I waited, encased in my black catsuit, gun at the ready, in the training zone; the walls as white as fear and floors as dark as a nightmare. However, the purity of the walls was tarnished with an incredible red, a red that could rival even Snow White’s lips in depth and wonder. That new colour was an addition on my part; as the strange lifelike simulation robots were put to the test. The inclusion of a spurt of life-juice following each successful shot put the bravery and stomach of all those who took part in the training to the test; only an echo of its scent and sound could be experienced. I had seen much blood in my life.
I contemplated all of these things inwardly as my final foe emerged from behind the sliding metal and fibreglass doors. It was monstrous, huge. I took a shot; the bullet glanced off its heavily plated shoulder. I gasped; this was a test I had not been expecting. I retreated, facing my foe at first, and holstered my gun. I turned to run as its terrible arm appeared in the corner of my vision, approaching quickly. I propelled myself off the floor using only the strength of my leg muscles, narrowly avoiding being flung against the whitewashed wall. Continuing to sprint, I created a distance of around ten metres, giving myself around eight seconds to remove the black nylon rope from my shoulder, hook it over the metal ring about ten metres above me and scrabble up onto one of the ledges, suspended by thin, strong wires and attached to the mesh of steel on the ceiling. As I grabbed the edge of the ledge, my hands encased in oil-black leather, I felt the presence of the gargantuan metal being behind me. I delivered a sharp kick to its head, using the remaining momentum to fling myself head over heels. I stood upon the ledge, staring into the emotionless face of the heartless enemy before me. A light flashed upon its head, a glowing red beneath the glass. A new idea reached the front of my thinking.
Taking a breath, I removed my gun from its holster, leapt forward and shot three bullets into the throbbing, scarlet light, smashing the glass, before landing atop the robot, reaching down into the metal casing and ripping out the programmer with my bare hands. This was followed by a groan from the iron monster, before the red juice flowed and the monster sunk to the ground. As my clothes and skin became drenched in the scarlet fluid, I heard a voice over the intercom congratulating me with the words,
“Mission Complete. Please proceed to the office for further instructions.”
Obeying the voice of the unseen speaker, I left the training zone, and walked down the clinical corridors until I reached the glass box of the office. I waited until the transparent doors opened, after which I took a seat in front of the modern, white desk at which my boss, Mr Forest, sat, a crisp neat file open before him.
“Agent Asthore, 414,” he began, “we have a new mission for you.”