The cell they took me to was small and possessing a strange odor; rotting human hope mingled with multiplying human despair; it was grief, anger, and madness; the stench of death surrounded me.

What a place to end in, I thought as the time passed in. I was glorious once, I was feared and revered, I was a force to be reckoned with. I looked around my small cell, now I was no more than a common murderer, a name on an execution list, and by this time tomorrow, I will no longer exist.

I was leaving this world finally, and though I had planned on killing myself, I truly did not want to die, not in this place.

I had acted foolishly, I allowed my agony after loosing Christine to over power me; and I had not covered my tracks as I should have, and that rich boy had ratted me out, so that was why I was sitting in the odiferous cell.

Damn that Raoul, I thought, he had ruined everything, not just my plans with Christine, but my plans for my death as well, what right did he have to do that? I was just going to die, I was not going to hurt anyone, or follow the fop and Christine as they shared in marital bliss, I just wanted to be left alone.

Stupid boy, I thought again. I sighed. Now all that was left was the waiting; I stared at the barred door, picturing the jailors coming at dawn; they would take me under the arms, bind my wrists together, and lead me out to a crude platform where the end would come.

I was scheduled to be beheaded, it was a cruel form of execution, but the jailor said he had his orders, and I took that to mean that the fop had insisted his attacker's head be chopped off.

I stared at the wall in front of me, it contained 3,456 bricks, I had counted twice already. I thought it might distract me; it had not met my expectations.

Time seemed to be moving very slowly and very fast at once. Slowly, because each thought that occurred to me was a painful memory of Christine and my failed attempt to win her, and quickly because I knew each moment was drawing me closer to my gruesome death.

I guess it was about four in the morning when it happened. I heard footsteps outside, someone was coming and I wondered what poor cheat was going to be executed at this time.

A jailor opened my door; I guess I'm the poor cheat. Two men with guns entered, and they bound my hands behind my back, just as I had pictured it. They gruffly shoved me from my cell and led me down a hallway.

I had expected to be led outside, but it seemed that I was being taken lower into the Paris prison. The jail was filthy; the floors had not seen the light of day since their far off construction. An interesting paint covered the walls; grime, cobwebs, and here and there spatters of blood.

Ahead of us, there was a slant of light coming from a half open door. The light was a strange sight in the oppressing gloom of the prison. I heard voices coming from the room;

"It's too risky, I have let you go this far, but this is too much, he is too great a liability, if anyone ever found out…" The man's voice was intelligent sounding, he did not posses that unfortunate accent which the common idiots of Paris did, but he also sounded worried.

"It's not, I told you," another smart voice cut in, he had a straightforward confident tone, "He's perfect, and I will make sure nobody will find out. If you want this to work, than let me do my job and I will make it right…"

The man was still talking as we walked in, and I took stock of the two occupants of the room. The man belonging to the first voice was standing impatiently, his hands in his pockets. He was an older man, his hair was beginning to gray, and he wore an old but clean gray suit.

The second voice was seated behind a desk in the room. There was a chair in front of the desk and he motioned to me to sit. The man behind the desk was around forty, dark hair and quick, dark eyes. I could not help but notice that he showed no fear as he looked at me; my face was perfectly visible, they had taken my mask. However this man steadily regarded me as though I was any criminal.

"Alright boy," he said to me, leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk, "I am going to give you a choice, you can live and do as I ask or die tomorrow, you have one second to decide."

I looked back, stunned. Firstly, he called me 'boy' which I by no means was. Then there was the odd prospect he had just presented me with. What did he mean?

"Right now, say live or die," The man said again, his tone was calm, as though he was talking to me about nothing more important than the weather.

"Live," I heard myself saying, and I was a little surprised, but the chance to not get my head cut off had arisen, and I guess some primal human instinct of survival I had been certain had not existed had kicked in at an extremely pivotal moment. Now I stared back at the man.

"Good choice, well good for me, and that is all that really matters, isn't it?" I knew I was not meant to respond and I didn't.

"My name is Captain Dumas, and I had an idea; I am a police man, as I am sure you have guessed, and I find there are jobs my boys don't want to do, nor should they have to. Justice is a tricky business, and I had the epiphany that the best ones for a tricky situation is a tricky person; that is where you come in." Dumas leaned forward and stared at me,

"I am putting together a group of criminals who will work for me, you will kill who I tell you, from now on you are an assassin for the Paris police; of course, if you are ever caught we will not help you, or admit we commissioned you. You are scum, you know, don't get the idea I like you just because I am letting you live. You in particular are a hard case, as I am sure you heard, my superior here, Fillips, was stating, you are a high profile criminal, and to not execute you is a risk, but I know you're smart and you're not completely mad, so I wanted to make you this offer, however if you botch it," his eyes narrowed, "I will not hesitate to have you killed, that clear?"

I was spinning slightly, but I nodded, but Dumas shouted "Speak up boy,"

"Yes"

"Yes sir"

I said nothing, I was not intimidated by this man, and I was angry with him for attempting to force me to give him my respect; something I gave to no one.

"Alright," Dumas said, then he looked up at the armed jailors behind me, "Kill him" and the men cocked their guns,

"Yes sir," I said icily, hating myself for giving in when he threatened my life.

"There we are, now I guess you should tell me your name, all anyone knows is that you are the Phantom, and that is ridiculous, so unless you want people calling you 'Phanny' you better state your name"

"Erik," I said, cringing at the thought of anyone calling me 'Phanny'

"Erik what," Dumas demanded

"Don't have a last name,"

"Do you want me to call you Erik Phanny?"

"I don't have a last name" I repeated, maybe I should have said die and let them kill me.

"Fine, than you are Erik Phann," I groaned, causing Dumas to say, "That or death," I think he had a morbid fascination with humiliation.

"So what happens now?" I asked, wanting only to change the subject from my name,

"Take him away," Dumas said lightly, and motioned to my guards.

The two men roughly grabbed me, but as they turned me to lead me out, Dumas spoke again, "Oh, ah…I thought that you criminals should work together, you will be having a partner, jobs will be easier that way," And with that I was taken away.

As we walked back down the hall, I tried to grasp what had just happened, it was a complete shock. I had gone from one side of death to the other, from receiving to dolling out; once again, I thought.

I had been an assassin before, and it had almost ruined me. The people I had been told to kill were not always deserving of death, some, many, were innocent. I hoped this time would be different. Maybe the Parisian police were less corrupt than the Persian shah, but honestly, I knew I should not expect too much.

The jailors shoved me into a small cab; I was leaving the prison. The cab ride was a short one; only several minutes heading into the most decaying part of Paris. The cab stopped and I was led into a dilapidated shack of a house. We descended a flight of stairs and headed into a basement room.

They shoved me into the room and shut the door. Well, I guess that is that, I could hear them leaving. I stared around the room; it was cramped, one bright candle had been lit, and it had two beds in it. I sunk down on one of them.

My life, I thought, and shook my head, I had about a hundred problems; heartbreak, my disgusting face, my torrid past, not to mention the fact that I had just become an assassin, again. However, at the moment, my biggest problem was the fact that my hands were still tied behind my back.

I struggled futility with the bonds for a time, before angrily giving up; I felt so tired. I rolled onto my stomach, and closed my eyes.

I had not been in this position for long when the door opened again. I looked up, hoping it was someone coming to untie me. It was not. A jailor roughly threw someone into the room, my partner; I groaned and sat up.

The figure stepped into the light, and I saw to my utter shock that it was a woman. She was tall, thin, and had lanky blond hair. She looked at me coolly,

"So, they didn't untie you either?" she noted my arms behind my back and I saw she was similarly bound,

"No, they did untie me, I just tied myself up again for fun," I said sarcastically, and she raised her eyebrows slightly,

"Nobody told me you were funny"

"Yeah…so, you unite me, I'll untie you"

"I feel like I have heard that sentence only slightly modified before," She said evenly,

"Nobody told me you were funny," I repeated, and glared at her, I had no doubt, I should have said die.

"Alright smart guy, how do you propose we do this?"

"Turn around," I said standing up and coming toward her.

"Again, familiar," She mumbled. I rolled my eyes, she was a treat.

I inspected the knot binding her hands, memorizing it so I could remember which way to pull the rope to loosen the knot.

I turned around and grabbed her arm, then slid it to the rope; it occurred to me that this was awkward, but I was really too tired to care. After several moments; I pulled it loose.

"Thanks," she said,

"Alright, now do me," I winced the moment I said it,

"You know…"

"Yes, you have heard that before, are you an assassin or a tramp?"

She kicked the back of my legs and I fell to my knees; assassin, I thought.

"That was a warning, and I don't have to untie you, you know," She slapped the side of my head,

"Alright! You're not a tramp…" I felt her pick at the knot and my hands came free. I stood quickly and turned; she was staring shocked at me, apparently surprised I had moved so quickly, I grabbed her arms, pinning them down,

"Don't take me for some fool you can slap around, I have had enough of that, I am not a nice man, and I have reached my humiliation point for today, so don't give me a reason to take my anger out on you," I did not think as I spoke, and as I heard myself I knew I would never actually hurt her, even if she was the most annoying, low, person in the world, I would never hit her, and by the look on her face she knew it.

"Easy tough guy," she said, her eyes stared evenly at me.

I let go of her and lay down on the bed. It was hard and moldy smelling, I closed my eyes. I should have said die.

"What's your name?" she asked me, and I opened one eye to look at her.

"Erik Phann"

"Phann?"

"Don't you say a word," I said, and I rolled onto my side, turning away from her and facing the disgusting looking wall.

"I'm CJ Bradshaw"

"Does CJ stand for Constantly Jarring?" She threw something, most likely a shoe, at my back; apparently it did not.

"What happened to your face?" she asked in a disgusted tone, I sighed,

"I was born this way," nothing like the truth, I thought, "what's your excuse?" I asked bitterly

"Just ugly I guess," she said simply, and she blew out the candle.

That night was terrible; no sleep came to me. I just lay in the bed, thinking of Christine. She was most likely in the arms of her pretty little viscomte, in a warm rich bed, sleeping peacefully. And I let her have that, I thought resentfully, I trained her so she would be noticed by that boy, I had seen her for the beauty she was first, she was mine, this was not fare. Christine got a fairy tale ending and I got this; bound to the whim of the police and a washed up girl for company.