Chapter 9. Too Fast, Too Visible

Yesterday left behind a strange, sticky aftertaste. Mr. Parker ran me ragged until late into the night, and his gaze… it was something else. He looked at me the way a well-trained police shepherd looks at a suspicious guy in an airport terminal: unblinking, with a barely concealed urge to go for the throat. It felt like only the remnants of professional ethics and basic decency were holding him back from sinking his teeth into the most sensitive spot and shaking every last secret out of me.

I remember how shows like CSI described this kind of psychological pressure. It is how they break suspects, making them feel guilty simply for existing. The feeling, frankly, is awful.

But today everything changed. After that “call from above,” Mr. Parker pulled off an astonishing behavioral flip. Now he resembled not a wolfhound, but a stray mutt: wagging his tail, flashing a full-toothed smile, yet at the same time radiating readiness to jump aside the moment I so much as shifted my shoulder. It was as if he expected me to kick him at any second.

Honestly, that kind of servility was no less irritating than yesterday’s aggression, but it still beat being treated like a suspect.

The training itself flew by suspiciously fast. Credit where it is due, Parker really did try to teach properly, firing off fundamentals and nuances at machine-gun speed. Apparently he had finally come to terms with my “abnormal learning ability” and decided not to drag things out. By five in the evening I was already at the exit, clutching a brand new certificate that still smelled of fresh ink.

“Mr. Ross, I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow,” he said, pulling on a flawless mask of politeness. “The plan for the day is a full course in assault rifle handling. I’m confident we’ll finish in record time.”

“Likewise, Mr. Parker. It’s a pleasure dealing with a professional,” I nodded and headed for the exit.

As I left the cool, sterile lobby, I noticed the receptionist girl practically pounce on the instructor. She had seen his sudden compliance, heard his parting line, and was now burning with curiosity to dig out the truth. Honestly, I would not have minded eavesdropping myself. I really wanted to know whose name could make a seasoned soldier turn pale.

Already in the car, merging onto the highway and enjoying the silence, I flinched at the sharp ring. Danny.

“So, how’d it go, Tom?” His voice was steady, but the background no longer carried children’s laughter or household noise. The silence on his end felt… official.

“Everything’s great. Got the certificate. Listen, Danny, thanks for the help, but what was that all about? Who called Parker?”

“Hm… wasn’t a phone conversation, Tom. Not at all. Let’s do this: I’ll be at the park in half an hour. We’ll meet there.”

He ended the call before I could object. Something inside me went cold. Why would someone fly from San Francisco to Los Angeles just to give a one-minute answer to a question? The answer was obvious: I screwed up. After almost ten years in an office, I had learned to feel an incoming dressing-down from management in my skin. My instincts were screaming that I was about to get punished.

The whole drive there, I tried and failed to piece together a line of defense. Yes, I understood that showing off my abilities in front of civilians was a mistake, but I had not done anything supernatural. Even Parker had suspected I was a prankster, not an awakened. Completely suppressing my potential and pretending to be weak, like comic book heroes, struck me as the height of stupidity. But Danny, as my handler, clearly had a different opinion.

I left the car in a paid parking lot and walked deeper into the park. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in uneasy crimson tones. There were plenty of people around, and I had no idea how to find Danny in that crowd. Calling him did not feel right, what if he was in the sky right now?

Then I remembered his obsession with boards. The skate park was the most logical place.

Even in the gathering dusk, the place was buzzing with life. The rumble of wheels on concrete, the sharp clicks of trucks, the shouts of teenagers… Kids around fifteen or sixteen were pulling off tricks that once seemed like the peak of cool to me, but now only stirred mild boredom.

“Hey, Tom.”

I turned sharply. A guy in a deep hoodie stood nearby. The hood hid the upper half of his face, and a high collar covered his chin. His voice came out muffled and distorted through the fabric, but I would recognize those intonations anywhere.

“Danny? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” he smiled with just his eyes, faintly glinting from the shadow of the hood.

“What’s with the disguise?” I sat down on the bench beside him, trying not to look too tense.

“You get it,” he pulled the collar even higher. “I’m a public figure. In certain circles people recognize me way too fast. Then come the questions, selfies, autographs… It gets exhausting and gets in the way.”

“You could’ve just come over to my place,” I grimaced as another skater landed with a deafening crash a couple of yards away. “We could’ve talked in peace.”

“No offense, friend, but your mom doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

I had no comeback for that. The reason was obvious. Danny did not want to sit through another round of “Leave my son alone! He doesn’t need your army!” I had already accepted my fate, but my mom was still waging a guerrilla war for my civilian future.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Fair enough,” I sighed. “Better we don’t cross paths at home. So… how’re things with you?”

“I should be asking you that,” he shifted the topic, and I could hear curiosity creep into his voice.

“Everything’s just great!” I could not help breaking into a grin. I dug into my gym bag stuffed with tactical gear and proudly pulled out my trophy, a freshly printed certificate. “Take a look and be jealous.”

“Whoa!” Danny pursed his lips and started turning my certificate over in his hands as if it were a gold bar rather than paper. “Taran Shooting Club, huh… and a distinction for completing the rapid fire course with honors. That’s slick, Tom! Seriously slick. If I were you, I wouldn’t hide it in a bag. I’d frame it and hang it in the most visible spot on the wall.”

“Interior decoration is the last thing on my mind,” I snatched the document out of his fingers before he smudged it or, worse, tore it in a burst of enthusiasm. “This isn’t a souvenir for me, it’s a springboard for a future career.”

“Well, that’s a commendable approach,” Danny drew that out vaguely, without much enthusiasm. “Still, kill me if I get it, why push yourself this hard? Didn’t I keep telling you that in the Awakened Corps they’ll teach you everything from scratch? How to shoot a pistol, how to use a slingshot if it comes to that.”