“Welcome to the family!” Jon cried as the shutter zoomed up with a terrifying screech, revealing the lair that hid behind it. I stepped forward, narrowing my eyes, peering into the darkness and the few people I could see within it.

“Isn’t there a secret knock?” I joked, rubbing my eyes as they adjusted to the dark. Jon turned and smirked at me, sliding the shutter down behind me, the same terrifying screech echoing again, this time bouncing off the walls of the small lair, surrounding me.

​

“Not for us,” Jon muttered, slapping a hand on my shoulder, dragging me further into the lair. With my vision brightening, I could see more of the area. I say lair because that’s what it looked like, a space underneath a building that was concealed inconspicuously, alongside active guards whom all looked like they could pull your arms out of their sockets with a single pull. As Jon guided me further, the colours started to shift, turning from a dull grey to a vibrant purple, although not bright enough to shine forth, only glowing against the grey concrete walls and dark blue shelves that dotted the walls seemingly at random. I sighed and narrowed my eyes, a sense of confusion lapping over me.

​

“You know Jon,” I said quietly, suddenly aware of the three people stood behind me. “When I said I was looking for a job, I kinda hoped you would pay me to do something. Not bring me to your crack den.” Jon laughed and smacked my shoulder again. When he stopped laughing, he released me, walking towards the wall in front of us, sitting himself on the shelf that sat there. Instantly, the shelf lifted him to the ceiling, the man’s crafty smile still unmoving. I jumped back, fists pulled back, senses alert. Behind me, I could feel the three men closing in.

​

“Sorry Greg,” he called from the roof of the lair, which was much higher than I had been expecting. “But I've got to make sure you're up for it.” I arched an eyebrow and turned, a fist flying towards me. Before the man could react, I gripped his fist with both hands. Using him as an anchor, I spun him around. Planting a foot on the second man’s chest, I spun, twisting the first man’s arm. The man screamed as he buckled to the floor. Still in the air, I twisted, landing on the screaming man’s back, another snap echoing through the lair, accompanied by his limp limbs hitting the floor. The third man was now charging it me, a low growl in his throat. I ducked under the strike, another hitting my head. I fell to the ground and rolled back to my feet, but the man was faster, kicking me down again. With a roar, he leapt into the air, both fists together, aimed at my head. In a flash, I was back on my feet and fastened an arm around his neck. The man let out a squeal of shock, but didn’t struggle for long. Behind me, I could hear the second man running towards me, recovered from his earlier injury. With a sigh, I released the third man, gripping his collar and spinning him, tossing him against the second man. Both men landed on the floor with a crack, followed by light groans. Above me, a low, precise clap began, followed by an entertained chuckle.

 

“Now, I really enjoyed that,” John sighed, the sound of the shelf descending causing me to look up, watching as the man was lowered back to the floor. He hopped off, still clapping, and walked towards me, a grin on his face. “You did good.” I arched an eyebrow again, looking around at the two unconscious, one dead, men.

 

“Is there a reason for this?” I asked. I had known Jon for a while, knew how he worked, but he had never done anything like this, especially not to me.

 

“Remember the job I had for you?” Jon said, ignoring my question. I always thought it best to allow the man to have his train of thought, it was easier for both of us. I nodded at him, folding my arms across my chest. “Well, it's more of an occupation than a job.” I opened and closed my mouth, trying to find a follow-up question. Jon looked at me knowingly, as if I had any clue what the man was talking about. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

 

“Once again,” I said slowly, “I ask, is there a reason for this?” Jon groaned and rolled his eyes at me, his smile still on his face. The shutter suddenly opened, its terrifying screech once again echoing around me. I turned and hissed as they blinding white light from the outside world pierced the dark aura of the lair. Amongst the light stood a tall, lean figure, flanked by a smaller, skinnier one. I narrowed my eyes at the shapes, willing my eyes to adjust faster. The figures walked forward, the light behind them draping them in an angelic-like glow that didn’t seem fitting. Eventually, my eyes adjusted, and I was greeted by the stiff face of a woman, her eyes cold and unmoving like a mannequin. Behind her stood the crouched figure of a man, pushing his glasses higher on his nose every few seconds. Unlike the woman, he was constantly moving, shuffling his feet against the floor nervously, despite not looking nervous. Jon suddenly appeared beside me, his grin still unwavering and eyes attached to me.

 

“This him?” the man asked. I looked back at the shuffling man. His eyes had shifted to the three men behind me and they widened with glee. He shuffled past the group, inspecting each body, nodding with everything he found. Frowning, I turned to the woman, who hadn’t moved, not even her eyes. The man swiftly returned to his spot behind the woman, his eyes still wide, creepily so.

 

“So?” Jon said, looking at the woman with enthusiasm. She slowly craned her neck to look at him and I could see her nostrils flare as she sighed.

 

“Give him a file,” she said slowly, her voice silky but cold as ice. “Then we shall see.” With no further words, she turned, the man beside her avoiding her, and walked out of the lair, back out into the bright light. Once she was gone, I turned to Jon, the questions built in my mind, but one at the forefront.

 

“What is going on?” I demanded. Jon turned to me, his smile still wide. Then, he looped an arm around my shoulders and walked me out of the lair, the shutter slamming behind us once we were out.

 

“Look,” he said, “have you heard of The Collection?” I narrowed my eyes, the name not sitting well in my mind. The Collection of the Brotherhood was supposedly the biggest group of assassins and hireable muscle in the world, creating a web of intricate connections that considered the most deadly human beings across the planet. It was also one of the most elite and prestigious groups, which made it almost impossible to get into, but it was a dream of anyone who lived a life like mine. My eyes grew and Jon’s smile widened as he recognised the look.

 

“That was The Collection?” I muttered. He nodded slowly, his grin still widening.

 

“Yep, the top girl there,” he shrugged, “I've got connections.” Suddenly, my spirits lifted and a grin appeared on my face. Once again, Jon wrapped an arm around my shoulders and started walking us further away from the lair.

 

“You're gonna have to perform your Trial though,” he continued, “know what that is?” I nodded, the stories I had heard coming back to me. From what I understood, The Collection, or better known as The Collection of the Brotherhood, was a group that prided themselves on their work with only the best of the best working for them, and there were limited spaces. It wasn’t a secret that the only way into The Collection of the Brotherhood was by either killing an existing member or having a certain amount of kills in your working life, and I'm relatively new to this world. This system had helped keep The Collection of the Brotherhood rooted as one of the most elite groups for people of my profession. “You're prepared for it?” Jon pushed. I arched my eyebrow and he raised his hands in defence. “Fair enough.”

​

​

* * * * *

​

​

The following day I received the file. The infamous file that was my ticket in. The man who delivered it had an unusually large grin on his face as he handed it to me, as if excited at my future work. He tried to start a conversation with me, but I didn’t care enough to finish it, making my excuses to close the door on his still chatting mouth. I listened until he walked away, his footsteps heavy and distinct. I made a mental note of the sound before turning to the file. On the front, written in red ink, read; “Remember; emotions cannot best your skill”. I frowned at the words, unsure of their meaning. I had seen images of Collection files over the last few years, but none of them had this text, even those who became initiates. If they also had a list of all my endeavours, they would know I actively avoid jobs with emotionally compromising factors, and I couldn’t be sure if this was directed at me. With my frown still prominent, I turned the page, my eyes widening as Jon’s face stared back at me, his face unusually still and unsmiling. I felt my legs shake and an extended sigh exit my lungs. His entire Collection file was in my hand, his frequently visited areas, favourite foods and hobbies. Now, the text made sense. I sat on my sofa behind me, my eyes still locked on the man’s stubbled face and his green eyes that seemed to stare outwards at me.

 

To say Jon was a good friend was an over-exaggeration of our relationship. We have known each other for the past three years, me only being a hireable assassin for six. We have grown close through our work, but that was it, we never spoke outside of jobs. I didn’t know his last name or anything about his family, nor did he know anything about mine. As far as I knew, there was no punishment for not taking up the job for The Collection, just a simple; “No thanks” and then you're free to go, but, as I said, it was one of the most elite groups to be a part of. It would also keep me safe from other assassins with The Collection Protection Guild, who made sure everyone within the group was alive at all times for various jobs. I threw The Collection from my mind and looked back at the file, avoiding Jon’s eyes as I reread the paragraphs of information, his frequent visits sticking in my mind. With a heavy sigh, I dropped the file onto the floor and it fluttered shut, the red text staring up at me again. I rested my head in my hands, the words glueing themselves to my mind, repeating over and over. I threw myself away from the file, trying to pull the words from my head. I couldn’t kill him, he was the only person I trusted in our world, and trust was something we were both lacking. But, The Collection was the next step. I growled at myself as I moved into my kitchen, my mind finally made up.

 

​

* * * * *

 

​

I knocked on Jon’s door the following week, already knowing his comings and goings. I knew he was home, the file said he would be, and I could even see a small light through the curtains at the very back of the living room. His hobby room, as he described it. I pushed the memory aside, not allowing my memories to cloud my actions. A light shuffle came from the other side of the door and then it clicked, swinging open to reveal a barely dressed Jon. At least his clothes would be spared. He grinned wildly at me, practically dragging me into his house, tossing me a beer as soon as he could. I took it gracefully, suddenly realising I hadn’t spoken since I walked in.

 

“How’s business?” I asked. Jon creased his brow and tilted his head, slumping down in the nearest armchair opposite me.

 

“Collection telling you to keep it down?” he asked back. This time, I frowned at him. The man had clearly been asking me questions, most likely about the file he knew I received. If only he knew.

 

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I said, trying to seem more casual, my mind already mapping out a quick escape if caught, or even the best weapon to use. The Collection hadn’t been specific. “I just want to know about you first.” Jon narrowed his eyes further but shrugged, gesturing to the hobby corner.

 

“In terms of the sculpting,” he said gruffly, “it's slow. Not many people want a sculpture crafted from some poor sods thigh bone.” He scoffed and turned back to me. “But in regards to anything else, again, nothing. The Collection says they want to give me some time to reflect on my previous jobs and see if there was anything I missed or something to that effect, I wasn’t really listening.” I snapped my head towards him and frowned but he grinned at me.

 

“You think there’s a reason?” I asked, leaning back on the sofa I had somehow arrived on. Jon shrugged and opened his can of beer, allowing the foam to spill onto the chair.

 

“Dunno, don’t care,” he sighed, sipping the liquid loudly, making sure I could hear every bubble that passed his lips. “Anyway, what about you? Got your file?” I looked at him and nodded quickly, an action not unnoticed by the man. Jon narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, setting his can down on the floor. Our eyes met, the emotions clear, as were the next moves.

 

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. He nodded slightly, as if understanding. His body tensed and he balled his fists, his jaw stiffening. Neither of us moved, waiting for the other to act. Outside, cars passed, oblivious to the scene beside them, or the carnage that would soon take its place. We both knew only one of us would leave the house. Slowly, I set my beer can down on the floor, my eyes never moving off the man opposite me. As his eyes darted to the can, I leapt forward, flipping his glass coffee table towards him, jumping onto the underside. As the glass hit his body, I hit the glass, smashing it against him, sending shards deep into his chest and stomach. The man screamed in pain, quickly pushing me off and rolling backwards over his chair to his feet, drawing a long bloodstain across the back. Quickly, I was back on my feet, running at him again, feeling my coat flapping behind me, but Jon was faster, pulling a long shard from his body and tossing it towards me. The shard struck my cheek, embedding itself within it and my vision blurred with tears and blood. I turned, feeling a rush of wind over me as Jon swung wildly at me, another grunt of agony coming from the man as he crashed to the floor, clutching his chest, another blood smear spreading across the floor.

 

We left each other for a moment, allowing ourselves to pull the shards from our bodies and regain what little strength we could. I was the first up, advancing on the shrivelled man with a newfound bloodthirsty rage. Before he even knew I was there, I gripped his shirt and pulled upwards, lifting the man high above my head. He squealed in shock, still pulling one final shard from his belly. Like a wounded animal fighting back, he started to shake himself, swinging his arms wildly at me, each hand clutching several shards, slicing my hands and head. Fury coursing through my veins, I jumped, slamming him against the roof, a small amount of dust and plaster crumbling away, and then I threw him across the room, the man landing awkwardly on his side, one arm limp, its shoulder popped out. Breathing deeply, I moved towards him again, but he was waiting for me. When I was close enough, he barged into me, sending me flying across the room, landing heavily on the floor. Once again, we each took a moment to gather ourselves, Jon still removing pieces from his bloodied chest. As he removed the final piece, he looked up at me, his face battered and bloody, his blonde hair matted and red. His eyes were bloodshot, clear tears building within them. Clenching his teeth together, he rolled his shoulder, popping it back into place with a muffled scream. I cleared my throat and got to my feet, removing my coat and allowing it to fall to the floor. My breathing deepened and vision focused, my mind looking for viable weapons to use against him. Our eyes locked again.

 

He moved first, gripping the vase behind him and throwing it at me. I dodged it, rolling further towards him, a mistake, I found, once I started to stand. His foot hit my nose, breaking it instantly. I hollered and fell back, Jon immediately hammering me with his fists, each hitting a new spot until I could feel my entire body bruising. With little time left conscious, I brought my legs up, slipping them under him and pushing him upward. I rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding his body landing where I was, but I didn’t have a moment to lose. I dashed to the kitchen, instantly finding his knife block sitting beside his microwave. I grabbed the first one I could, only to sigh in disappointment when the smallest blade out of the set appeared in my hand. I didn’t have time to switch, however, with Jon leaping through the kitchen doorway, tackling me to the floor, both hands attached to the wrist holding the knife. We landed heavily on the floor, centimetres away from the cabinets behind us. Jon quickly got the upper hand, rolling on top of me and pulling the blade towards my chest, hatred burning in his eyes. I was trapped, legs flailing behind him like a weak, new-born baby. We grunted against each other, both fighting for control of the blade, neither making any movement.

 

Acting hurriedly, I pulled myself upwards, trying to force the blade to the floor, but Jon had too much advantage. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed down, sending the knife into my chest. I screamed in pain but it didn’t phase Jon as he released the knife and gripped my t-shirt, pulling me up before slamming me back down to the floor, my head cracking against the tiles. He repeated and my vision blurred, sounds melding together, the noise of my skull against the floor echoing through my head. My eyes were looking at Jon’s, his forest-green eyes burning into my heart, as if he were trying to reach in and tear it out. With my head pounding and pain coursing through my body, with as much might as I could, I reach up and gripped Jon’s hair, pulling it. The man yelled and grabbed my hand, forcing me to let go, but as he did, he released my collar and I took my chance. In one swift motion, I knocked the man off balance, sending him to the floor, and pulled out the knife from my chest, bringing it down into Jon’s belly and slicing upwards. Jon didn’t have time to blink before the light drained from his eyes and his grip loosened, his limbs falling to the floor, limp.

 

I staggered back, exhausted. The knife was still embedded in his chest, stuck underneath his chin. The slice ran the entire length of his torso, deep red blood slowly trickling out, creating a crimson lake around the body, one that was slowly stretching across the floor, absorbing the small amount of debris that had collected from our brawl. As I sat there, allowing the blood to slowly stretch towards me, my pain slowly disappeared, the pounding in my head vanishing and my aching joints gradually fading until all I could feel was loss. Jon’s empty, dead eyes stared at the ceiling. His mouth hung open slightly, not wide enough for a scream, but I guess it was better that way. Carefully, I got to my feet, taking my time as I moved into the living room, inspecting the damage. There was a lot less than I was expecting. Suddenly, there was a quiet knock at the door and I whirled around, fists balled and senses heightened. Through the window, I could see a figure standing in front of the door. The figure was still, not even giving the illusion of breathing. I swallowed hard and moved to the door, bracing myself, checking to make sure I wasn’t too injured. Slowly, I unlocked and opened the door, revealing the woman I had seen earlier that week. She looked at me, her eyes still blank, emotionless. Without a word, she strode into the house, her dim eyes scanning the room around her, her gaze landing on the crimson river that had extended from the kitchen. Still silent, she turned back to me, a new glimmer in her eye.

 

“Good work,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly soft for her appearance, like a mother speaking to a child. Gracefully, she extended her arm towards me. I took it genially and she nodded at me. “Welcome to The Collection of the Brotherhood,” she said before turning and walking out, leaving me alone in the carnage, the river of blood slowly making its way towards me. She closed the door after herself, trapping me inside with only myself as a threat. As soon as I was sure she was gone, I collapsed to the floor, allowing tears to stream down my face.