Your fellow agents always complained about Reaper. Behind
his back, of course, no one would dare say it to his face (mask?). They would
question his motive, tactics, efficiency and even his loyalty to Talon. He was
an enigma and this was a case of being afraid of what you don’t know. You must
have been the only operative that actually, dare you say it, like the Reaper?
You had been on missions that…varied in success, to say the least, but your
loyalty to him never wavered. Much to the surprise and suspicion of a number of
After the failure of your last mission, you had been
training harder than ever. Mostly to better yourself, however a small part of
you hoped to catch the eye of your commander on your next mission. So here you
were once again: middle of the night, sweating pumping out of you, the sound of
your hits the only thing filling the silence of the room. Your muscles ached
but you kept pushing yourself, the adrenaline keeping you going despite the
“Your opponent doesn’t seem to be putting up much of a
fight,” came a deep voice behind you. The shock made you miss a hit but you
quickly shook it off and got back into the rhythm of things.
“Well sir,” you grunted, landing a particularly powerful hit
on the practice dummy, “There aren’t many who want to spar with me. This was
the only one who wouldn’t turn me down.”
“Hm. Not the only one. Punch me.”
You fumbled and came to a stop at that, turning to look at
him, confusion blatant on your features.
A flash of black came hurtling towards you, forcing you to
squeeze your eyes and brace for impact, which never came. You opened one eye to
see Reaper’s gloved fist millimetres away from you.
“You hesitated,” he said flatly.
“S-sir! With all due respect- and it’s out of respect that I
refuse to- but I can’t hit you!”
“You wanted to train so let’s train.”
That was the only warning you were given before he went to
attack, not holding back this time. After just about blocking a few painful
blows, you didn’t hold back either. He was stronger but you were quicker. You
both used your respective strengths to your advantage, and for a while you were
caught in an exhausting loop of sparring. That was until he flipped the odds by
flipping you, slamming you into the mat below and pinning your arms above your
head. You struggled for a moment but had to reluctantly accept defeat.
“You’re…a damn…damn good fighter…Sir,” you panted.