throwing the clothes at her.
“I have my own clothes!” Toren yelled through the door.
“Yes, but they’re all so outdated. Besides, the look I have in mind for you mixes the new and old. Trust me, it will look so amazing.” Toren snorted, but changed. She didn’t really fancy the track suit anyway.
It was all black. The shirt was made out of a stretchy fabric with three-quarter sleeves and a high neckline and a piece of fabric that she could use to hide the lower half of her face. The pants flared slightly at the bottom covering most of her boots. The boots themselves were made to be stealthy. They didn’t squeak at all and slipped right on without any clasps or zippers. To finish it all, there were a pair of black gloves that fit her hands so perfectly it was like an extra layer of skin. Toren had to admit, it was pretty nice, but it reminded her of thieves in the movies. Admiring herself in the mirror, the Assassin noticed the ventilation shaft in the ceiling. Perfect.
Toren emerged from the bathroom to Ahmi’s happy squeals. “It’s so perfect! I leave the rest of these for you to try on later. I’m late for a meeting. Bye-bye!” She bounced out of the room. Sean whistled; Jared smacked the back of his head. Fared seconded the whistle teasingly also receiving a smack from Jared. Toren rolled her eyes. They really were like her brothers. Jared the protective oldest; Miguel the quiet, scholarly second; Sean and Fared the immature youngest. They were one big, dysfunctional family.
“So, what’s been going on?” Toren rummaged through the closet searching for her belt. It had the pouches with all her tools in them still attached. She fixed it around her waist along with the scabbard containing her short sword. There was still one thing missing though. Her belt had a holster attached that clasped around her right thigh. It was for a very special gun; a gun that fired bullets that would immediately kill the Avengers. The bullets were made out of the same metal their other weapons were. “Hold it. First things first; where’s my gun?”
“I think it’s being updated,” replied Fared. “I prefer to stick with my bow. It doesn’t need to keep up with the latest technology.”
“Have you looked at bows lately? Never mind, you probably haven’t been out of this facility to go have fun. Why does my gun need an update though? It works fine.” Impatient, Toren marched down to the weapons lab where a familiar friend sat. Henry, their weapon specialist, sat at his worktable cleaning her upgraded gun. “Henry!” She hugged the aging man and then boosted herself to sit on the table. “So, what fun stuff you got for me this time?”
He chuckled. “And why must I always have something for you? Some would call that being spoiled.”
“Oh, come one. Pretty please?” She gave him her biggest puppy-dog eyes.
Laughing, he handed her the upgraded gun. “There ya go. Laser sight option, easy unloading feature, just hit this switch here to drop the clip. Try it out.” He tossed her a clip of blanks. Toren loaded, took aim at the target on the opposite wall and pulled the trigger. It was as silent as she remembered with hardly any kickback. She emptied the clip then hit the switch like Henry said to drop the clip. It was so smooth. She holstered the gun, gave Henry a quick kiss on the cheek and ran out disabling the cameras just for fun.
Toren’s magic was limited. It helped her be a better thief and assassin, but she couldn’t do the major stuff like Miguel. Still, no one knew exactly what she was capable of and she liked it that way. As long as it remained that way, they were always cautious around her. Her magic also kind of bugged her. Magic was passed down through blood and her family hadn’t been magical at all. They were poor peasants barely getting by from day to day. Anyone with magic usually lived well off. Toren couldn’t figure out why her mom had been killed other than pure spite.
Her mother had been stabbed a week before Toren had been born holding on to life only to give Toren a better chance of survival. Her whole family had been killed then leaving only Toren who was found by a beggar woman and taken to the Thieves’ Guild to be raised into the world’s greatest thief and assassin. She had never been caught until that one day. That was the day her freedom had been taken away and she remembered every detail of it.
“Ms. Night,” Ms. Tanen was coming toward her, interrupting her thoughts. “It is getting late. Please return to your room for the night.”
“What? Are you my mother now? Never mind, don’t answer that.”
“Ms. Night, as you are well aware, these rules are…”
“…for everyone’s good because I’m still untrustworthy and I’m still on probation. Geez, when are you guys gonna let me off probation? I haven’t killed anyone the Branch hasn’t approved of since I came here.”
“Yes, well…”
“Forget it. I’m going.” Toren slipped into her room. Unfortunately, there was no lock on the inside, so she would have to be careful. She looked through the outfits Ahmi had delivered earlier picking out one that screamed clubbin’—a pair of tight black jeans, a red belly shirt that attached only on one shoulder and black knee boots with a heel. The heels were thick to survive an impact like, say, jumping down from a ventilation shaft.
She removed the grate from the bathroom vent placing it gently on the floor. She grabbed onto the edges and hoisted herself up, but someone grabbed her leg. “Sean,” she sighed, “get off.”
“No. Do you want to get us all in trouble?”
She lowered herself back down and looked him straight in the eye. “Let go. You didn’t see me leave.” His eyes glazed over and Toren disappeared into the ventilation system.