The Academy

“It had better not,” Mitsuru agreed grimly.

Alex glared furiously at Steve, who offered him the finger in return, then glared more sullenly at Mitsuru. He was about to speak when he realized that Gustav had somehow disappeared from the room, complete with his chair.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex demanded, looking around him. “Why the hell is he here?”

Mitsuru stood up, and then picked up the Glock from where it lay on the oil cloth. She inspected the action, and then sighted down the barrel. After a moment, she grunted her approval.

“It is a bit abnormal,” she admitted, nodding. “Usually we start with a stranger, someone neutral and anonymous. It’s easier on the students, or so the theory goes. But, if they’d wanted you to have an easy time, then they wouldn’t have made me your teacher.” Mitsuru reached down, and set the pistol down delicately on the floor, right in front of Alex’s hands. He took it without meaning to. “I needed someone you wouldn’t mind shooting, Alex, and before I even had a chance to look, Miss Gallow showed up with a volunteer.”

Mitsuru motioned at Steve, and he sauntered roughly ten meters away, and then turned to face Alex. Even at a distance, Alex could see his mocking face, screwed up and contemptuous.

“I been thinking about this, fag,” Steve sneered. “Ever since the first day I met you.”

“And you’re calling me a fag? Because that’s pretty much the gayest shit anyone has ever said to me,” Alex said, looking nervously at the pistol in his hand. “Just saying.”

Steve started forward, and then halted when Mitsuru cleared her throat. Alex wasn’t sure, but he thought that he might have seen her smile, for an instant.

“Enough, boys.” Mitsuru looked at Alex, her bloodshot eyes serious and disconcerting. “This isn’t too complicated, Alex, but for some reason, many people find it to be very difficult. All I need you to do is to take the gun, chamber a round, release the safety, and then shoot Steve in the head.”

Alex blinked and stared blankly for a moment.

“You want me to shoot Steve?”

He was incredulous, gesturing wildly in panic and outrage.

“Could you stop waving that thing around?” Mitsuru said, looking warily at the Glock in his hand that Alex had almost forgotten. “It doesn’t count unless you shoot him on purpose, and if I get shot today, I will be very, very cross.”

Alex looked down at the gun in his hand, not comprehending, and then blushed and set it carefully back down on the patch of green cloth.

“No way,” he said defiantly, folding his arms. “He may be an asshole, but I’m not shooting anybody because you told me to. Wait, fuck that — I’m not shooting anybody who isn’t one of those monsters, okay? This is bullshit.”

Mitsuru didn’t even look at him. Instead, she shrugged indifferently, and sat back down on the floor.

“Steve, he doesn’t seem to want to shoot you,” Mitsuru said, sounding confused and disappointed. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I was counting on it,” Steve said, cracking his knuckles and grinning.

“Persuade him otherwise, would you?”

Steve’s grin widened as he walked toward Alex.

“I say this one’s fag the whole way through, Miss Aoki,” Steve snarled, advancing on Alex. “But, I’ll do my best.”

Alex turned to stare at Mitsuru pleadingly, too shocked to even formulate an objection.

That turned out to be a mistake.

If Steve hadn’t been such a big guy, Alex probably wouldn’t have even seen him lunge, he moved so fast. As it was, Alex barely had time to duck under Steve’s outstretched hand. He still managed to catch onto a clump of Alex’ hair, tearing it out with an awful ripping noise, like a Velcro strap detaching from his head. Alex gasped and reeled backwards, grabbing at his head, only to eat a straight jab that hit him square in the nose, bringing tears to his eyes and blurring his vision. He couldn’t see well enough to tell what the next few punches were, but the one that knocked him down had to have been a right hook; it came from the side and caught him below the ear, with an impact that rattled the teeth in his jaw and made his knees fold underneath him. He fell to the ground and moaned, having just enough presence of mind to cover his face with his arms, to ward off any further blows.

Steve laughed and kicked playfully at his chest and stomach a few times, then dropped down and grabbed a hold of one of Alex’s flailing arms. Alex realized that he was putting him in a wrist lock a moment before it happened and he struggled against him, but in his panic he forgot everything that Michael had taught him about escaping holds, and only managed to wriggle fruitlessly. Steven bent his wrist backwards far enough for it to hurt, leered at Alex, and then bent it further.

Alex howled, and somewhere during the howl, he heard something snap. Steve maintained pressure on the hold, and Alex was certain that nothing had ever hurt quite so bad. It sapped any strength he might have had to fight him off; frankly, he couldn’t even bear to look at it. His legs kicked and jerked as he struggled blindly. He was aware of the noise he was making, a kind of whimper, and he was ashamed of it, but he could not seem to stop.

“Enough,” Mitsuru said, from somewhere above them. The pressure on his wrist ceased, and Alex immediately clutched it to his chest. He couldn’t breathe out of his nose very well, and his breath came in ragged gasps. “Open your eyes, Alex.”

After a moment, Alex did so. Steve stood a few meters away, pacing and shadowboxing, looking happy with himself. Mitsuru crouched over him, her face blank, her eyes bloodshot and serene, the gun stretched out to him, still on its bed of green cloth.

“How do you feel, Alex?”

“Fucking bad!” Alex shouted, voice quivering. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Mitsuru’s calm was impenetrable.

“Do you feel like shooting someone?”

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. “Fuck that. And fuck you, Miss Aoki. No way.”

Mitsuru shrugged and walked away, setting the gun down and the sitting down beside it.

“Let’s try it again,” she said, to no one in particular. “Reset.”

The transition was so abrupt that it made him nauseous. To Alex, it seemed as if he was lying in a heap on the floor one moment, bleeding from the face and clutching his broken wrist, and then the next, he was standing where he’d started, facing Steve with the gun in his hand. He looked down at the Glock, black, compact and menacing, and at the hand that held it. His wrist seemed miraculously whole, though it was an angry red hue, and quite sore. Alex touched it with one finger, marveling at the bruised but intact flesh, contrasted with the mess a moment ago. He put his hand to his face, and his hand came away bloody, but not as bloody.

“This isn’t real,” he said uncertainly.

“This is very real,” Mitsuru corrected sternly. “If you get killed, you will be very dead, make no mistake about it. The pain and the consequences here are all real. The only difference is that I have more discretion about when I let you die. That’s all.”

“This is Gustav doing this, right? Some kind of telepathic illusion or something?”

Mitsuru sighed.

“This isn’t some kind of show or trick, Alex. Don’t seek comfort in deluding yourself. It isn’t a good thing. This means is that I can have Steve hurt you forever,” Mitsuru said, nodding at the goon. “You won’t die until I let you. If I let you. Which I probably won’t. Now pick up the gun.”

“So, if I shoot Steve, that won’t be real, either?” Alex asked, staring at the pistol in his hand. It felt very real.

“Steve, Alex thinks this is an illusion. Disabuse him of the notion.”

Mitsuru sounded disgusted, like Alex had failed her on a personal level.

“Sure, Miss Aoki,” Steve said with his monkey grin, walking lazily toward Alex.

“Wait!” Alex cried. “Why are you doing this?”

“Are you ready to shoot him?” Mitsuru asked evenly, holding up a hand to stop Steve, who suddenly looked nervous.

“Will he die?”