The Master Assassin

"We Need Some Groceries."

Quick note!
I'm putting the rest of my stories on hold for now. I'm gonna finish this one and move on to New World afterwords. Maybe possibly lol. An occasional Family Matters chapter might pop up, especially when this one gets depressing haha. Well, enjoy, thanks for reading, votes and comments anyone?
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I walk home, well, if the Thesis can be called my home. I guess it's really not, and the thought sends a pang of homesickness through my heart. I miss Alaina, and even Brandy, Nala, and Dakota. I miss my room, going to school just to enjoy coming home again... But that's not my life anymore. I have a job now. I'll most likely never be able to return to that life. At least not completely.

Even just the thought puts a ray of hope in my head, and I hold on to it as I walk through the doors to the newspaper shop.

I go through the routine, taking the lift to the Thesis and walking to my office. I check my phone, on which at least a hundred messages and emails exist. Just as I go to lock it, a new one pops up from Asher:
Meet me in the weapons room.
Well alright then. I might as well. I smooth my hair, tossing my sword into the corner of the room and grabbing my computer, heading out to the weapons room.

When I get there, Asher crosses his arms. "It took you long enough. Where have you been all morning?"

Maybe I should've thought he would ask that...

"I slept in..."
"Until one o'clock in the afternoon?"
"...yeah?"
"You know, you're really bad at lying."
I smile. I can't help it. He may be a genius, and he may be overly honest and perceptive, but Asher is a pretty fun person. Don't get me wrong, he's not Logan...

Wrong thought.

Now I'm all jittery.

And butterflies are an issue.

I need to monitor my thoughts.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. You're a secret agent, after all, you can do what you want, until you have an assignment," Asher shrugged, opening his briefcase. Hearing him call me a secret agent caused it to suddenly wash over me that... Well I am a secret agent. The thought seems so strange; only a few days had passed, not even a week, and that in that amount of time I went from a insecure, immature teenage girl to a sophisticated, more or less coordinated secret agent. Well, not completely sophisticated. Or coordinated.

But my point still stands.

"Well, you have an assignment now. Although it's a simple one. You see, there's a certain skill set that men and spies don't have... We need some groceries. We're low on food, and, well, the boss thinks you can be a good enough actor to do it," Asher smiled, clearly trying not to laugh.

Is been put on grocery duty.

This is the best they can give me?

...I said duty...

No, wait, no, on track. I'm frustrated, right.

"They put me on shopping?" I stared at him, this was what they have me when an assassin was after me who I stood no chance against and I was likely going to die sooner or later.

But they sent me grocery shopping.

Grocery shopping.

Shopping for their food.

It may not seem like that big of a deal, but personally, I thought I deserved more. But, you know, whatever. Onwards.

"It's not as easy as it may seem. We need a lot of food to fuel the Thesis, and it's a tricky job to buy the quantity of food we need without drawing attention or causing suspicion towards yourself," he pulled a notebook out of his briefcase. "Here's your list," he held it out to me.

About an hour later, I've parked an eighteen-wheeler out back of a local grocery store, purchasing large amounts of everything, pretty much. Bread, sodas, butter, eggs, bacon, steak, corn, milk, oatmeal, the list goes on and on. Now came the tricky part. The cash register.

Yeah, I have the money I need in the company credit card, but you know how you normally have a conversation with the cashier, and it just so happens that this one is particularly chatty.

"So what could you possibly need so much food for?" she asked casually, ringing up the many, many price tags.

Here's the hard part.

The story.

Ideas begin racing around in my head, but none of them really make sense until, "I'm, uh, donating it all. Yeah, to a... Martial arts instructor trying to build a kung fu school for young kids," the idea spills out of my mouth, and luckily, she buys my story. "Really? I didn't know there were any martial artists in this town. What's his name, do I know him?"

Ohhh boy.

Didn't think of that.

"Oh, he, erm, doesn't live around here. I travel a lot, an he lives in Tennessee," I quickly concoct a story. I guess it's not too bad, I just begin to hope this questioning doesn't go on the whole time she is scanning the prices.

"Oh, that's cool. So he is starting a school or building on an old one?" she smiled. I knew she was just trying to make conversation, but it was annoying. Why couldn't she just let me be?

"He's just building a new location, but he needed food to stock all of the schools because they feed them lunch," I am trying my hardest, I think my story is ok.

"What's the name of the company?"

Well. There goes any hope in this mission.

Unless I can save it.

Who am I kidding, I can't do this.

"It's called 9-1-fu," someone standing near me says. I recognize the voice, not that I wanted to.

It's Mark.

"He couldn't think of anything else," he was acting as though he had been there all along and knew what was going on. He puts his hands in his pockets, his black hair looking like a black pit in the unnatural light.

"Who's this?" the grocery clerk smiled, waving a flirty wave which Mark tactfully avoided as I finished out the payment. I walked out toward the truck, and Mark followed me.

"How did you even here?" I look around, my truck is still the only vehicle. And the store is currently closed to the public. We bought out most of their stock.

"No need to scare you by telling you," he smiled a little, which just creeped me out. I climbed into the passenger seat, but Mark came to the door as well, signaling for me so scoot over. For some reason, I did, he just had this sense of nobility and power, like a ruler. It seemed natural to follow him.

"I'm supposed to train you tomorrow, but I wanted to talk a little before we got to hand-to-hand combat, and in what better place can I do that then in the car?" he climbed in, starting the truck.

I hope he doesn't mean to tell me a lecture.

I wouldn't be able to stay awake.

Either that or I would get distracted daydreaming.

Of Logan.

I seriously have a problem.