Cobra reached for a small case he had brought along and started pulling things out. “No idea. My job today is just to teach you how to use a gun.”
“A gun?” Echo’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at the disassembled handgun in the case. The pieces gleamed, dark and polished. “What kind of punishment is this?”
Cobra’s usual laid-back demeanor vanished. His expression turned stone-cold. “Pay attention to my movements. I’ll only show you once.”
Without another word, he grabbed the pieces and began assembling the gun with swift, practiced hands.
Within moments, the gun was fully assembled-clean, precise, and ready to fire.
Cobra didn’t even glance at Echo before quickly taking it apart again, laying the pieces back in the case in perfect order.
He turned to Echo, his face unreadable. “Your turn.”
Echo’s lips twitched slightly. She reached for the pieces, trying to recall the order Cobra had used.
“Why are you teaching me to use a gun? How is this supposed to be a punishment?”
Cobra’s gaze sharpened into an icy glare. “Training time isn’t for talking. You’ve got two minutes. If you’re late…”
He trailed off, walking to a corner of the room. From somewhere in the shadows, he pulled out a whip and cracked it through the air with a sharp snap.
The sound was piercing, the force behind it unmistakable.
Echo flinched slightly at the noise.
Seeing Cobra wasn’t messing around, Echo frowned but said nothing. She focused on the task at hand, carefully assembling the gun.
Was this really Ryan’s idea of punishment? What was the meaning behind it?
The only sound in the room was the ticking of Cobra’s stopwatch.
Tick-tick-tick.
“Twenty seconds left,” Cobra announced coldly, without even glancing at the timer.
Echo raised an eyebrow and sped up her hands, but for someone who only knew how to pull a trigger and call that “using a gun,” two minutes clearly wasn’t enough to get the thing assembled. No way she could finish it in time.
“Cobra, can you show me again? You were too fast, I couldn’t catch everything,” she said, looking up at him as the timer ran out.
Cobra’s face remained expressionless. He coldly counted down, “Three… two… one…”
As soon as the countdown ended, the whip in his hand snapped through the air like lightning.
Echo hadn’t expected him to really strike her and dodged quickly. But the whip seemed alive, twisting midair to chase her down, landing a sharp sting across her arm.
A hot wave of pain shot through her, and she glared at Cobra. “We’re supposed to be equals. You can’t lay a finger on me without my consent. That’s what you guys said!” she snapped, furious that they were now ignoring their own rules.
Cobra’s face stayed cold and indifferent. “This is Boss’s order. If you don’t like it, take it up with him.” His voice was calm but firm. “Now, start over. This time, you’ve got a minute and a half.”
The mention of Ryan’s order made Echo grit her teeth.
It was clear Cobra wasn’t cutting her any slack.
Without hesitation, he took apart the half-assembled gun she’d been working on and restarted the timer, not even checking if she was ready.
Frustrated but determined, Echo bit down on the pain in her arm and got to work.
She was a master thief, trained in speed and precision. Her eyes and fingers were her sharpest tools.
Even though Cobra’s demonstration had been quick, she’d caught every movement.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t do it-she just hadn’t wanted to. But now it was clear she didn’t have a choice.
As she cursed Ryan in her mind, her hands flew over the parts, assembling the gun with renewed focus.
“One minute and twelve seconds,” Cobra announced, glancing at the fully assembled gun in her hands.
His expression softened ever so slightly, a hint of approval in his otherwise cold demeanor. Turns out, just like last time, Echo had the skill. All she needed was a little extra pressure to squeeze it out of her-like squeezing oil from a press. Maybe the Boss’s orders weren’t so unreasonable after all.
Without a word, Cobra nodded and walked toward the nearby training range.
Echo followed him, glancing around the massive shooting area, which must have covered at least a thousand square meters.
Now she understood-it was a place meant for shooting practice.
At the shooting station, Cobra took the gun from her hand and said flatly, “The target is fifty meters away. The center bullseye is one centimeter in diameter. Your task is simple: two shots must hit dead center. If you don’t, you stay here until you do.”
He didn’t even look up as he casually fired off six shots in rapid succession.
The machine buzzed, reporting the results.
Echo glanced over at the scoreboard, and her brow arched in disbelief-only a single bullet hole appeared on the board.
Yet the machine confirmed: all six shots had hit the bullseye.
Cobra’s aim was flawless. She knew he was good, but did he really have to show off like that?
Cobra turned to Echo, tossed the gun back to her, and said coldly, “If you can’t hit the target, you stay in here. You leave when you hit it.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the exit, not sparing her another glance.
Echo froze for a second, stunned.
Just as Cobra reached the door, he suddenly turned back and said, “Almost forgot-there’s no water, no food here. Take your sweet time if you want.”
Then, with a swift motion, he slipped through the door. The soft clank of the lock echoed behind him, sealing her in.
Hearing that there would be no food or water, Echo’s expression darkened.
She glanced at the gun in her hand, then at the distant target.
Gritting her teeth, she snarled, “You think starving me will work? Not a chance. I’m not that easy to break.”
With that, she squared her stance and opened fire at the target.
Bang! Bang! Pop-pop-pop!
The sound of gunfire echoed sharply through the empty space, filling the basement with energy.
“Damn it! What is this thing?” she cursed, lowering her arm, which had gone completely numb.
She glared at the target. Not a single shot had landed where it was supposed to. She’d been shooting for what felt like ages, and still, not one hit. If Cobra hadn’t demonstrated earlier, she would’ve thought the equipment was faulty.
It didn’t seem like much of a workout at first, but holding her arms out straight for hours had taken a serious toll. Her wrists throbbed from the recoil, and her muscles screamed in protest. Now her arms felt numb and heavy as she slumped against the wall, panting for breath.
Her body hadn’t fully recovered yet, and fatigue hit her hard. Standing for so long, repeating the same rigid movements, drained the last bit of strength she had. The slight flush in her cheeks faded into a pale hue, and sweat dripped steadily from her forehead.
“Damn it… I’m starving… Ryan, you bastard,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her how empty it was. Frustrated and hungry, she fired off more rounds, venting all her anger at the target as if it were Ryan himself standing there.
She hadn’t really thought Ryan would go through with punishing her.
Sure, he talked tough, but he always let her off the hook because of her past successes. She had figured the same would happen this time. But, Ryan had snapped and actually sent her here to face the consequences.
It wasn’t even the punishment itself that pissed her off-it was the fact that he was denying her food. Of all things, this was what she hated most. She could negotiate on anything else, but not this.
Fuming with hunger and anger, she fired wildly at the target, caring less and less about hitting the bullseye.
Upstairs, in the surveillance room, Hawk shook his head as he watched her through the monitors. “Aren’t we being a bit too hard on her? She’s still recovering, and she’s never been trained to shoot.”
Sitting next to him, Cobra shrugged. “Boss gave the orders. You think I’d go against him?” He leaned back, unconcerned. “I even set the target to the shortest range possible. And don’t forget-I made sure she ate extra at breakfast before bringing her here.”
He paused for a moment, a flicker of memory crossing his face. “Besides, remember what we went through? We didn’t know a damn thing about shooting either when Boss threw us into the deep end. Three days and nights locked in, no food, no water. We were what, eight years old?”
Cobra’s expression darkened as he recalled the exhaustion and hunger that had nearly broken them. “We barely made it out alive. The only way out was to hit the damn target.”