Nonexistent

THIRTY-SEVEN- Rogue

ANXIETY bubbles in my blood as I take a deep breath and place my palms on the intricate ivory handles of the double-doors.

Last night, Airis had said to be in the Training Room for our first session together, and to be here on time. 6:00 am sharp. A gold plate outside the room indicates that I'm in the right place. I take a look at the digital clock above the doors. 6:02. Sighing, I push the heavy doors wide open, not really knowing what I expected to see.

"Levi, elbows up!" I hear Airis' voice ring across the room. The sounds of harsh punches and strikes echoes through the walls as I take a small peek inside.

My eyes follow the fierce movements of two figures, battling in the middle of an enormous white room. No furniture, no decor, nothing. Just a plain white room. I take a step in, and a slight vibration rumbles beneath my feet, and a steady hum of working machines fills the air. I know exactly what I'm standing in. 

A simulator room. Like the ones we had in the government facility.

Heavy breaths escape the two men as they gradually slow down in exhaustion. Their weary eyes meet mine, and Airis approaches me in long strides.

"Nice of you to finally join us." Airis forces a smile onto his face. "You're late, Number 33."

He takes me by the small of my back and leads me to the center of the room, where a man about my age is trying to catch his breath. In his hands is a pair of wooden nunchucks, and a when we are about an arm stretch away, he immediately regains his composure and stands tall.

"Number 33, meet Levi, my apprentice. Levi, this is Number 33."

Once he raises his head, his piercing gaze burns into mine. And as if on cue, a sense of dizziness hits me with the familiarity in this stranger's eyes. I don't remember exactly where or when, but I know I've seen those eyes before. 

Fierce.

Beautiful.

Strikingly grey.

Then a memory hits me with a perfect match.

"You..." I say, raising a finger at the stranger in front of me. The eyes of my anonymous hero in the Death Race burns in the back of my mind. The one who saved my life and left without a word. If my theory is correct, then we've already met before.

His eyes are cold and penetrating, only acknowledging my presence with a grim smile and a small nod. His stance is rigid, with his feet apart and his hands, clasped behind his back. I stand still and shyly twirl a stand of my long, wavy hair, not exactly knowing what to do next.

The edges of his face are sharp and chisled, handsome yet cold. I stare at his features, and notice he wears a look of tiredness and loss belonging to an old soul, but he couldn't be more than a year older than me. His dark hair is cropped short, probably the military's uniform hairstyle, and his demeanor is captiving, leaving me in a trance until Airis' voice suddenly pulls me back to reality.