The Plan

Pilate's shoulders were tense as he watched Asher with careful eyes. That's what he had done the entire orientation, he had barely listened to what his boss was saying. Asher's word was the only thing that really mattered.

"Kid," Asher said roughly as they walked through the narrow, damp hallways of their guild, "We've gotta talk."

Pilate flinched, stopping dead in his tracks. "Y-yes, master?"

Asher stood in front of him, arms crossed. His ponytail was collapsing, flame red hairs threatening to escape. The baggy folds of his grey sweatsuit were splattered with blood. To any other person, Asher's unathletic and sloppy build wouldn't have been intimidating, but to Pilate, he was the figure that haunted all of his nightmares.

"You've been slacking off, brat," Asher started, "If you don't start pulling your weight around here, I'm gonna have to punish you."

Pilate stifled a cry, his fingers instinctively touching the bruised skin around his eye. "Yes, master," he rasped, "I swear I'll do better. I'll follow any order you give me."

Pilate heard Asher cackle. "That's what I want to hear. For some reason, the boss has taken a shine to you, like you're some sort of protegy or whatever. If you let him down..." he trailed off, allowed Pilate to finish the thought himself.

Asher turned on his heels, approaching Pilate. Pilate immediately froze, like a deer caught in headlights. Asher reached into his pocket, withdrawing a heavy hunting knife engraved with the image of a feather on the hilt. He shoved it into Pilate's sweating hands, glowering down at him.

"It's time for you to grow a pair and toughen up. Understood?"

Pilate nodded, feeling his underarms growing more wet by the second.

"Good. I've got some stuff to do. Stuff you can't do."

As Asher walked away, Pilate was left alone, his knees knocking together. He stared at the knife with trembling lips, revulsion clawing up his raw throat.

He didn't want this. Pilate didn't want to "toughen up." He wanted to go to school, to draw, to be normal. Pilate envied the boys in his class that could change in gym without having to worry about the other kids seeing his scars and bruises. He hated falling asleep in class because Asher had him up all night tracking a target to kill. He hated the scornful and accusing looks he received from teachers when he finally returned from the work Asher assigned him.

Pilate wrapped his hands around his stomach, suddenly feeling sick. He lowered his head, studying the stains on the floor.

Being normal wasn't an option. It never was.

Pilate stashed Asher's knife under his sweater, replacing it with his phone. It was already one o'clock, and there was no use in heading back to school. He was stuck at the guild.

"Move," hissed a voice, and Arisha slid past him. She wore a cleavage-baring pantsuit, obviously dressed for her new mission.

Peeling himself off the wall, Pilate ducked his head, sprinting across the concrete. He had to get somewhere private, and he knew just the place.

Pilate slipped into a small, plain room, wrapping his arms defensively around his chest. A single desk stood in the room, littered with computer monitors displaying camera feeds from all points of the guild. It was the sentry room, but Pilate had found that it was rarely used. He often took refuge there when Asher become too rowdy.

Throwing himself into the swivel chair, Pilate pulled out his phone, slumping over the screen and absentmindedly pressing buttons. He was playing a game he had recently downloaded, a simple side-scroller that consisted of making your character run and jump across obstacles.

Pilate frowned when his character fell into a chasm, bringing up a "GAME OVER" screen. He raised his eyes, catching the computer monitors in the corner of his vision. Pilate's heart nearly stopped.

There were people outside the guild.

Pilate started to tremble, letting his phone fall onto the desk. He studied the screen, trying not to panic.

The first person, a tall, slim man, was standing just by the door, holding a large weapon. The second was a young child, stooped on the ground and pouting.

"Wait..." he whispered, looking closer.

He knew those people!

The man was Umbra Mortis, Asher's worst enemy, and the boy was his son.

A faint smile came to Pilate's lips as an idea scratched at the edges of his mind. He was staring at two intruders, intruders he had the upper hand on. If he could capture them, would that be considered pulling his weight in the guild? Surely his boss would be ecstatic if he secured individuals who would be a danger to their organization.

Not to mention Asher hated those two with all his heart. Perhaps if he took them down, Asher would be so impressed with him that he would stop beating him? Pilate's heart skipped a beat at the thought of it.

Pilate studied his targets, eyes falling on Umbra. He was lean, but powerful looking, and he handled his weapon with deadly intensity.

Meanwhile, Victor sat on the ground, knees pulled to his chest. He looked harmless, almost pathetic.

It would be ridiculous to try to attack Umbra. Victor was his safest option. 

Author's Notes- :D