It's all so much; the tall, neverending white stone walls, the clammering of voices and rustling of clothes and bags, the sweat and blood lacing with the fabrics of these childrens' uniforms as they permeate the air nauseatingly, the calluses of my war-torn hands being scratched at by my fingertips as I push my nails further into my palms until they burn, the bitter mucus clinging to my throat as it sours my tongue. It makes me want to tear down all in my path.
Everybody stares and watches us as we march past them, guffawing at the outsiders who are 'so quiet' and 'much more pale than the locals.' Meanwhile, as each of them make themselves noticeable and stand out on purpose, all I can think to say is, 'I hope you all learn the hard way how to die.' But instead, I keep my mouth shut and continue to follow our fairly silent, completely unremarkable guide.
The room we're brought to is overdecorated: posters line the walls like a recording studio with padding, except all the brain numbing designs are covered in dust to the point where one can hardly make out what they're for. The person has a name plate on his desk, a plain knife engraved with his name, a nametag on his uniform, and his organization is a mess; highly classified documents are spread all throughout the scratched up stone top, including his ID, and the class lists that detail the many young assassins strengths and weaknesses along with their code names.
We're screwed if this place is ever invaded.
"Nice to meet you, Juniper and Blake, my name is Prince-"
We know.
"And basically my job is to give you guys these-" He slides us a few different items, one is a folded up map, another is an unsealed, unmarked enveloped, and the last thing is a set of keys, Antonio grabs the map, and I reach for the envelope, opening it and finding fifty hungins, starting cash that fits with our backstories, I don't know what the economy is like here so we'll see how far this will take us. "You know, I used to go on missions like these as well, granted I was a bit younger than both of you, but-"
"Is there any information you were instructed to share with us regarding the mission?" Antonio cuts him off, and I work to hold back a smirk as I lean over to scan the map of Rapard; it is mostly unmarked, with only the major settlements, some key stations for fuel resupply and some spots that our targets frequent.
"Oh yes, uh, I've been instructed by my superior, Rodrick Guiser-" Antonio and I fight the will to glare at each other. "-to instruct you both to head for Desx, but it is very important-" His voice raises now, frantic as he adds, "That you both avoid the settlement known as 'Snowfall of Explosives' it is the capital of Rapard, yes, but the people living there are so much more dangerous than the targets you have been assigned to. That area is not a land of our beautiful, colourful sands, but instead of ash."
"Is that all?" Antonio inquires, barely looking up from the map.
"Oh, and you aren't allowed to bring the map with you, you see, details like locations of settlements are always changing, so it is instead best to memorize it as is. Plus if people were to find a certain version of the map on you, especially a more recent one, then it'll likely begin to raise suspicions." He adds with fear, as though him telling us we can't keep something will lead to his immediate suffering.
"Alright," Antonio mumbles, taking one final look at the paper before folding it up and handing it back to the dark, skinny, worrisome man.
"Well you don't have to rush through it, it's not like you're on a time limit-" We remain silent, internally realizing the fact that Surtigian is well aware of how terrible Rapard is at keeping secrets and likely withheld information on purpose. "-how about you continue looking it over while I tell some stories from all the crazy shenanigans I did when I was your age."
We don't react, and instead remain monotone as we shake our heads, responding, "No thank you, we would rather get straight to work now."
"I guess it's true, the other nations really don't know how to live," The man mumbles, finally taking back the map and tossing it atop his mess of papers to the side. "Very well, I'm sure you both are well versed on how to find your ways out of here, so you may leave now, you can find your vehicle at the nearest depot, I took the liberty to have it equipped with a radio that only connects to us, that way you can report the mission as completed once the time comes."
That's a terrible idea, what if someone breaks into the vehicle and finds it, tracing us to here? These people are supposed to be good with technology after all, they'll likely know how to bypass any security systems put in place, and seeing how things are done here so far, I don't know if there are any.
We don't converse further and instead head through the doors, back into the bustling hallways, wordlessly disgusted by the standards of this nation. He never gave us a room or direction, nor where we can actually locate our vehicle, perhaps it was on purpose because we weren't listening to his highly confidential stories, or perhaps he's just an idiot.
"We could try asking one of the students, seeing how they behave here, I doubt they'll find it suspicious," Antonio suggests kindly, his sweet, artificial smile making me frown. He was colder back in that room, his face peeking through the mask, likely due to the pure rage rising within him.
"Fine."
"Excuse me," Antonio wastes no time to speak to the nearest person, their entire body is covered with a thick but breathable looking piece of orange fabric, they're about half our height and stop immediately in their tracks like a force has halted their movements. "Where can we find the mission departure hall?"
The voice comes out raspy as they stutter, "T-th-th-th-the foreigner departure h-hall can be f-f-f-found l-left of here, twenty turns d-d-down, with a singular d-d-door of s-sandstone, mar-marked '1A.'"
1A? Is there really only one room dedicated to the entirety of their foreigner mission departures? Is that why the guy never told us where to look? Does he assume all the schools only have one? In Sareanin we had at least five hundred.
"Excellent, thank you." Antonio grins and we head on our way, ignoring the wide eyes and loose flying weaponry. If we were to go silent right now and disappear, they'd likely all lose their shit.
We find the room with ease, another major security issue. That kid should be expelled. The door does not have a lock, at least not one that works, and is a simple push to open. The lighting is far too bright and humidity far too high. Far inside, by a rolling garage door, is a singular vehicle, a pick up truck that reminds me of a makeshift monster built with dozens of different body parts and organs but is still expected to exist like a normal human being.
Antonio clicks the keys, and the front lights illuminate, we steal a glance at each other, gazing around this unmonitored area as we walk towards our ride. It has dozens of rusted spikes in the front, the windows are made from melted crow bars, a skull is nailed to the hood which possess two massive tires—to better recover from rolls—each side has at least three tires in place of one, there are no doors, no seatbelts, and the back possesses two large claws on each side which appear to launch down with the press of a button and destroy anything that bothers to get in the way. On the back, underneath the bed of the truck, is a massive row of cylinders, prepared to launch out pure nitro with the push of a switch on the passenger side. The seats themselves are torn up and dusted, looking like they'll cut into our flesh every time we sit down. The driving wheel is pure metal and appears to have been welded by an amateur as the metal is far more noticeable yet each side appears to still be flimsily connected.
When Antonio moves to put the key in the ignition, he instead curses under his breath, turning to me with a cold stare, "The keys aren't right, it's hotwire only."
I furrow my brows and take a closer look. But the button worked just fine? Once I see it, a deep, hefty exhale escapes me, the key hole is melted shut.
"Fuck this place."