A new age of training


    Monster assassins exist in an age where monsters have substituted dungeons for dine-in restaurants. They have traded in robes, cloaks, and tunics for designer suits and board rooms. They’ll haunt the forest as much as they’ll haunt a hallway or a back alley. Your skills are as diverse as the threats you face, and your resolve is as unyielding as the steel in your hand.


    Our anxiety turned into embarrassment, but we had practice to shrug it off. The timing was astronomically idiotic, but if not savage monster who better to throw our day’s game than an impromptu visit from your extended family?


    Dad shut off the Red Alert and we watched the footage through a variety of filters while Mom lifted the lockdown. Tony and I shared a dismal expression while Dad stared at the view screen with a condemning glare, although condemning may not have been the right word. We watched their arrival, and their interaction with our mailbox. If they had any indication that they had set off an alarm; their body language didn’t show it, nor did it offer any clue as to who it was. We could guess, but family war games were common enough, and there was a list of the most likely members who would initiate one. Once they left, we watched it a few more times on a replay.


    Fosters treat reunions, gatherings, and holidays like interactive games of Risk, and my parents were top-notch players. If we had a multiverse of Fosters, my dad could have easily been a lawyer, given his interaction with Mr. Morris. Dad most definitely could have been a motivational coach, an evil genius, a family doctor on TV, a warlord, a game show host, or an eccentric candy maker with a factory right in the middle of town. Dad displayed his array of faces showcasing moods and attitudes while he assumed the correct one for the task. Dad had a terrific game face, a smug poker face. He could keep a straight face and tell a joke. He had a stage face to talk his way out of problems, and then there was his competitive face.


    It had been a while, nearly five years since the last war game, but someone in the family had come to town and graced us with their presence in the most ridiculous way possible. It would have been impolite not to respond, after all, they were family.


    This war game. The curse of the stickers. It had a unique history. One that stoked both Tony and I’s youthful memories. We finished off some food and we hurried to our respective rooms and dressed, while Dad and Mom did the same before setting up our tool kits.


    Family war games were no laughing matter.


    “Who do you think is in town?” Tony asked ten minutes later. I sat on a bench and put on my shoes while he adjusted his watch and then put on his jacket. We all had clothes we didn’t mind getting dirty or possibly tossing them into the garbage before the night was out. Tony had a few bulges in his pocket, which told me he was not playing around and seemed suspicious enough to take a few extra precautions.


    “The Stickers game is a common enough challenge,” I replied, grabbing my jacket and putting it on. I made sure all the pockets were probably secured and loaded. “I could guess, but our visitors covered their tracks well enough. We also have done it since we were kids. I bet whoever it is thinks we’re rusty.”


    “My money’s on Uncle Cody and crew,” Tony said.


    I shook my head and grabbed my keys, “Revenge of the stickers isn’t his style, and you know Gretel doesn’t like to get her outfits a mess. She wouldn’t be interested in such an obviously messy game.”


    Tony put some gum in his mouth. “True, but that is the kind of supposition that could get us into trouble.”


    “Agreed!”


    Dad’s voice carried from upstairs before he appeared at the top and descended. “Remember, we call these things games, but they are training exercises. I’m not a fan of the timing, but monsters don’t work on helpful schedules. We’re not rusty, but it’s a good idea to keep our skills sharp. Once we go outside, we treat this like any other effort pre-encounter.”


    “We know and we’re ready,” Tony interjected. “You’ve trained us well enough to not go into a situation blind.”


    “I’d like to think so, and you both handled last night really well,” Dad said, “Equally important, though, is sometimes we must operate with half a dossier. We couldn’t identify our target, so we must assume a specific threat level until evidence suggests otherwise. Now for kicks, Tony; before we go, tell me the top three ways to scout out a target in a public venue?”


    Tony snickered at the question. It was an easy one. Mom and Dad had drilled the techniques into our head’s multiple times.


    Tony snapped his fingers. “You should see who is trying to avoid a large crowd, take an extra minute before entering potential bottlenecks, and don’t stay in one place for too long.”


    Dad then turned to me.


    “Emma, which one did he miss?”


    I raised an eyebrow, confused at the question. Tony meanwhile pointed an accusatory finger at Dad. His expression made me laugh. “Dad, you asked for three ways and he’s right.”


    “I did, but you missed a big one, so I guess there are now four,” Dad said. Then he motioned to me. I grabbed my keys and took hold of the door, and I turned the knob and pulled, jumping back as three distinct pulleys and cranks whizzed out of control. Dad jumped back, nearly tumbling over the couch, while Tony yelped. He flipped backward and stumbled into the coat closet. Mom rushed to the top of the stairs, and I put my back against the wall as three basketball-sized balloons flew through the open door, hitting the wall and exploding in a loud, satisfactory slump. I pushed it close as thick red ooze dripped down the wall. Dad straightened up while Tony secured his release from a few fallen coats and some oversized snow boots.


    “Let me guess,” Tony snapped; his expression tensed, and he winced as he spoke. Mom hurried down and immediately began an examination. “Expect the unexpected.”


    “Not bad, but in this case no,” Dad said, his keys jingled before he wrapped his fingers around them. “When scouting out a target, regardless of the type of monster, when it comes to these games. Fosters don’t play fair.”


    There were no other traps, and after a quick inspection of the mailbox, we found that our challengers were waiting for us to pick the field of combat. In our line of work, we surveyed the street but quickly got into our own vehicles, each equipped with survival tools, cameras, and communication systems encrypted and linked within the family. We had enforcement and cash.


    Bear in mind that these games don’t mean that if we had regular family reunions, we would, upon arrival, immediately try to hurt, kill, or embarrass each other. Some family members would try to do something. We were far from sitting around the yard eating burgers and playing board games. We were a family of covert assassins, and we lived dangerous lives, so we were constantly on the edge. In a weird way, these games were a way to keep that reality present while having a little fun. If by fun, you realize that all forty-two options could end with tiny scars, public humiliation, and awkward laughter. As I headed into town, I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth. It only took about half a dozen games before the thrill became subpar, like the rerun of a favorite show. The games have their uses, and they were training exercises. Yet, they didn’t capture the real threat. We were good, but it is all guesswork when you can’t think like a monster. You can’t recreate the same death-defying odds from creatures that can flatten cars, breathe fire and generate ice, or those who can see in the dark. Monsters are out there, and they have gotten so good at blending in. The real task within Foster’s family games was to do the same. You must blend in. You must appear unseemly until you lure your target into a false sense of security.


    It is knowing your enemy in a way and still being able to sleep at night.


    After several blocks, I utilized basic evasive tactics to check for any tails or possible sneak attacks. Traffic was relatively mild, which was odd for two o''clock in the afternoon, but I saw no traffic detours or red flags like abnormal numbers of people on the road. A stray baby stroller moving down the sidewalk with someone desperately trying to catch it. I pulled into a large neighborhood with massive houses and towering trees. We had a small house on the block compared to these homes. I saw no people working on cars, checking their mail, or chatting with their neighbors. The lack of potential leads didn’t sway me from looking. They were out there, though, and they weren’t going to make it easy.


    I maneuvered back through the neighborhood and came to an intersection that took me into the commercial district. I merged into traffic, headed up a few blocks where I settled into the nearest parking stall outside the local mall. I let the car idle for a few moments and pulled out my phone to send a few messages. Even without a game in play, we needed to know where each other was at all times, just in case.


    Tony: Why do these games make everything, and everyone look so suspicious?


    Dad: Because you’re paying attention.


    I snickered at the witty comeback I considered putting into the conversation but opted to keep it to myself this time. Instead, I typed out my reply simply conveying that I was in position and where I was.


    Message sent.


    I clicked my phone into the standby mode and stuck it back in my pocket. I only had a few minutes to set a plan of attack. These games had general rules; in the case of our sticker game, the task was for the challenging family to put an enforced sticker somewhere on their opponent''s body. Once they were far enough away, they could trigger the sticker like a time-delayed fuse. If the attackers are successful, the sticker’s enforcement would activate with effects ranging from incredible foul odors, temporary dyes, and even mild illusions, such as gum on your shoe, torn clothing, or something that would make you look like a complete idiot in public.


    The hard part was to do it unnoticed. The effects only lasted about ten minutes, but sometimes, things like the smells would linger. Or we’d have to talk our way out of trouble. While under the sticker’s enforcement and its effects. That was prime time to try and get a second, if not a third or a fourth somewhere on their person.


    Our advantage as the defending challengers. We could employ a wide range of nonlethal tools and traps, which, once activated, present similar effects that they’d have to live through. The comparison was the challenging family, they were the assassins. Our larger arsenal of possibilities from home-field advantage and proximity traps were meant to replicate the possibilities of things like brute strength or some natural ability. We didn’t know who they were yet, but likewise, they had no idea what we had brought along or if our home defenses had offered any clues as to their identity.


    While in play, if we managed to hit, trap, mark, or ensnare my challenger. They would be under the same social problems, but like a monster, if I could tag my attacker and slip away, the effects would double. We often played a game for several hours. I had chosen my location, so I had to outlast my challenger for about two hours before I could change location, which represented changing the stakes and if other family members hadn’t been tagged by their challengers. We could join forces, they could not. The game was over by dinnertime.


    I unclicked my seatbelt and headed into the mall. I was reasonably sure no one would try a sneak attack in the parking lot, but Dad was right: Fosters don’t play fair, and a parking lot would be the prime place to strike. At the same time, catching us outside was a low blow and a dangerous risk. You don’t just walk up behind a vampire. Their natural agility would snap your wrist like a twig. When you’re out in the open, that makes other people suspicious and of course, we want to avoid that.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    So, what would a challenger do? If it were me, I would have arrived as quickly as possible and gained entry to hopefully catch my opponent in the act of setting traps. It''s harder to prepare when you don’t have a head start.


    Sadly, they were in for a few surprises. We hardly went anywhere around town where we were ready for the potential surprise, especially if they were places, we often like to visit.


    Ping, message alert.


    I slid into a corner and checked my notifications. My parents acknowledged my initial message, and the family app indicated that the game had begun. This was the queue to say that a family member was at my location, and they were on the move.


    I ignored the urge to glance back toward the parking lot, then proceeded toward a junction in the mall’s interior that forked toward a Sporting Goods store and a kid-friendly arcade complete with a bouncy house and a VR area. I glimpsed a bookstore, multiple clothing stores, and several lounge areas occupied with teens eating or hanging out on their cell phones. While older individuals read magazines in massage chairs. There were more people than I anticipated, but it wasn’t Christmas yet, so large lines or groups weren’t a problem. I didn’t immediately recognize anyone, but it was allowed to use disguises. I worked my way around the perimeter, double-checking my proximity as I advanced to see if anyone might try and dart out at me, or if someone might attempt to use a large group as a cover. There was no one, all was relatively quiet. The people around me were people minding their own business.


    Or were they?


    Who would decide to come after me, and what would their strategy be?


    The mall had at least six different entrances apart from the one I had used. I knew at least two that were external doors to department stores. This warranted consideration given that a mall was so open, it would make sense for either of us to choose a select set of stores and alternate between while watching for any indication the other person was close by. I had typical social media, so my challenger might know what I looked like, but I could use disguises, and on principle, we kept the pictures at least a few months, if not a year old.


    For now, I needed to establish a home base where I could keep watch because out here, I was a sitting duck. The inside of a store wasn’t off limits, but it did make it harder to get away because other patrons would be watching for someone doing something suspicious.


    Did I want a clothing store or a large retail space with multiple areas, large-scale foot traffic, and possibly obstructed views?


    There were a few different stores, a few were small, and there was no way I could spend more than thirty minutes in one. Recurring visits would be a no-go unless I had to duck into one to avoid a group or if something happened that could distract me from someone trying to get close.


    I glanced at the closest store as I cleared a large garbage can and the first pillar. I could go into the bookstore; would they suspect that? It had lounge areas, and plenty of people of all ages liked to hang out to test the possibility of a new book while working on their computers or eating a treat at the cafe.


    It was the best place to start. Bookstores have a lot of foot traffic and there were plenty of places to take cover. I headed to the entrance but stopped when I spotted a sign indicating an author’s signing. I didn’t recognize the name or the title, but a book called, The Lost Curriculum of Magic probably would be an interesting read. I could try to join the group, but I didn’t really have time to read fiction, and I did dare linger by an external door.


    Within ten seconds, several attendees smiled and took off to other parts of the store while a new wave of people sauntered in from an external entrance.


    Sorry bookstore, maybe another time. From my vantage point, it didn’t seem like too many people were in the store, but my challenger could be on their knees pretending to look at books on the lower shelves or hanging out in one of the lounge chairs. It was a risk. I could consider joining the author signing, but most adults look like chaperones instead of fans. I hadn’t read the book, so I doubted I could blend in.


    This whole game is meant to simulate a real-world encounter. I moved wide and approached a small group of kiosks selling everything from custom shirts to sunglasses and jewelry. It was unlikely that they could swap themselves in place with a vendor. I proceeded passed them as not one, but two security guards came around the corner. I rolled my shoulder and kept my gaze on the windows appearing as though I was window shopping.


    Would my challenger use a disguise, or would they just blend in with the crowd? Our family history with the games had me a little worried. We had a childish attitude toward the games, and now we had adult money to throw at our effort. I moved my attention past the kiosks and glimpsed a fitness store’s ad for new powder and liquid protein supplement varieties. I forced a smile and headed past the guard. He looked grumpy and judgmental, but he probably had the attitude, especially the teenagers.


    I wish I had a better idea about who I’m against.


    In those moments leading up to an encounter. When you don’t know who your enemy is, and in a modern society. You have to account for a monster''s attitude, history, and what they might do if they believe themselves to be in danger.


    Fosters, we make up for that with Super Bowl-level enthusiasm and just like a monster, there are small tells that could give you away. Did their hair match their facial features and size? Did their demeanor match their physical size, or were they using fake bellies, prosthetics, or layered clothing to hide their actual appearance? I needed to secure a position where I could secure and utilize my tools to monitor the mall.


    I inched toward the nearest store. My next reasonable would be to browse and possibly buy something. If I picked the right store, one of them could have a Try On area which could give me a few minutes of privacy. If I did try something, I would probably have to buy it, which wasn’t a terrible prospect, even when some of the articles would be terribly overpriced. I wouldn’t have minded having nice clothes, but we lived with hazards. If I bought anything new, there was a chance it would get dirty as there was a chance for it to get ripped, torn, shredded, or destroyed in unrealistic and unimaginable ways. Between protecting our looks and protecting ourselves from attack, we’d have to live to fight another day; otherwise, we might as well just retire and get regular jobs, which wouldn’t happen.


    I was thinking too much. I had to make my move.


    I backed against the wall as a large family rushed past me, probably heading to the food court. I could smell gourmet pretzels in their buttery glory and in my mouth water. The rich salty aroma was then quickly forced into combat with a number of scented lotions and perfumes from a neighboring vendor. The burst of fragrance surprised me, but I didn’t consider it a trap or a warning for the moment.


    Once the family had slipped around the corner, I noted a cell phone store and an entertainment store that sold everything from video games and comics to figurines and movies; most were used so it wouldn’t draw a large crowd, and I was far from the invested comic book nerd compared to the avid movie goers and the convention attendees. I didn’t analyze it, I just headed for it. I had to take the risk to convince my challenger to strike. I felt my phone vibrate, indicating a message. I placed my hand against it and kept my pace even as I reached the entrance. I passed a precious stone kiosk; my heart was pounding. From the corners of my eyes, I detected small signs of movement. When I was steps away, I pivoted, changing course immediately for a sexy lingerie store. It was a bit impulsive, but a change would throw them off their guard and maybe get them to slip up.


    “Emma?”


    My shoes squeaked, and I braced myself for a sticker’s effect or any kind of outburst. I hadn’t considered someone would try the direct approach.


    I readied myself to make a subtle dodge and employ the enforcement called a zap ring. I clenched my fist and turned to see a woman about my age drop a few shopping bags and smile with genuine excitement and long-forgotten delight after a moment when I recognized her fashion sense, coupled with her vibrant red hair. I felt stunned but let out a giggle and my own exclamation.


    This was the first time in a long time since I’d seen an old friend.


    “Oh my gosh, Lauren. How are you?”


    Such a public place, why wouldn’t I have a chance to encounter an old high school friend. Most of my former classmates had moved on to bigger cities or had carved out their lives in neighboring towns. If I ran into any it was in a grocery store, or by happenstance on the street. Not the most ideal timing, but I could make this work.


    “This is quite a surprise,” Lauren said, hastily picking up her bags. She had done quite a bit of shopping and was close to having a cumbersome load. I snatched one up to help her get organized and while distracted, I used the opportunity and shot a glance around the immediate vicinity. For now, everyone seemed to be minding their own business. So far, so good, and having someone to chat with might throw my pursuing family member off my trail.


    “Emma, it''s been a while,” Lauren said. I gave her the bag and she awkward smiled and tried to take it, which she managed but it didn’t look comfortable. “What you been up to?”


    I shrugged and tried to play it causal, but I got an additional notification alert. “Same old thing, I guess. I’m making headway, but my degree progress is slower than I''d prefer.”


    “I totally know what you mean,” Lauren sympathized with an eye roll and a slightly exaggerated bravado. She had been the theater queen in high school, surprisingly, she hadn''t let it go entirely to her head unlike a select few valedictorians and the cheer captain. “I''ve logged nearly 50 hours in a dental office. I''m surprised that so many people are coming in, sometimes nearly twice a month.”


    “You work in a dental office?” I asked.


    Lauren nibbled on her lip. It was the kind of look that told me she was embarrassed by the fact, but it was far from the glamorous career she was aspiring to.


    “Who needs a dentist more than one every few months?”


    “Beats me,” Lauren replied, and began a soft unload of all the inner office gossip which she seemed ready, if not eager to unload. I caught the basic details, and I kept a close on the crowd and strained my ears for any kind of noise. I checked my watch; it had only been about forty minutes. I figured I could stretch the conversation out a little bit, but something was going to happen, and that ignited my speculation. Were they lying in wait? Had they been using their time to scope out the mall and the crowd to anticipate my maneuvers?


    “Overall, though, I do appreciate my days off,” Lauren said, peaking at her watch. It was subtle, and she didn''t seem eager to stop the conversation. Instead, she seemed content to wait, or she was waiting for something, maybe someone.


    “It''s nice to have a break,” I interjected but cut myself off as a face glanced around a pillar near an enclosed children''s playground. Lauren shifted gears and didn''t seem to notice my distraction.


    “I''m hoping the holidays let up a little bit,” Lauren said. “My family may have some vacations planned, but they''re keeping me all hush-hush. I''d like to go somewhere warm and.”


    I saw the face again, and an odor scratched my nostrils. For a moment, I thought it was my mind relating something to the Morris farm. I tensed as the person glanced in our direction and then, with a bashful demeanor, a shaggy brown-haired guy wearing a stained white dress shirt and a moth-eaten sleeveless red sweater. He had a round face and a slender frame and desperately needed a shower, deodorant, and a barber.


    “Oh wow,” he said through chattering teeth. He sniffed and then adjusted his thick-framed glasses held together with a thick wad of dirty tape. “Hi, girls.”


    Lauren wrinkled her nose and seriously looked close to either gagging or vomiting.


    “Hi,” Lauren said with a stiff slur and an awkward expression. “Do you need?”


    She trailed off as a few drops of drool slipped through his lips and moved down his chin. He could have had braces at one point, but he kept his lips close together. He shuffled in place. I noticed a few steakhouse menus, maps, loose pages covered or smudged in dirt, and what looked like motor oil or possibly ink.


    He cleared his throat while attempting to mask a faint cough, and then he straightened up; he was taller than he looked, and his mannerisms and bearing displayed considerable effort to appear relaxed while masking considerable pain.


    Or was he just simply nervous?


    “Sorry pretty,” he said, holding up the menu and pointing at Lauren. “I''m Melvin. Want a dinner?”


    He slurred his words and sounded a bit like Goofy as he said dinner. The whole exchange surprised me. I didn''t recognize him; he seemed familiar if I disregarded his shabby appearance. Lauren would be considered what boys would call “hot stuff,” and there was reasonable infatuation, but it wasn’t just awkward. I felt on edge, and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. It’s a flattering gesture, but this was rushed and not well planned out. I glanced at Lauren as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.


    “I''m flattered,” Lauren said. She was trying to sound pleasant and kind. It was beyond awkward to watch. I know it''s essential to be kind to everyone, but if this was his best effort and being entirely focused on his appearance, I had to agree that it would have been uncomfortable to be anywhere near him.


    Lauren flushed and nervously locked her hair behind her hair. “Thanks, but that’s not a good idea.”


    Melvin’s eyes flickered like a candle, and I wasn’t quite sure if he comprehended what she said. I twitched in distress when I saw him shiver, and then he licked his lips. When was the last time he’d eaten? He glanced over his shoulder and bit his lip a few times while a steady stream of saliva dripped down his chin.


    “Are you sure? Food is good. Food is.”


    His mouth began to water, and he doubled over. He was thin, but he didn''t come off sickly. He let out a moan. The muscles constricted in his neck, and he even wheeled, losing a few papers in the process.


    “Bye,” Melvin muttered, with further slurs and trouble speaking. “Sorry bother.”


    Lauren quickly waved and then stepped back wrinkling her nose in disgust. She didn''t want to be a part of this anymore. Melvin''s pitiful complexion and bearing were off-putting, and several other patrons seemed to notice, and they made no effort to point or comment as he wandered away.


    I scooped up the loose pages and faced Lauren, who had her attention on the pages, and she was letting her disgust show.


    “That was a first for me.” She said, “And ugh.”


    “Sadly,” I said. “Did you know him? He looked familiar, but I couldn''t place him.”


    “He looked like someone who’d hang out in the library in the fantasy club, Role something, or whatever. I never met him and can’t recall ever being in the same class.”


    Lauren then pointed at the pages I''d picked up. “What are you going to do with those?”


    I looked down at the pages. I hadn''t given it much thought. It seemed cruel to just throw them away, but would I be able to find him? What would I say if I did something about the pages that made me suspicious, but I wasn’t sure why.


    “I bet he hasn''t gotten far and,” it was then that I got a look at the contents.


    Everything was written in code. A code that I was quite sure not just scribbles, but quite possibly something supernatural in origin.