When I was younger, there was one person that I had in the world.

I wasn't even supposed to have a person- from what I understood it was a strange occurrence. I never formed attachments as a normal human would. But I had one, nonetheless. One person that I knew had my back.

That person told me that they would always look after me, no matter what the world threw at me.

And I stupidly believed them. Until I was thrust into an unfamiliar world. One that hated me. A world that was terrified of me.

"She doesn't speak much," I heard the woman beside me murmur to the man standing before me as she nudged me with her arm. "Alexis? Are you ready?"

My name is Alexis, but my friends call me Alex.

I am seventeen years of age. Which unfortunately means that the world considers me a child and believes that I require parental guidance. About a month ago, my world was incredibly small and insignificant. And sadly- almost comfortingly- quite simple.

Well, as simple as living in a clandestine government facility. I was left at the facility ten years ago, presumably by my parents. Maybe they were scared of what I could do. Maybe they never wanted a child who put holes in walls when they had a temper tantrum. I have vague memories of childhood, if only a few, and then all that became my life in the facility.

Either way, I have never heard from them since then, and- knowing the capabilities of the people who took charge of me- they were probably dead. The chance that I was voluntarily given up was unlikely.

My life at the facility- aside from the beatings, the starvation and the killing- was relatively alright, given that I was emotionally closed off and seemed to walk through it all as if I were in a haze. And when I was rescued, the realisation that in the time I was there I had a job so top secret that nobody actually knew what it was. I had an idea, but I never knew what my official job title or description was.

I do now. I do because they told me- right after I was quietly rescued from the depths of the facility and presented to the world with much fanfare.

Simply for the fact that I am a weapon. An asset, something that could help win wars.

Not seen as a human- perhaps as something less, potentially as more. Lesser than a human from my training, my lack of emotional display, my propensity to remain silent and observe my surroundings rather than engage with them. The fact that I recoiled from my rescuers on a public stage, and hit a reporter for getting to close to me. The term assassin was bandied about by the press, which I chose to stick with as my job description, simply because it fits me like a glove.

More than a human, based on my abilities. Abilities that scared the general public, abilities that prompted calls for me to be locked away for the rest of my life to avoid me coming into contact with any other human being. Based on the training I received, many members of the public were convinced that I would never act normal.

All I was ever told that was vaguely important were three words.

Seek. Kill. Destroy.

They taught me how to use all different types of weaponry, they taught me how to use my abilities, and they taught me important things in lessons until I was able to do university-level everything. I was a veritable killing machine at age thirteen. That was when I went on my first overseas mission, ended a war with my team and my abilities. It was my duty - to end the suffering, the killing, the pain.

Now, the people who helped me out and who want me to be a normal teenager are trying to re-train me. They want to undo the ten years of damage. They acted as if it were easy. Like poof, and the pain, the anger, is gone.

They want to know all about me, and they seem terrified when I never cry. I never laugh. I never smile. I never lose my temper. They get scared when I put my mask on. I do not want to show them anything in case this is a test my superiors have created to see whether I am any good in our military. That is not right though. I saw them die. I saw the way Wolf looked at me as he pulled the knife from their chests, the way he carried me out of the base to the heroes… I cannot think about my team anymore. It is almost forbidden to speak of them.

There are no longer superiors ready to beat me if I show one spark of human feeling. There are no longer days where I would not get food because I could never land a punch on my trainers. People are more worried about the fact that I cannot eat much- due to the multiple times they starved me as a punishment or the fact that I do not talk, that I can keep myself entertained for several hours just by staring at a wall.

Sometimes I even wish I was back in the facility.

When I was eleven, I got a book. It was when my teacher was giving me a year ten essay. The book was "To Kill a Mockingbird", and I memorised it within a month. The men I trained with found it in the changing rooms, and they began a heated discussion about it. I could speak about it with them. That was when my teacher raised me to year twelve work within that year.

I found the book, along with several other classics, on the shelf above my bed. It was over this book that I shed my first tear. My psychologist practically threw a party. I mean, he danced around the room that barely passes as an office. He'd become a lot less scared around me as I gradually began to open up to him about my emotions.

However, my biggest challenge- and despite me telling myself otherwise, fear- was the thing every teen in my books dreads: high school.

For my first day of school, my guardians had given me everything I needed. I was used to being given things without questioning them, or ever having to ask for them. My guardians had corralled me into the back of their vehicle, driven me down to the local shopping centre, and forced me to pick out what I needed.

A bag, pencils and pens, books, a timetable, a map, money for my lunch, a phone with a fully charged battery and unlimited credit were the most important items they bought for me. The notebook- to my abject horror- was bright pink.

They were also keen to go with me to my first day, attending my classes with me. That way, I would have a 'friendly face', as Kian- who is my adopted brother- put it, before the new experience completely overwhelmed. From the limited intel I had on the high school experience, this would lead to social death and I put my foot down on that.

If anything, I ended up underwhelmed as I made my way into the red brick buildings. High school already had a lot to answer for, and I had only been there a minute. The bell went and I felt a surge of panic. I was never late to anything- something I owed to my military training.

As if sensing this panic, I felt a finger lightly touch my shoulder. A single finger, not a whole hand. Something only someone who had been around me recently would know that. With a jolt, I remembered that Mel, my guardian, had dropped me off slightly late because I had to meet the principal in his office before going to school.

Mel had wanted to come with me- and despite the constant assurance that I was fine and mature enough to take care of myself- had exited the vehicle with me. She had looked taken aback when I hadn't continued fighting with her on it.

My heart calmed itself a little as I looked over at my guardian as she typed something out on her mobile phone. I deduced she was composing a message to her husband - my other guardian.

Parents turned to face me as I entered the office, and I noted in annoyance the sympathy evident on their faces. I ignored them and walked up to the secretary- a cheerful looking woman- and in my most deadpan voice, I asked her to show me into Mr Phillips's office. She dutifully showed me in, handing me a courtesy map, the clucking and whispering of the parents still audible behind me. Mel shot them all angry looks from where she waited in the office for me as the secretary closed the door behind me, leaving me alone with the principal.

"Good luck," the secretary said quietly, smiling at me happily- as if she was pleased to have me there. I shuddered, People that nice were just was too unnatural.

Mr Phillips was a short, rotund man, with a balding head and coke-bottle glasses. He wore a tie and suit, the colours of his pasty white skin, but the tie was so tightly done up that he appeared to have more than his two chins and a purplish tinge to his face.

He greeted me with a smile and sat back down on his chair, which creaked and tilted precariously to one side.

"It's nice to finally meet you, after hearing so much about you. I'd like to say that I'm sorry about what happened to you."

I just stared at him. I hated this apologising thing. It was too new. I mean, I never apologised to somebody for hitting them in the face. It was something that happened, and we both acknowledged that in the world we existed in, it was normal. Normal, regular people apologising to me was just- well, abnormal. He sighed and slid my locker combination across the desk to me.

"They warned me you'd be a difficult one to deal with. I'd better show you to your locker and class."

He stood up and waddled over to the door. "Come on," he said, motioning for me to follow him. "You don't want to be late for your first class."

Mel gave me a smile and a wave when I passed her as she was leaving the school grounds. I rolled my shoulders and ignored the stares of the parents waiting in the office building as the principal directed me through the student door and into the main school building.

I hesitantly followed him down multiple corridors, taking note of the hospital-like appearance, with the white walls, the gum smeared grey tiles and the stinging scent of some antibacterial that was trying to mask the smell of human odours. The only difference was the lockers lining the halls and the smutted-up "inspirational" posters that some hopeful teachers tacked up to the walls, in the off-chance that some of the students were not burnouts like the rest of the student population.

Mr Phillips spoke at me as we walked, showing me the cafeteria, the gym and the teachers staffroom until we reached Room 12B. I smoothed down my jet black cargo pants, which were tight-fitted and popped out against my grey t-shirt. Mel had been trying to get me into one of the many pairs of jeans she had bought for me, but I had no intention of ever wearing them. Wearing the black reminded me of what I wore in the facility. It was comforting and it was the only thing that I could get my head around wearing. The number of pockets meant I was able to conceal things easily, and the weight was familiar. Women's jeans did not help conceal things, plus the ones Mel had bought were bright blue. We had compromised on black pants, not that Mel would want to irritate me.

A dark-haired librarian-type teacher with a salmon-pink cardigan and a long pink plaid skirt was marking off the roll on her laptop. She waved to Mr Phillips and opened the door.

I smiled at her. It seemed to unnerve her, and she lost a bit of her spark.

"Hello, you must be a new student." She beamed at me, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. A typical response from a member of the general public.

"Yes." I nodded tersely. She reminded me of my least favourite ex-supervisor. I called her Faux Finch- and the team liked the name. Supervisor Finch did not, and tried to quash it at every given opportunity. Suffice to say, that meant it pretty much stuck.

Supervisor Finch had used a mean trick when she began training me. She acted like a friend, made me trust her, and then complained about me slacking off in training sessions. Then came the excessive punishment that she chose for me, the punishment that screamed that I could trust nobody. Even my person had difficulty afterwards.

Mr Phillips gave me a brief smile. "Alexis, this is Miss Hicks. She is your homeroom teacher."

"Hello," I ventured.

There were gasps inside the classroom. I knew my voice was familiar- I had been all over the international news.

Mr Phillips gave Miss Hicks a meaningful look before turning around and walking back the way we had just come from, leaving me alone.

Miss Hocks gave me a wry smile. "Come on, Alexis. I'll introduce you to your class." She walked back in and faced the students, leaving me to observe from where I hid- partially obscured- from the sightline of the class.

"Okay, everybody. We have a new student joining us. Her name is Alexis Masters."

"No way," a male voice called from the back of the classroom. "As in the badass freak girl?"

"See for yourself, Mike." Miss Hicks gestured for me to come into the room. I readjusted my bag on my shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

More gasps from the class echoed around the room, and hostile looks directed from the teenagers within my age bracket burnt holes through me.

A girl in the middle row stood and glared at me. She wore an impractical bright blue dress with a slit along the side- a dress that did not adhere to the dress code. It didn't take me long to read the room, and it became obvious from the appreciative stares she received from the boys in the class that she was Queen Bee. I could have taken her down easily, which made me smile, but I restrained myself from doing so. My smile seemed to unnerve her.

"Miss, there is no way I am in a class with a killing machine." She directed her attention to the teacher briefly before she returned to glaring at me. The amount of venom in her words was positively lethal.

Did she have any idea what the facility was like for me? Surely she would have heard the stories- from the trial and the news reports? This girl had it all. Everything that my supervisors told me I was paving the way for when I was sent out on missions with my team. She didn't have to deal with the starvation, torture and abuse daily. She probably had straight-A's, a teenage brother who she hated because she could, a pair of loving parents, perhaps a pet was thrown into the mix.

And here she was, staring down her nose at me like I was something the cat had dragged in. Like my entire life wasn't worth acknowledging. I could feel the anger rising, surging and bubbling, coursing through my veins as she continued shouting at my teacher about my "supposed" war crimes, about how I was a ruthless, merciless killer who would execute them whenever I wanted them to.

Right then, I was considering the last bit as a possibility.

The Queen Bee was on the top of the list, along with anybody else who tried to defend her… No. I couldn't kill anybody, even though my fingers itched to do it, to punch her at the base of her spine, paralysing her and then wrap my hands around her neck and… No. I was not a killer, not anymore. My hands gripped my grey shirt tightly, my knuckles turning white as I attempted to exercise some self-restraint. Anger was one of my first emotions- appearing when I had tried to kill Kane. I needed to learn to control it.

"Andrea, SIT DOWN!" Miss Hicks roared. Nobody except my superiors had ever spoken like that, and my guardians tried so hard to keep calm and even voices around me. I flinched, listening to my breathing speed up until I knew I was hyperventilating. I tried to calm my heart but to no avail. Everything began to change drastically fast.

The walls began transforming into stainless steel, the students into men holding scary-looking weapons as they leered at me, and the desks into obstacles in the training room. Miss Hicks turned into my worst nightmare. Supervisor Finch stood before me, her fake smile plastered across her face.

She spun to face me. "Alex, Alex, Alex," she said condescendingly. "Did you think you could get away that easily?"

"You… are j-j-j-just a… p-p-p-projection of my f-f-fears," I stuttered out, trying desperately to calm my heart rate. I stumbled backwards, knocking items off Mss Hick's desk. They crashed to the ground and made me jump further.

"Alex, what have I told you about speaking without superior permission? It would look as if we have punishment on our hands."

"No!" I shrieked, looking at her in angst. "No more!"

I whirled around and powered out of the classroom, feeling the rush of air on my face as I began sprinting. "Alexis!" Miss Hicks bellowed after me, my head darting around for long enough to see her standing in the corridor as she stared helplessly in my direction.

I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there. I pushed through double doors end of the corridor, entering the school oval and huge expanse of neatly mown grass. The fence that outlined the edge of the school.

I made sure the coast was clear before I dropped to my knees and screamed.

~O~O~O~

Okay, so I'm editing. I promise that it will only be improved from here on. Let me know what you guys think with a review.

- Isabel