How About Seven? ✔

8. None Shall Live

I switched off my torchlight at once. No sense in letting whoever it was see me. The shelves and props vanished back into the darkness once more. I trod lightly as I moved away from the locker and behind a shelf I remembered seeing. My fingers pulled out the knife under my clothes and I gripped the hilt tight, ready.

My adrenaline was up and pumping, and I let it consume every fibre of my being, stopping only its ascent to my head. Adrenaline was what kept you alive, but it was also what had you pouncing at shadows. You had to balance it with a clear head.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Was it wrong of me to feel wickedly excited? Endless training and accomplishing lesson goals were one thing, but when you were finally faced with the real danger.......the rush was unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Breathe in.

Finally, I could really put my skills to test.

This was my exam.

Breathe out.

And now - assess.

I was in a dark storeroom with little to no vision. Somebody had just locked me in with him, and hadn't acknowledge my presence in any way. Hence the possibilities were -

a) he didn't see me

or

b) he was a hostile.

Considering a single blazing torchlight in a dark storeroom was pretty noticeable, I'm going with b). Space constraints were an issue too; every corner I turned was a risk of something falling off the high shelf and revealing where I was. But if this was true for me then it must be true for my opponent as well.

Next - ask. Could I take down Storeroom Stalker? I had zero information on him, so the answer to that would be no idea. Which brought me to the final step.

Attack. No complaints there.

I closed my eyes. I opened them. No difference. So why bother seeing?

I squeezed my eyelids shut and focused on my other senses. The principle here was something like closing your eyes while trying to memorize something. It helped you focus.

Focus on your hearing. Focus on your smell. Focus on your touch.

Focus on that soft sound of shoes brushing against the cement floor, about three feet away and nearing.

I stayed stock still and made no movement. There was a hesitancy in the steps. Good. It meant he wasn't sure where I was and he wasn't all too confident either.

Two feet. Two and a half. One foot. Just one shelf away.

Strike.

I flung out my arm, the hilt of my knife going first, and it hit him square in the head. I sensed him reel backwards then felt the punch in the stomach. Solid and true. I was winded a little by it. Not bad, whoever you were.

I pushed him hard, sending him crashing into the shelf behind. Boxes and props fall off, landing with loud protesting noises on the ground. Aw man, I just spent the afternoon arranging that!

I melted back into the darkness and heard him catching his breath, getting up on feet. Slowly I inched my way to where I knew the door was. Don't worry I'm not backing out of the fight, but I hardly wanted Mr Michael to assign me to cleaning duty yet again tomorrow - even if this time it was indeed my fault. Best to take the violence somewhere where there was a little more open space and a little less fragile stuff.