“You, move!”

Marc snapped back to reality, quickly turning his head to address Instructor Dean, a short, stout and crabby man who could be mistaken for a joint of ham purely by the shade and texture of his skin. Marc stepped forward, the drill was fairly simple, he only had to incapacitate the other person without detection.

The other recruit was staring daggers at him. If looks could kill, Marc would already be down, but he knew that his skills far surpassed theirs. Marc never bothered learning the other recruits names, they never lasted long, and considering that only 2 recruits graduated into the secret service each year, there was no point because he and Darren would fill those spaces.

The other recruit smirked as Instructor Dean blew his whistle, she ran off into the woods, her mahogany hair bouncing in a tight ponytail. Marc counted down in his head, passing this drill would almost guarantee his graduation and demonstrate his abilities. The whistle sounded again and he sprinted away in pursuit.

Searching the woods, he made sure to keep as quiet as a mouse and stopped to listen for any noise. Marc peered around a large, gnarled tree, as he did so he felt an arm around his neck pulling him to the ground, the more he struggled, the more he felt the grip on his neck solidify.