It was a long day at work. The endless corridor under Cott Arena seems to get further from the parking garage every day. And so far, the undercover mission has yielded nothing. My superiors at the FBI are going to pull the plug any day. While my employee badge says Janice Snow, my real name is Carla Johnston. I'm an FBI special agent.

How did a rookie fresh from the academy get assigned to this op? I look young. Nobody in the Cott cartel suspects that the high school girl running the concession stand is with the FBI.

A sudden noise makes me stop in my tracks: a woman's scream echoes down the hallway. I dump my backpack and grab my Beretta from the hidden pocket. I chamber a round and clip the tactical headset to my ear. With gun low and ready, I advance up the hall.

Focus, deep breaths. Pick your target. Remember your training. I reach a door with light under it. My heart starts to race. No time to call anyone, this one is all you.

But as I reach for the knob, a figure bolts from the darkness. In an instant I'm face to face with a giant. He goes to tackle me, but I twist free and fire twice, hitting him once, but he doesn't go down. He slams me to the wall as I pull the trigger twice more but hits the barrel before I can line up a third shot. Two more point blank to the chest. He keeps coming. He connects with a left, but I pivot right and land a roundhouse kick to his head. He doesn't even blink.

I break free and run, hitting the panic button on the radio and reloading a magazine. But he's faster. I pivot to fire but he tackles me. The gun falls from my hand.

A bee sting burns my neck where the needle goes in. My knees give out as I go for the gun, but it's out of reach. It's too late, I'm finished.

He withdraws the syringe and smiles, revealing a mouthful of broken teeth.

Everything fades to black.

He moved as an unpredictable blur. His sweat dusted my face. A pungeant musk lingered stale in the stale. Shined dress shoes flit from back to front, back to front. A dragon tattoo covering his right arm mirrored his footwork: a fierce river, the dragon cascaded like a waterfall as his arms tensed and relaxed, throwing jab after playful jab. Eyes stared empty, expressionless, but emotive with calculated fierceness.

The waterfall ricchocheted against sinew. The dragon charged. Pain blinded me--my head rocked back. Blood gushed out my nose and down to my lips. The sharp taste of iron was a good appetizer to this feast.

I could take him. As my eyes came back into focus, I moved with him. His muscles under his skin were his tell. I became his doppelgangar, swaying with the dragon and looking for an opening. His mind was as sharp as his knuckles though, and he caught on to my tactic. His direction changed. Hands moved through stances, guards, and feints. Like a magician, his prestidigitation obscured intent.

The dragon surged forth in a right hook. I weaved and crouched then countered with a blow towards his jaw. This was my opening.

The tiny white hairs on my ear prickled as his fist brushed against them. He had missed. But that was his intent, I only found out after. His fist had only been a shadow to distract. Again, my vision flashed purple as his elbow collided hard with my temple. The dragon snaked downwards, taking my arm with it in a lock. My feet flipped skyward; the floor struck my cheek harder than he ever had.

I came to with him hovering over me.

“You done?” he asked. His eyes drooped, tired, as though the dragonfire had seared away with the end of the fight.

“Never,” I responded, and he hauled me to my feet. There was only one more week left, and I wasn’t anywhere close to being ready.

I threw the first blow, it was a good one, it collided with his face. I thought the force would give me time to land another blow, but he was already throwing his own punch.

Man this guy was strong...

Ever been taught 'Don't hit girls' nope! Not this guy! I felt a bruise forming on my cheek. The guy glared at me.

"Now," He said, "Do you know where your place is?"

"No," I said "I need directions."

He punched me in the face and shoved me to the dirt.

"There!" He yelled "Directions shown!"

Man this guy really thought he was smart, didn't he? Well, he kinda put me in the prime position to hit the men's reserved soft spot. If you understand you understand, I am not going in depth, just know, he probably didn't feel so smart after that.

There was a very high pitched squeal coming from him as he started to fall over. He said some very non-PG words that were a little sexist to, though I didn't care. He used the wall to stand himself up and he pulled a gun.

Why'd he have to do that?

I snap kicked the gun away from him just as he pulled the trigger, cross your fingers that that bullet didn't come back down and hit somebody, I then performed a jump spin kick to his face and knocked him out cold. Man, that's what dirt-bags like this guy get I guess.