Everyone called him weak.
He was seen as uneducated, unneeded. But Superior insisted that none be turned away no matter how disappointing. He saw himself as an outsider. There were all meant to be brothers in arms. The nine of them. Him being the newest. But one of the others, a member who preferred being addressed by number rather than name, spoke up for him. He maintained that the Blonde was not at all useless but could indeed be most helpful if only given the chance. But no one ever did. Until it was already too late. They had refused to even acknowledge him. But then he became their last resort. Suddenly he was special, he was important. He was the one who could turn the misfortune of the entire Organization around. He could get the Chosen One back. But alas, now that they had finally given him the chance, he failed them. He had wanted to be remembered. But instead he had perished alone. And as he knelt there screaming, he cursed at the unfairness of it all. When they had sent him on this mission he had thought it an honor. The Superior himself had met with him and briefed him on the seriousness of the situation and the mission itself. He had convinced him there was no longer a choice, that he was their last hope. But now he realized he had been used. He had been sent though they had known he would fail. He was just an expendable novice. They had sent him to die.
His screams became twisted and strained. He was no longer afraid. Surely death could be no worse than his pitiful existence. He allowed the darkness to bleed from him the only thing binding him to this reality. Death was swift.
And he wished that the others would not go so painlessly.
