(Language warniiinngggg XD)

My name is Desmond Gorman. My alias is Derek. My age won't be said, but I'm not old. Dark hair and blue eyes, normal weight (shall not be enclosed) and kind of snappy personality.

My occupation would be...a hired murderer, you could say. Not an assassin. Nothing flashy like that. That would be saved for Augustine, my friend. Anyway, both my company and my employer's name is classified. Basically, I'm mostly known for my little run-in with Bulma Briefs. Well...I have a share as well. I'm not saying I was forced into it. I accepted a job. That's all there is to it.

Let me guess - you're expecting a totally tragic back story from me. Revenge, hate, abuse, the whole package. Well, not all bad guys are like that.

I myself grew up fine. I wasn't bullied, but I also wasn't popular. I never had any suicidal thoughts or hurt myself in any way, and I got high grades. In the honor roll most of the time, save the couple of C's in math, I was named one of the smartest kids.

When I was younger, I had originally thought of being a surgeon. The thought of working with bodies and seeing what was inside that made them work fascinated me. The heart, liver, stomach, you name it. I wanted to see how it functioned. The heart was the most interesting to me, since mine never worked that well. How it pumped blood and kept the body alive. Sure, the brain does that too, but I never actually wanted to touch and work on it. The heart...it was a lot more interesting.

Back then, the most pain I had felt was when I just got a scrape of the knee or whenever I had a heart problem. Nothing major, mind you. Nothing like the loss of a parent. Both of them loved me dearly - and I love them the same. They came to my graduation and doted on me even when my younger brother died as a small infant. They didn't spoil me, of course. I would be annoyed. But they did teach me right from wrong and let me know why I needed a college degree.

You're now wondering about my younger brother, right? Well, he died, as I said. He had the same heart problem as I do right now. But his was worse. His barely functioned, beating at a slow two beats per minute. He died the day before my graduation, living only for a week, but oddly I wasn't that affected. Of course, my parents were. But they saw the same thing I did, the reason I wasn't too upset, the large difference between me and my brother; they still had me...and my heart was still beating while his was not.

-
Now that you've had a small of my family life and younger age, you're wanting answers. Answers why I would be so cruel, why someone of my stature would want to go so, so, so low and be a killer. How I met Augustine and how in the world I ended up here. Well. A story is probably in order for each.

I stared at the ceiling idly. The barely noticeable markings on the blue-colored marble stared back at me. I moved my head to the left, my black hair falling over my face as I attempted to see if there was any difference in the views. Nothing. Same blue, same marks. My mind began to wander off to why that seemed to be, why we always see the previous picture than before we turned our heads. Then he popped into my vision.

"Wot the bleedin' 'ell are you doin'?" His disheveled white hair almost covered his hazel eyes. His hair style was nowhere near like mine; his was more choppy and a longer, not to mention curly. Mine was much shorter and choppy. "T'ain't the time to lounge around, Dez!"

I murmured something incoherent, pushing him away from my face and rolling over onto my side. Ahh, couches. They never cease to give me complete comfort.

"Oi! You're the same age as I, a whole 22, an' you won't even 'elp me move all the bloody furniture in?" He continued. "You're the one movin' in, mate, not me!" I chuckled from the depths of the couch's comfort.

"You're my roommate, idiot. I bought the house, you move the furniture in."

"Wot?! You can't 'ave paid for this! It's a whole two stories, it is!" I chuckled.

"Ah, Augustine, you're accent makes your complaining hilarious. I can't even take you seriously." I rolled off the couch, standing up to move the rest of the furniture in. I didn't explain what he already knew. I had bought the house with the money I inherited from my great-aunt who had loved me dearly - I had disliked her. She was...well...batshit crazy.

Yes, the white-haired 22-year-old living with me is named Augustine. More specifically, Augustine Diez. He's a total micromanager, and is actually quite the neat freak. I am too, but not as bad as he is. He has a whole obsession over phone games, like Temple Run and Subway Surfers, and actually has a robotic left arm around two years later. He doesn't like to say how he got it - I might tell you later on.

Setting down a lamp onto a small, circular table Augustine had put down, I stretched. "Dez! Hurry up and 'elp me out!" I heard Augustine exclaim from outside. I sighed, heading out the door, where he had left.

"What is it, idiot?" I asked, heading to where he stood, struggling to lift a large king-size bed. I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? We agreed on heavy stuff first. Why is this still out here?"

"I dunno! I'm not in charge of all this! Now shut up and 'elp me lift it, do!" Whatever the heck he meant with his accent, I lifted the other side up.

"Shit, this is heavy..." I choked from the pain in my arms.

"Oi! N-No cursing! T'ain't gentlemanly, it i-isn't!" He snapped. Rolling my eyes, we both pulled it through the front door.

"How...do we get it up the stairs...g-genius?" I asked.

"I thought you 'ad this planned out, m-mate!" I gave him an annoyed look, and he just glared at me.

"O..Okay...look...I'll go up the stairs...and we walk up them, g-got it?" I saw him nod, and I walked backwards up the stairs, heaving. "I-I shouldn't...be...doing...t-this..."

"Neither should I, m-mate! But we are, and we're doing it." After an excruciating fifteen minutes, the bed was placed and set. I bent forward, hand on my knees, attempting to catch my breath. Augustine chuckled, his breath already restored.

"So, mate, 'ow's your heart?" He asked, bending to see my face. I managed a small chuckle and nod.

"F-Fine..." I coughed and stood up, pushing the hair that covered my eyes back. Augustine grinned, not doing anything with the bleach-white hair that hung in his face over his golden eyes.

"Right. Now...I think a break would be smart, yeah?" I nodded. "Good. You rest while I check for any open jobs. We won't live off of your inherited cash." He walked out of the room as I fell onto the bed, feeling my strained heart calm itself.

What felt like five minutes was actually thirty. Augustine poked his head into my room and smiled. "Oi, fluffy-head, wake up." I stirred from my dozing, looking over to him.

"I got employee applications, I did!" He announced, going over to the side of the bed I laid on. Apparently he had left while I was dozing to get them.

"...Mm..." I mumbled, the back of my hand over my eyes. Of course, right now I would've been a surgeon. A doctor. A cardiac specialist. But when I applied, each turned me down. Each said the same sentence: "Not prepared. Short attention. Abnormal." Of course, I never knew why they said this. I did have short attention, but I took all types of classes and I was normal. But whatever. I can deal. It was just weird how each and every one of the hospitals wrote the same reason.

"Well? Want to see?" Augustine asked. His long hair was in a short ponytail. I hadn't noticed until now. I rolled my eyes. Why he kept his hair that long was unknown to me. Mine was somewhat long too, but not to my shoulders like him. Mine just goes to the middle of my ear. But this idiot hates to cut his any shorter than the end of his neck.

I nodded, sitting up and looking at the two files he held in his hand. Each were a manila color, our names printed on the front in bright, red ink. He handed me mine, and I opened the folder. Its contents held a picture of me - oddly - and my information. Augustine probably told them all of that in my stead.

Moving past the information, there was a packet on the company. The name was in large, bold letters:

Kierkov Industries: A Different Business

Turning in the packet to the next page, it wasn't at all what I expected. It read:

Desmond Gorman. You have been selected to join this fine company as a lethal force to be reckoned with. This company is not like any other, but you've probably gathered that much already. We trade in several types of goods, but we're also a deadly weaponry that gets high targets like king pins and business magnates off the map.

You have been selected because of your vast intellect and cunning; however, the main reason is your ability to wield a gun and not feel. In many reports of your past, we gathered, you mainly don't think of consequences or what other people are experiencing. You're cruel, to put in short. And this is a major asset in being a killer. It's not associated with most people, but your friend, Augustine, has shown that you are deadly in your own right. You're a different story, seeing as you actually have no reason for your actions. Even if you have never harmed someone physically, you have the makings of an assasin. If you agree to join, please sign the bottom in both print and your signature. To the right, supply a sample of data so we know this isn't a fake forgery. When you sign, you condemn yourself into silence. You tell no one about this business and you aren't allowed to leave it. You're imprisoned with this business. The only way you leave is death.
Thank you
President Richard "Boss K" Kierkov

At the bottom was his signature, and then the lines I needed to sign on and the box for the DNA. All of this seemed a little...cheesy. They chose me for that reason? That doesn't make sense. It seemed idiotic. Augustine looked at me expectantly. "So?"

I closed the folder and set it down on my lap. "I dunno...I mean...I don't exactly want to become a killer." He gave me a completely serious look. "What? You want to be a killer?"

"This is my chance to redeem myself. You know...from back then." He paused, allowing me to think of what he meant. Oh...that. "You know how much I've resented and hated snobs who carelessly hate those lower than 'em, you do." I sighed.

"August," I said, using his nickname. "I know. But killing...that just isn't right."

Suddenly he smiled after a long, awkward silence. It was a genuine one. He didn't look mad or annoyed at all anymore. "...You're right. I...shouldn't do anything like that all...nothing to hurt someone...right?"

I didn't move for a moment. Then I nodded. "Right..." This was probably the only time in my life I actually felt on-edge about Augustine.

"Then I won't do anything. I'll stay the way I am."

An hour after that, he had left the house again and didn't come back until late that day. He had come back completely normal. But something told me he was keeping something from me.

When he walked in the door, I was reading a hardback novel. It was Steven King's "Carrie". I barely looked up from my book when I saw he had blood running down his left arm coming from a red stain on his white cotton T-shirt. Alarmed, I put the book down and pulled him by his other arm towards me. Augustine looked surprised at my sudden action when I pulled his sleeve up. On his shoulder was a deep cut in the mark of an "X". I pulled him into the kitchen, darting for alcohol, thread, and a needle, ready to put my education to use for once.

He sat at the stool near the counter, a neutral expression on his face. It was different somehow, though. I didn't notice then, though, more concerned about getting stitches in his arm and disinfecting his wound. I dragged him to the sink, drenching the "X" in alcohol, receiving a loud groan from my roommate and the sight of red to flow into the drain. He bit his lip to keep from complaining, his right hand curled into a fist. I waited a few minutes before getting narcotics for him not to feel any pain while I stitched it up.

"Why didn't you give me that before, you twit?" He spat, obviously still in pain. I didn't answer him, getting a glass and filling it with water. He downed the pills I had given him quickly as I glared at him.

"How did you get yourself into something like that?"

It was his turn to not answer. Picking up the needle and surgical thread, I skillfully pulled it through the hole in the needle and pricked his skin before the medicine could kick in, causing him to wince painfully. "Wot was that for?!"

"What happened?" I asked calmly, not doing anything else.

"I got in a fight..." He said. Part of me didn't believe that. We let a few more minutes pass for the narcotic to start up. We both remained in silence as we stood by the sink, his skin being punctured several times and strewn back together as if he were a rag doll. "...'er name was Ana..."

"What are you going on about?" I asked, not moving my gaze from the stitching.

He didn't speak for a moment. His white hair covered his eyes, so I couldn't tell what was going through his head. I didn't say anything until he spoke again. "It...wasn't a fight, mate...I killed a woman, I did...'er name was Ana...single, no kids..."

My hand stayed still, poised above his shoulder.

"...Is...this 'X' from her defending herself...?" I asked silently.

He shook his head. "No. It...um...something of an entering rite..."

"You promised." My voice shook slightly. It was frightening to think I hadn't even lived 24 hours with this man and he was already a murderer. "You promised you wouldn't..."

"I promised I wouldn't change!" He suddenly shouted. "I've always been this way, I 'ave! Ever since that day!" Again, he had referenced what had happened as a teen - but I'm not explaining any of that yet.

"...Augustine...you can't kill someone over this-"

"And 'ho says I can't, eh?! No one ever said I couldn't get justice! You know wot 'appened!"

I nodded. "I know, Augustine. But you don't KILL someone for it!"

He slammed me against the wall, his right hand at my throat. I finally saw Augustine's eyes; they were filled with what looked like fear and hate. Unnatural fear and hate. "I'm a killer now, Dez! I can jus' at easily kill you, I can! You spoutin' about this nonsense can very well be the end for you! I'm not afraid to do it, I'm not!" His grip tightened on my throat.

I was actually afraid of Augustine. That was probably the only time he ever lashed out at me. I didn't cross him on that matter again. If he wanted to fuck up his life by being a murderer, okay, fine by me. Just so long as he didn't get me involved, I wouldn't say a word. That was our agreement, aside from me patching up his wounds. That's how it went for a while. He grew used to the alcohol from his many wounds. And for the next two years, nothing changed. But for just two years.

Two years after, I joined. Augustine didn't know, nor did he have a mechanical arm yet. But I didn't join under Kierkov. I joined under Alker. Alker, or Boss A, was more centered around guns instead of assassination like Kierkov was. I was 24 then, walking into the house with a bloody stain on my left shoulder. Augustine was out that night for his different job, the job of a game designer, his dream career. It wasn't that taxing, so he still had time to...work for his other job.

Going into the kitchen, I doused by shoulder in alcohol, taking over ten minutes to get used to the pain. My housemate wasn't going to be back for two more hours, so there was time to spare. Taking narcotics, I waited for another thirty until starting to stitch up my mark that was more like a cross. It was ironic, really. I was never that religious to begin with, as both of my parents were atheists. Thinking about that while sewing the wound got my mind mostly occupied.

"Wot 'appened?" A familiar voice suddenly said behind me. I jumped, fumbling with the needle.

"Augustine! I thought you weren't going to be back for another hour or so!" I didn't turn to him. He would probably see the mark.

"Uh...I got to leave early..." He responded slowly. "Wot 'appened?"

"I cut my arm on the dresser..." I lied. Well, it was a sharp point, and it had cut us multiple times.

"But why would it need stitches?"

"It was pretty deep..."

"It must be hard stitching up your own wound." I heard him put his jacket down and approach me.

"No, no!" I leaned more towards the sink. "I was trained to do this in college...I'm okay..."

"Dez, I know you don't trust me, but I know how to stitch, alright?" He came forward again, and I just decided to go with it. Only glancing at the precise-looking cut, he began stitching up my wound.

It was silent until he had only two stitches left. His stitching wasn't perfect, but it would do. "What made you join?"

I froze. After not speaking, I sighed. "I...found out how they had sabotaged my resumes for hospitals...to get me to join..."

"And?"

"...I figured...I was kind of stuck with it...so...I just decided I should just stop fighting it." There had been many letters from them, I explained, and it was pissing me off left and right. When I went to confront them, they explained the sabotage was for making me sound like a loon to get me to have no other choice but join them. Then I ended up doing just that.

"But couldn't you 'ave changed it? Your life is your own, mate," Augustine said. I didn't speak until the last stitch was finished.

"Well...life is like a picture in some ways - it's permanent. You can't change the photograph, including the face you make. Well, there's one way, and that's Photoshop. But then you've made an artificial life; Nobody likes someone artificial. You have to keep the picture, no matter how ugly it looks, and remember to not make the stupid face you did in the future...and be ready when the camera clicks."

So that's basically how I got my job and how Augustine and I have been together. It is true about what I said, however - that was the only time he's lashed out at me. I don't blame him. He had just killed someone, and then I suddenly bash him. Well, this is beside the point. You're probably still on my back about my meeting with Bulma and all of that lovely stuff, correct? Well...it certainly isn't what you're going to expect.

(So, this is just a little story about Desmond and his viewpoint about his little "confrontation" with Bulma. :3 For those who don't know, it's in the story, "A Problem" that I wrote, like, three years ago. XD Things will be explained. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter! Look for the next!)