People say universe has really sick sense of humour. Like how person's born, their inherent traits, their family, relationships-everything is so utterly random that the only factor that stands between 'fortunate' and 'less fortunate' are the sheer amount of luck they happen to possess.

  Elektra considered herself to be 'fortunate'. She was strong, strong enough to let anger control her life and somehow get away with it. And that was more than enough for her to survive.

  Until now.

  'Fortunate my ass.'

  That was the innermost thought of Elektra Markle, 17, doing absolutely NOT fantastic.

  It was just a normal Tuesday, when she got into a fight with an egotistical prick who's dad happened to be the senator. Turns out, beating senator's son has much more consequences than beating a random hoodlum in the street.

  But instead of going to juvie or prison, she was sent off to 'rehabilitation centre.' Not just any rehab centre, but a 'special one' that's reserved for someone like Elektra, apparently.

  Not that she particularly cared.

  If Elektra had known the 'rehabilitation centre' the police shipped her off to was actually a 'assassin pipeline', she would've knocked out the nearest guard and ran off in a heartbeat. Unfortunately that realization came five minutes too late, right around the time someone handed Elektra a name tag and smiled like everything was completely fine.

  To be fair, the word "assassin pipeline" came from Elektra's own interpretation, whose worldview that had been tainted and warped beyond repair. The ‘Brightwell Hunters Unit’ was the official name. Which sure was a thing to call 'rehabs'.

  Not that it mattered. Anywhere that looked at a girl with numerous assault charges and a family that stopped picking up her calls and went ‘yeah, we'll take her’ was certainly not running a standard program.

  What the fuck are these even for? Elektra complained as she finished the enrolment forms.

  What’s your ambition?

  Burn this place to the ground.

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  Any semester goals?

  Get expelled.

  She propped both feet on the desk, leaned back, and started rocking. The unit manager-a teacher? took her phone at the door. Annoying. They also took her lighter and pack of cigarettes in her pocket. It’s been three hours since she last smoked, which meant the headache was coming whether she liked it or not.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Elektra stared at the clock. She could feel her patience draining out after each individual blink. She eventually dropped her head on the desk, and started digging through her pockets for a nicotine patch she already knew wasn't there.

  Nothing.

  She looked up.

  The classroom was comically large for three people. The other two were guys, both with their backs to her, neither of them doing anything to improve the situation. She looked at them for a long moment.

  "Not one cute girl," she said, to no one in particular. "Not a single one."

  She put her head back down.

  One of the two guys had his hair all the way down to his waist, with so many pirecings that his ears were basically covered in chains. Does he smoke? Can I steal one? Elektra wondered, but didn’t really bring it to action.

  The other one looked like a walking fashion experiment and had somehow smuggled a mirror and mascara into the classroom. He was using them with such casual demeanour that it even seemed natural. Elektra stared at the back of his head, made peace with the fact that this class was a complete disaster, and kicked her desk forward.

  Fuck my life.

  The two guys, Caine and Lea, weren’t exactly thrilled either. Some girl just walked in, took one look around, announced there were no cute girls, knocked over a desk, and was now compulsively checking her empty pockets every thirty seconds like something might materialise in it.

  It wasn't exactly a 'pleasant' encounter, to say the least. Not that they cared. 'Socializing' and 'trying to be nice' were two things they abandoned long ago, whether they wanted or not. The main thing was that the three teens were justifyably labelled as 'criminals', which already explains a lot about their dynamics. Putting them in one room, first thing in the morning, unsupervised, was enough for them to radiate absolute pain-in-the-ass energy that would make even the most experienced educators to throw themselves off the bridge.

  And somehow this ‘brightwell’ shithole brought them together to-what was it, save people? Hunt the villains down? Act like some dignified hero?

  Become a hunter?

  God, it’s pathetic. Elektra chuckled under her breath.

  It became all the more interesting when the door swung open and apparent ‘teacher’ walked in. He didn’t seem much like a typical hunter. No scars blooming on his face, smug God-complex-like expressions hunters usually have. Instead, his face remained stoic. He walked in very well-composed manners, much like a military-trained weapon than a human.

  Without a blink, he stared at all three absolute shit of delinquents, Elektra with her feet still on the desk, Lea actively doing his makeup, and Caine cracking his knuckles like he was warming up for something.

  “Nice to meet you.” A short pause. “I’m Colonel Gorden.

  That’s when a hubris bell rang in Elektra’s head.

  The person standing at the front was no such thing as a 'normal' teacher.

  He was none other than one of the strongest soldiers in all of history.

  Shit. Elektra murmured.

  This can’t be right.