The Dreaded Art of Teenage MurderMature

When The Mentor, a world renowned criminal recruits young and troubled teens for an offer they couldn't refuse, he brings them in to his training facility to train them in various types of weaponry and combat.
As the young teenagers fight and kill both their assigned targets and each other for a spot at The Mentor's side, he stands back and watches in growing amusement.

Walking around the empty facility he had built, The Mentor smiled in anticipation.
Soon there would be young teenagers here, fighting to the death for his amusement. Blood, sweat and tears will coat the floors and weapons, cries of outrage and pain would echo through these walls, as precious to him as a childs first cry. Taking in the euphoric sound of clashing blades, the sharp retort of a semi automatic pistol and the cries of pain and bloodshed.
There were many things The Mentor excelled at, killing, fighting, torturing, and his personal favourite? Manipulation.

If there was anything he knew, it was that people, teenagers especially, would believe anything if they had no hope left and nowhere else to turn. They all put on a tough façade and fought to protect the things they valued the most, which to be honest? Wasn't very much. He knew how to work people, all of the right things to do and say.

Right now, looking down at the group of teens that waited for him to open the doors and let them inside, he smiled. He had lied to and fooled them all. They thought they were here for a second chance, for a place in the world where they would mean something to somebody.

Little did they know, they were here to kill and be killed for nothing more than his amusement.
He had watched them all fight their own battles, killing for vengeance, for the fun of it or just to stay alive. From a distance he had observed every single one of them, watching as they went about their lives, destroying what little sense of safety they had with each and every strike they dished out to their enemies. He had learned all of their secrets, their hopes and dreams.
They all thought that their secrets were safe from the prying eyes of he world, and maybe they would've been...if he wasn't around to get what he wanted. The Mentor always got what he wanted.
Each and every one of them had clung to every word he said, every promise he lied about, clinging to every single crumb he dished out. He watched as their hunger for justice and a place by his side and lit up their eyes like a Christmas tree. They reminded him of starving animals, fighting and clawing with a near consuming hunger that threatened to push them over the edge into an unknown precipice.

Grinning, he strapped his Glock to his fatigue clad thigh, slung his Uzi across his shoulder and opened the doors to the facility.
"Welcome to the facility. First, let's run over the ground rules." He paused until all eyes were on him before continuing.
"Rule number one: No outsiders. If I catch an outsider on these premises, the persons responsible will be terminated by my hand. Rule number two: My quarters are off limits, no one is to enter them, to do so is an automatic death, again by my hand. Rule number three: No flinching, no hesitation, no plea for mercy. This isn't a place to make friends, this is a place to kill or be killed" he fell silent and watched the group of teenagers.
They all gazed back him, waiting for his orders.
Stepping aside, he waved them inside and bit back his smile.
"Like cattle walking into the slaughter house" he muttered under his breath.

The End

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