They let you keep something, from the first time. It's real odd; the first rule is practically 'no memories, no mementos.' Well, second after 'no emotion.' I mean we're assassins, not hockey players. But there is something about the first time; you can remember every single detail. You could've killed hundreds or thousands but that first one is the one that haunts you forever. Keeping you up at night until you can't stand it anymore and end up putting a bullet through your own head. I've heard too many stories end that way.
I was young; twelve not quite thirteen. One of my mentors, Ivan, and I attended some fancy party; he as a wealthy businessman and I as his young daughter. My emerald green dress complimented my hair and matched my eyes. The women flocked, cooing at my beauty until Ivan called me over introducing me to a couple I immediately recognized as our target. I was not nervous. I had been trained in the grace of a ballerina yet had the skills of an assassin that could kill any member of the party sans Ivan. I was a rose, not just with thorns but dipped in poison. I was, and am, lethal.
Ivan charmed the couple into discussing business in private; the moment he closed the heavy oak door, he went for his gun and nodded towards the woman. I knew my cue and dashed to her as would a predator to her prey. She fell against the wall and I noticed everything at once: the way her teal dress hugged her curves, her blonde hair in an intricate updo, her red lipstick framing her gasp. But most of all, her haunting blue eyes. I could feel her pulse in the palm of my hand and the pride in my chest as the crack sounded the room. I was so perverted by The Black Widow Ops that I was overjoyed by the first splash of red in my ledger. And after Ivan quickly finished the interrogation and kill he put his rough hand on my shoulder. "One prize is all you get. " I had seen the mementos of others and knew the drill. I swiftly snatched a pearl pin from her hair; her glazed over eyes still staring.
To this day, I'm fearless. No matter the blood on my hands or the red in my ledger, I remain a stone: emotionless. But if my eyes glance upon the pin, a thousand shots of vodka couldn't shake the burn of her blue eyes. I know now why so many have brought an end to themselves, I've considered it myself. But when I turn to look at the picture of my team, all smiles, I see the good I'm doing. Well, as good as I'm ever going to get. And I live on. The pin may have been my start, but I'm still far from the end.
Natasha