In the Prestige Program, we were constantly assessed. Excellent academics, peak athletics, technical prowess, and utter ruthlessness were the expectations placed on us. Days were spent training in everything from hand-to-hand combat to infiltration to survival. Everything culminated during the prospect's first mission.

  My first mission was to be a powerful person of interest. He was a meta that had transferred to rival high school at the end of the previous semester. Yamato Toyoshima had ultimately fallen behind and was forced to transfer out. His sound wave manipulation would have made him an attractive asset to Eclipse, but he couldn't keep up with the training in the Program.

  Not wanting to suffer the same fate, I bowed to whatever our instructors pushed on us. They gave me the mission two weeks before the end of the school year. I would be shadowed by at least one instructor throughout the entire process who would evaluate my every move and decision. He offered no assistance and loomed over me like a guard watching a prisoner. I spent a week planning the operation while maintaining excellence in my daily activities.

  The day of the mission arrived, and I donned my equipment sincerely for the first time. The jumpsuit was a polymer blend that allowed for ease of movement while still providing a high level of protection. Since firearms were useless to me while my ability was activated, I had only one sidearm in the small of my back for absolute emergencies.

  My weapon of choice was the blade, several blades to be exact. The pouch on my thigh held a dozen sleek throwing knives each, and another handled knife was strapped to my other leg. Along my belt were various tools for both infiltration and exfiltration. Over all of it rested a long coat that had a type of distortion technology weaved into it for blending in.

  The sun was setting, and clouds had begun gathering in the sky. The instructor was silent as he took notes. Without a word, I left my dorm and began my journey to Mashima High School.

  My heart was racing. We had been trained to blend into any crowd, but as the train rattled side to side, I felt like I was radiating deadly intent. I wished I could use my ability to get to the school without having to go through any of it, but the amount of concentration required would have made me useless once I broke it. Even with all the training, I still could only manage half an hour before it became dicey.

  No one on the train seemed to notice me. They continued living their lives as if nothing was out of place. In fact, most people didn't even notice that I was right next to them. The coat was doing its job well. I exited the train shortly before the school and continued on foot. I had gotten into the computer systems previously and ensured that my target would be on duty today... alone.

  As I stood at the entrance of the school, I glared at the concrete and glass giant. The car passing behind me came to a stop. The birds landing on the wall stopped mid-air. Not a sound was made by any passerby. The instructor was likely a statue wherever he was hiding. I kept my concentration and walked onto the grounds.

  The already empty halls seemed to echo even louder. My heart began beating even faster, and I struggled to maintain my focus. I crept through the school like a shadow until I reached Yamato's classroom. The door was open, and he was finishing his duties cleaning the board.

  His hair was just past his ears and almost covered his eyes. He had large headphones on and wore a black face-mask. The room itself seemed nice. Although the dark clouds had covered the sun, there was still a warm light that filled it. I felt my heart in my throat as my mind began to wander.

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  What would it have been like to go to a school like this? Would I have had friends? A girlfriend? Would I have been targeted like—

  My concentration broke, and he began moving. I fell over from the pain in my head, and he turned around.

  "Who's there?!" He called out.

  I tried to regain control and freeze time again, but it was already too late. Once he saw the knife on my leg, he knew who I was and why I was there.

  "No," he started as he held up his hand. "No!"

  A blast of sound erupted from his palm. The desks were nearly obliterated between the two of us, and I went flying into the wall. A shard of one of the desks dug into my face along the way, and I saw the embedded piece of desk out of the corner of my eye and the stream of blood pooling below me. I struggled to my feet as another wave slammed into my chest and pinned me to the wall again.

  "You can't do this to me!" He yelled.

  I could feel and hear blast after blast of sound pressing the air from my lungs as my torso was being crushed. When I thought it was over, the pressure stopped, and I hit the ground.

  "No, no, not now!" He panicked as he tapped on his headset.

  He tried to pull his phone from his pocket but dropped it at my feet. As he reached for it, his hand and phone were buried under my foot. He looked up with a look of desperation on his face. I pulled the pistol from the small of my back and pointed it at his face. I didn't feel the blood on my face. I didn't feel the pain in my ribs. I didn't feel the recoil as I squeezed the trigger.

  I stared at his body as the small plume of smoke dissipated. Blood and brain matter painted the flood behind him, and his headphones laid in the pool. His eyes were glossy and bore no sign of life. I had taken my first life.

  "Sloppy," a voice came from the hall.

  I pointed the pistol at the door, but a hand caught mine and pushed it down. The instructor stared at me with cold eyes. I pulled my hand and replaced my weapon in my back. He leaned down and ensured that Yamato was dead. After he confirmed, he picked up the casing and grabbed my collar. Ebony smoke surrounded us, and darkness filled my vision.

  When I opened my eyes, we were back in my dorm at Makarov Academy. The instructor walked over to my chair and took a seat without saying a word. The pain came in waves, and I collapsed to the ground. In an instant, two people in white scrubs burst in and strapped me to a stretcher. The last thing I saw was the instructor huddled over his clipboard writing furiously.

  I opened my eyes again in the clinic. I was hooked up to an IV and heart monitor. The doctor walked in as I woke up. His face was hidden behind a white face-mask and glasses covered in glare. He didn't say a word as he checked my charts and the machines. As he walked out he nodded at someone who entered after. The instructor that had been assessing me sat down in the chair beside my bed.

  "There's much room for improvement," he started. "But you passed. Congratulations... killer." His eyes met mine and warped into a sickly green. His bald head grew long, white hair, and his face lost all color and sank into his skull. The curtain around my bed opened up, and Number 12 stepped forward, pointing her pistol at me.

  "I couldn't have said it better myself," she sneered.

  I tried to move, but when I looked down, hundreds of hands of the people that I had killed held me down. They wrapped around my face and held my gaze forward.

  "It won't be long now," she pulled the trigger.

  CRACK

  * * * * *

  I sprang up in my bed gasping for air. My hand was clenched around the switchblade I hid under my pillow. I knew that my knuckles were white even though it was pitch black in my room. Sweat covered my face. I struggled to put the blade down and calm my breathing. Jagged breaths became more rhythmic after a while, and I felt the knife land in my lap. My hands were still shaking as I buried my face in them.

  Just a dream... It was just a dream.