Life as a New Hire Ch. 12

*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*My editors were eaten by dinosaurs, but were last heard cutting their way free*

*Live fast, die young and leave a...No. Enjoy life and die when it is your time. Your corpse will the least of your concerns if there really is an Afterlife*

*Ah...no sex...not sure how that happened*

*

(Monday)

For some God-unknown reason I was showing up to work at 6 a.m. Monday. I swear, one of these days I'm going to show up to work naked. If asked why, I'll claim that it wasn't in my brilliantly scripted orders. I would then beg forgiveness for 'assuming' I was allowed to breath, or even be conscious. We'd all laugh. Nothing would change.

They were never going to give me advance warning of what my latest errand entailed. I don't think it was in them.

"You've made to Week Three," Buffy sneered as we entered the garage beneath Havenstone's skyscraper. "I'm flabbergasted."

"So am I -- flabbergasted that is," I nodded sagely. "I had no idea you knew what flabbergasted meant."

Punch. Definitely back to the old Buffy.

"You need a haircut," she commented. My phone beeped. I had data packet. I had received them before; just not from this place. I opened it up as we exited the car and made for elevators.

"Holy Bat-shit Bat-Bunny!" I gasped. "Hayden's written me a letter."

"Really?" Buffy was momentarily non-psychotic. I showed her my screen. Hayden had made an official declaration -- something that would be in the records of the Amazons from now until forever.

Any and all males of Havenstone -- specifically one Cáel Nyilas -- were to forthwith and immediately stop spiritually assassinating any and all Amazons and Amazon recruits. Furthermore, I was admonished for murdering Fabiola Dobrani and, under penalty of an unmentioned punishment, I was to publicly rejoice at her resurrection.

Life was relentless. Buffy's phone rang. She got the same message I did...as did every freaking Amazon in the building. I didn't think the guys would be getting this memo.

"I wonder how the Chicklettes are going to take this," I mused. The doors opened before Buffy could formulate her comeback.

Relentless may have not been a strong enough word. Waiting for us in two distinct groups were Constanza with two SD Playboy Bunnies; opposite them was Oneida. Oneida looked...enamored. This wasn't curiosity about what my meat would feel like as it made her weep tears of rapture.

This was a weekend binge of watching some of the best received, twenty-something, romantic movies of the past ten years. It was hard for me to decide which group was more divorced from reality -- the Amazon man-haters, or the 'Hollywood was real' babe.

"I'm going to get a bite to eat," Buffy announced. Entering the garage had completed her bodyguard duties.

Oneida had the higher prestige so she came first.

"Hi Cáel Nyilas," she stepped up and greeted me. She extended her hand -- for me to shake. Amazons clasped forearm to forearm. I greeted her Amazon-style.

"It is good to see you again, Oneida of House Arinniti," I replied. She looked upset.

"You know who I am," she sighed with disappointment.

"Please believe me," I stroked the side of her left cheek to the top of her ear, "had I known Friday, I would have finished up by impaled myself on your spear and cleared up a whole manner of things. Why does it matter to you that I know who you are?"

"I...I didn't want to be treated as anyone special," she gazed up at me with innocent eyes.

"That's not going to be a problem," I chuckled. "To me, you are nothing but another psycho-bitch that's trying to kill me. You are a black-hearted, soulless creation of Hell and I hate your guts, Oneida."

"But you saved my life?" she whimpered. She was a bit more unbalanced than the normal babe employed here. Yay me.

"And? See, this is why my description of you and your sisters is so accurate," I smiled while I explained. "I would try to save almost anyone because it is the right thing to do. The only reason saving you was a mistake was that it caused me to fall further into Hayden's favor. Now she's going to expect that shit on a regular basis solely because you are of House Arinniti."

"Ah -- I like you," Oneida pleaded.

"Why?" I asked.

"You risked so much for Aya. You made her laugh and smile. You...you acted as if you cared for her -- as if you were her own mother," Oneida told me. "Was that a deception too?"

"Hmmm...not what I expected," I mused. "Fine, realizing that I was with Aya for her sake and hers alone raises you up a step in my estimations. I'm not being deceptive about how I feel about this place, Oneida. Here, let me prove it." I looked to Constanza. "Constanza, do I hate your guts?"

She glared at me. "Constanza, if I thought I could get away with it, would I shove a fragmentation grenade up your ass and pull the pin?" No response.

"See," I grinned to the gawking Oneida, "I'm not being deceptive about how I feel about this place. My opinion matters not at all to these women yet they know I'll never act on my hate because of my own, perverse Code of Conduct. I'm not going to run away and I'm not going to stop being me. I'm certainly not going to fall in love with anyone here."

"Oh," she muttered.

"I have to go to work now. Have a nice day," I turned to Constanza. "Are you my work buddy today?"

"Male, come with us," Constanza snapped. Off the four of us walked -- right back to the elevator.

Down we went, past any level my ID card could have accessed. Devo's Working in the Coal Mine sprang to mind, so I hummed it. I was feeling completely at ease. Constanza stood behind me, while the other two stood at either side, but half a step back so they were right at the edge of my peripheral vision. I felt like a team player -- an interregnal part of my imminent demise.

The group marched past the Armory. I waved to my old friend, the Kindergarten Cop. She glowered. Amazons were not martinets. They were clean-cut and proud, but vigilance meant much more than a scuff mark on a boot, or a gaze locked on the farther wall. Our trip deposited in yet another room I could never access.

I was the first one through the door. I almost froze. For starters, the room was around 15 meters wide and 6 meters deep. In the center of the room was an 8x2meter table. On the table where a wide variety of firearms and ammunition. Automatic pistols, revolvers, shotguns and submachine guns plus multiple clips, or speed-loaders for them all.

They hadn't brought me here to murder me with Death by multiple calibers. If they wanted me dead, they would have blown my brains out already then put a gun in my hand in a hopeless attempt to fool Katrina. The number of guns didn't even impress me. The far wall was transparent and through it I could see multiple ladies in sports bras and boy shorts shooting away on a firing range.

Holy Mother of God! I was here for weapons training. What the Hell had gone wrong? As I moved deeper into the room, one SD Femi-Nazi moved down the left wall, the other moved down the right and Constanza remained two steps behind me.

"Please clarify my task for this time period, Constanza?" I requested. The look she shot me was lethal.

"The weapons present are ones you have stated you have a familiarity with as well as others in common usage here at Havenstone. All the rounds are hollow points, or slugs. Chose which weapons you wish to qualify in, load your clips and inform me when you have completed this part of the assignment."

"Thank you," I nodded then set to the task at hand. Constanza clearly had expected me to be a smart ass. I had used learning about guns to get tail. That didn't mean I disrespected the weapons. I picked up several side arms, testing their weight and grips before deciding on the .40 Smith & Wesson Glock-22.

I felt the ammo, making sure I wouldn't be running around with blanks this time. This shit was real. Elsa had claimed she'd rather be skinned alive than let any man bear weapons in her Havenstone. Maybe I shouldn't have felt her up, or given that massage to that med tech, or stripped in the elevator. I was a really, truly naughty boy.

Most women spank naughty boys. My tormentors tend to fuck with my mind because, ya know, it's harder to defend against that crap. Also, there is not a hand lotion made that will soothe the ravaged psyche. I began loading the clips.

"Is that the only one you are taking?" Constanza eventually broke down and asked.

"I don't want to waste your time," I replied. "This is my favorite pistol. I've shot .22, .38, 9 mm, and .45, but I'm most comfortable with this one. Maybe later I can work with the shotguns. I haven't a clue how to handle anything else." I could see it in her eyes -- 'damn him; he's making sense.'

There was one final way I could fuck up. I didn't. I knew firearms etiquette. Don't load your gun before taking your station at the range. Sure, all the crazy chicks could do it, but that was part of their jobs -- killing things. I was a novice. I picked out some ear protection and an adequate hip holster in case Constanza wanted me to fire from the draw.

I was clearly not making her day by not screwing up.

"This way," she barked. She accessed the door leading to the range and out we stepped. All around, the firing slowly died. For each of the women, there was a second of disbelief followed by several more seconds of outrage.

Lust was where the emotional landslide ended. I was 'That' guy. I wasn't something they could codify. I made meaningful, defiant eye contact, I dressed to impress, and I was known to be courageous. Having Hayden decide that she wanted to mate with me didn't hurt my appeal one bit. I could already tell they were figuring out where to shoot me so that I could still have sex an hour later.

I was a man in Havenstone with a gun after all. I was the equivalent of the Pope in Mecca -- it just didn't happen. My booth was nice and comfy. After placing my gear on the table,

"What do I do next?"

"Ear guards -- check weapon -- load, chamber, announce your preparation to fire -- fire as quickly and accurately as possible. Reload and fire until you have uses all rounds," she commanded.

Hmmm...six meters. Standard human-scored target. I hadn't done this in a year. I shook my limbs out to get ready for the shock and recoil then steadied my breathing. Fifteen rounds, starting at the ready stance.

"Ready," I pronounced.

"Begin," was Constanza's muffled command. The report of the first shot, the sting of the recoil, the pull on the arm and the shell ejecting -- all of those rolled over me before I could count. I almost missed the automatic slide staying open. Down went the old magazine even as my left hand retrieved and leveraged the next one in.

A problem presented itself. The girl who first taught me was pretty good -- in the 'if you couldn't find the prerequisite number of bullet holes in the target, everyone assumed the missing bullet had passed through one of the previous penetrations' kind of way. I was pretty lucky. She took a red hot poker to me and was thankfully far less accurate.

She was so incredibly beautiful -- so furious with me, naked and chasing me around a cabin lit solely by the fireplace, with that firebrand in her hand. Maybe it was wrong of me to take her English professor up to the girl's cabin for a sexual rendezvous -- or stick the professor in the closet when the poor lady absolutely had go to the bathroom. Or fucked the girl on her bear skin rug until the professor had to come out of said closet before she urinated. I know; I'm an idiot.

Fifteen bullets into the first target had made a mess of it. Since there was no one in either station around me, I started shooting at the target to the left. I put the last magazine into the one on the right. It took me well over thirty seconds to get all 45 shots off, but I did it.

"Done," I stated as I put the gun down and took a half-step back.

"Do you shoot pistols a lot?" one of my other guards asked in amazement. They had undoubtedly seen better speed and marksmanship. It was their cosmically low opinion of me that made my effort so impossible to believe.

"No, I'm a Natural Born Killer," I grinned at the three of them.

"Males are arrogant and take things for granted. They are sloppy," Constanza sneered.

"It never fails to surprise me that you don't accept that your ancestors were some of the toughest bitches to ever walk the planet," I muttered.

"What does that mean?" Constanza growled.

"Warriors so tough they are remembered thousands of years later and your founders escaped with their lives -- as opposed to all those Trojans, Hittites and Lydians who ended up decorating graves with their bones," I glared back. "What I mean is -- why does me having a weapon really bother you? I'm am totally out-numbered, out-classed and out-gunned."

"I don't want to die. I'm definitely not suicidal. I'll even take bullets, arrows and blades for you people," I snarled. "Quite frankly, all of this paranoia is really starting to get on my nerves, so fucking CUT IT OUT!"

"You do not tell us what to do," Constanza ground out. She'd grabbed my chin with one hand.

"I'll keep that in mind next time an Amazon's life is in danger and a simply warning from me could save their life. Be assured I'll put your directive down for the reason they croaked," I countered.

"If it was up to me, you would be killed for your insolence," she growled.

"Does it ever occur to you it is the other way around?" I touched her wrist.

"What?" Constanza was both irate and uncertain.

"You are where you are because you have a habit of making poor decision on a strategic level," I explained. Apparently I wanted to die.

"Why does anyone like you?" Constanza muttered.

"Like me? Most people who know me, hate me -- like you. The difference is they get to know me first then they hate me. You haven't gotten the full Cáel experience yet. You hate me on a purely generic level. Real hate comes from knowing me," I grinned.

Like so much that comes from my lips, that was a lie. To be truthful, most of the women I had wronged over the past four years forgave me -- eventually. Most of them figured out that I hadn't cheated on them -- I cheated on EVERY girl I was with, but one -- my mentor. She was the one who tossed me out among the female population in the first place.

Some ladies did hold a grudge. There is one chick who burns me in effigy every year on the date of our break up. I should have known better. It was my freshman year and she was a Psychology teaching assistant. Most psych majors are wacko -- more wacko than most pissed of women, I have learned from experience. I'll still date them. I also take more care about what I eat and drink around them too.

"I'm glad to know you will be gone soon," she seethed then removed her hand from my chin.

"Constanza, you really need to stop trusting me so much," I chuckled.

"I don't trust you at all," she countered.

"But you are taking my word for it that women hate me," I snickered.

"More importantly, you are ignoring the facts. The majority of the women at Havenstone who like me, do so for reasons totally devoid of any intimacy. We both know I can be a jerk. I'm being a jerk right now -- to you. What separates us is that I have no doubt that if you were in danger, I would come to your aid. That is the kind of person I am," I related calmly.

"That would never happen," Constanza insisted.

"I don't care what you think," I shot back. "I don't make decisions based on your whimsy. I follow my leadership. I know I'm loyal. Now, can we please get back to the reason we are all here?"

The scoring indicated that I was so lucky that girl came at me with the poker. I missed six shots out of 45, which I thought was awesome. I even managed to badly tear up the chests of the front and left targets. The target on the right was still 'dead', but he could be buried in a tuxedo. I had one head shot -- it wasn't on purpose.

We went back to the gun room, reloaded my Glock, a .38 Colt and a Mossberg shotgun. One guard went with me while Constanza and the second guard scored my first round. Back in the firing lane, I lost all firearms ability what so ever. I was saved by three shooters who volunteered to help. See how easy that was? They helped me with my stances, reload techniques and argued the merits of hip holster, ankle holsters and shoulder holsters.

To reciprocate their hospitality, I stripped off my annoying jacket, tie, shirt and undershirt. We got into a discussion of spent rounds bouncing around and maybe scaring the shooter. For the Amazons, it was training to ignore painful distractions. I stopped -- leveled by an epic brainstorm -- and fired off an order to Executive Services -- care of Daphne.

"What are you doing?" one of the new lethality-engines asked, somewhat piqued.

"Oh, I have to celebrate Fabiola's resurrection -- Hayden's orders -- and that is going to require supernatural aids," I replied. I was back on track in their eyes.

"What was it like to feel the strength of the Ancestors flow through you?" the second one whispered. This Ancestors and Goddess crap -- mysticism was real to them. I've never claimed to be a deity though I've insinuated that I was the blood descendant of the Goddess Ishtar -- reference the Wiccan Priestess -- and her circle of naked female celebrants.

The answer, not a total lie, was pure Amazon.

"I didn't feel anything," I could sense their disappointment. "You know, all I felt was the spear and nothing else. Absolutely nothing else mattered. All other burdens and pains were lifted from me so I could devote myself entirely to the task at hand -- hold the spear aloft."

They ate it up because the 'stillness' was at their core of martial mystique. Bushido had it too except they called it 'No Mind', or something like that. To be honest, I had come by that state of being through sex. My focus narrowed down to my partner and all of her actions and reactions. For a lowly male, like me, to possess that quality must have been divine intervention.

"You did a wonderful thing; channeling the Ancestors that way," the third stated. "Oneida is precious to the Host."

"I beg to differ," I regarded her with a quirky smirk. "Every life is precious. When you start weighing a person's life before you chose to save it, you have lost much more than that split second -- you have lost a piece of your soul."

Oh look. I was lecturing them and they didn't like it.

"Try looking at it from my viewpoint for a second," I knew they couldn't. "I'm a lowly male caught up in your fiendish experiment. I don't know who any of you are beyond the reality that you would casually harm, or even kill me for any number of reasons."

"You clearly think I should cower and cow-tow to your whims and wishes," I took in their negative reactions. "I'm not. That's not me. Instead, I'm going to run errands, learn to fight, laugh, play and have a great time. If it matters -- I know it doesn't to you -- I am Cáel Nyilas, son of Ferko, son of Árpád of the Magyar. 'Where there is Valor, there is Hope'," I added.

That wasn't my family motto. We were from poor, immigrant stock. My grandparents spoke Hungarian. I knew a little of it, just not enough to be considered fluent. I knew some Vlach (Romanian) too. When your neighbors are screaming insults at you, it pays to know exactly what they are saying. Again, I'm not fluent in Vlach, but I could get in a bar fight over what I did know.

"Your lineage is inconsequential," Constanza snapped. She'd come back -- yippee!

"How did I do, Jefe?" I beamed happiness her way.

"I hate you," she said through clenched teeth. I must have done better than I thought.

"Well, that's good. Maybe, under your instruction, I'll almost be a match for the other fine ladies down here one day in the distant future," I nodded happily.