I should run in the face of death so imminent yet avoidable, and still I only see opportunity.

  It never dawned on me before now. I stare down the slender head of a Mertem from above, crashing down towards its dark, slimy exterior. I speed to the point I can't stop to process it, like legs gliding with whimsy, running top speed. I despise the smell of the bustling, low-life-magnet market. The stench of various charred meats mixed with stuffy smoke. Despite having no positives I could list, I'd still prefer that over what I can't smell now. A lifeless, anosmic scent, if you could call that a scent. Dryness builds on my tongue as I fall fast enough to lose control of my jaw. It's as if the slim frame of the Mertem expanded vastly in a lone blink. I wouldn't know though, I never blinked that far down.

  It's funny how some people can be so casual about death and give a dream layout of theirs. I was one of them. But when actually faced with it, I close my eyes. In those last moments casualty fades and awareness seeps in. At least I'm doing this. I'm saving people. Making a difference. A good difference for everyone but me. Fear set in, but far too late.

  How could it have gotten to this? I figured out its patterns, I could've kept running. The last hour plays back in my head, all so clear in seconds.

  My father is just as tall as me but the difference in shoulder broadness is sizable. I bet he hopes to shorten that gap, seeing as he always gives me chores during training hours.

  "Roy?" He calls after a few knocks, opening the door to my room. It's plain in every aspect if you take off all the Optix merchandise and Optix Force member posters.

  A half thrown, well aimed kick, more like a tap, stops my punching bag. I let out an exasperated sigh.

  "Yeah, dad?" I ask, grabbing a small towel from my bed and wiping the sweat from my face to my neck.

  "Could'ya go to the market for me?"

  "Uh," I grab my phone and check the time. "Yeah, I'll be there before six."

  "I need you there before six. I need you there now." Now he's being assertive. Great.

  My eyes widen but soon roll, unable to hide my annoyance for another moment. "You know these are my training hours."

  "Seven in the morning to five in the afternoon are not training hours, that's a damn job." He crosses his arms.

  "Yeah, well, soon it will be." I snap.

  I'm given a sliver of time to notice his mannerisms. The narrowing of his eyes, the hardened grip on his biceps through crossed arms, and his slight scowl.

  "I hope so too, but every year--"

  "If they deny me, I'll try again. They can't deny me every year." A slight shake in my voice creeps out.

  “Yes they can, they have!" He glares at the ground. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Roy, not now. I have a friend at the market trying to leave early and he's only waiting on you. I need you to buy his fruit, it's on a discount."

  It proves too difficult to soften my gaze when I can't bring myself to not look angered. "Fine." I nod.

  He's right. Next year doesn't change the fact the Optix Force hasn't let me in and nothing's changed for them to accept me now. At least in their eyes it seems that way. To me, everything's changed. I've made sweeps of progress every year, I'm in the peak shape a human could be in. That's it though, peak human shape. The best Optix Force members have that as a bonus to their gems power. Hell, if you're good enough with your gem you could be a total slob and make it onto the Force. Have I seen such instances? No. But I'd bet Claire Campbell doesn't put more than one hour a week in the gym, though. Bet she bought her way in. I'm sure if I could buy my way in, I would've been a front-runner for the teen program.

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  Alas, I live in a glorified shack with the color fading from both the wood and bricks. Oh, the fact I'm no longer a teen plays a factor, too. Not the type in high school at least. It makes it even harder to understand why my father is so against me joining the Optix Force. It's not like we don't need the money.

  One more feat, one extra pound on a dead lift could be enough to get me in and he chooses to disrupt the time for me to do so. Just so I can go to the damn market? It's like he wants me to fail. He wants me to stay in this dump where one wrong slide of hand across the walls gets you an array of splinters.

  The pleads of salesmen stop the market from feeling completely devoid of life. I see why though. Being at the market this late is like wearing a sign on your back reading rob me! Of course I'm still here because my father has half a brain to know no one would want to mess with someone of my stature. His other half has too much wishful thinking that my training includes dodging bullets. Well, it does, but how's he supposed to know that?

  A bit of mindful jogging will help me find my guy easier. On second thought, never mind. My jogging is more mindless because someone's gonna think I'm running at and not past them. It doesn't slow me down too much as I find him behind a bright orange stand. I fix my gaze to smile at the short, pale man, beard almost down to his waist.

  "Roy! I've heard so much about you." He exclaims. I have to grin. Whenever anyone says something like that in that tone it's always good. "600 pound dead-lift? That is something to marvel at." Well, at least my father knows what I'd actually want people to know about me.

  "It's nothing big, only been able to do it a couple times. On average, I hit 560" I actually average 590, but I'm humble.

  "Oh, tomato, tomato." He laughs. "Speaking of which, on the house." He hands me a bag with two tomatoes. How kind.

  "Generosity. Now that is a quality of a man who knows business. And I suppose you're going to tell me about a buy two get one free offer for a lil bit of profit?"

  His eyes widen but he catches his smile. "Well don't you got quite the brain up there? We could use more deal's like that. You've got a spot here if you keep 'em comin'." He says.

  I chuckle. "Not in the market for a job right now. I'm in it for fruit."

  He waves his finger at me with a chuckle. Next thing you know he'll say he knows a couple comedians in the area that could use new people to bounce ideas off of.

  "Take a gander, let me know what peaks your interest." He says. Because apples are well known for being interesting items to gawk at.

  I pick out my father's usual suspects; oranges, celery, and apples with the albino mix of green and red. Plus my guilty pleasure he despises, tangerines.

  "Alright," I say with a satisfied exhale, "How much?" I still expect an answer. Even after the warm red of his face mixing with the fruit behind him morphs to the deep flowing black of a Mertem’s front leg. I still expect an answer.

  My attempt to blink away the burning sensation swelling in my eyes is futile as they lock into place. The piercing image of a perching Mertem won't dare exit my sight. A devilish, 10-foot black mutt with the screech of a thousand cries. And the devil looks me in my eye. It feels like with all the time in the world, I can only stare back with a red tint muddying my vision. Maybe that's what's stopping me from moving. Not knowing if the red is from the various crushed fruits or the merchant's blood. One stray glance and I could know.

  I finally shift, flinching from the Mertem’s movement, its sight now dead-set on me. The once towering figure now glares face to face with me. My heartbeat swells in a deeper pit of my stomach with its every snarl. It’s smokey gray eyes narrow, the being looking more feral than ever with a stare making me out to be food rather than human. That stare, that foul stare, the intention behind it is all I need to shift again. My foot grates against the ground but I can't move before my eyes are forced shut by a gust of wind. Gone.

  After a vicious shake forcing my breathing back on pace, I turn to my right. The Mertem darts deeper into the narrow market. I exhale, turning my foot to face the exit but my head doesn't move quick enough. Through flickering street lights and a vivid red tint, I make out a middle aged woman and a small child. A fallen child. The Mertem is going to trample her. My horrified gaze remains for a moment before I turn away. The multitude of screams become ear bleeding, and the sight of crashed cars and running civilians isn't any better. But I know me, I could make it through that. Make it out. I also know if I was back there I could save that little…I could save so many of them. If I can't, then what the hell was I training for anyway? I pivot to witness the narrow bloodbath of the market now. Maybe it's time I find out what my training was for.

  I should run in the face of death so imminent yet avoidable, and still I only see opportunity.