(A/N: This is a character story. As in, one of my OC's. If you don't like OC based fiction, this is not the story for you. Furthermore, for those who are reading this story there will be: Blood, mild language, and violence. You have been warned. ^^)

Remembrance.

Johnathan Sanchez.

A murderer.

A monster.

A psychopath.

A demon.

Those were all names he'd learned to get used to over the past years. John was 23 now, and Looking back on it he knew none of those labels were wrong. At least half of him thought so.

He had many friends and acquaintances, even a girlfriend whom he would never ever think to hurt physically or emotionally. Life on the outside of him was amazing to say the least, but inside his head is where the real struggle and heartache begins.

The ultimate battle within his mind.

His past and his sanity.

Right and wrong.

But when he thought about it, he came up with the conclusion that nobody had a clear concept of "right" nor "wrong". Someone just tells you early on what to do and what not to, sometimes even why, but never a clear reason.

He often lay awake thinking about this, sometimes people agree. Some others say he thinks to much and should just let it go. Why?

He could go on for days like this, but today he decided to go on a hunt. Missions as others called it, though.

He didn't need to alert the others as this was a normal occurrence, so he picked a mission, checked it off as occupied, and left the building. He walked down a dirt path,

His ruby eyes shone from under his black bangs, his trusty hunting knife in a black holster on the inside of his leather jacket, so nobody knew he was armed. He preferred the missions to where he could just walk in and raise hell. He wasn't one to be stealthy. People often questioned why he only used a knife. He answered the same way every time.

"Why not?"

It was quick to use and unnoticeable, he could run without the extra weight, and he could catch his opponents off guard. Besides, what better way to take an enemy down than to catch them by surprise? And it was full of sentiment. It really wasn't even his, but it was his deceased mother's special knife. He didn't really often talk about how he obtained it because that was a very sensitive topic. Whenever someone asked about it he would either subtly change the subject or just stop talking for a few minutes until he felt it was necessarily safe to start speaking again.

Johnathan pulled his long black jacket around his person, further surrounding himself in the dark. He almost always wore all black with the exception of his clothes being sometimes stained red with his victims blood. He chuckled to himself. Thinking about these things made him laugh for some reason.

After about a half hour of walking, he came across an old warehouse which was rusty from the rain that came and went over the years. He smirked to himself and looked to the mission report to see if this were the right place, though he knew it was.

"And now, the party begins." He whispered to himself, keeping his arms to his side and his hands in his pockets. Striding up the warehouse doors, he pushed them open after putting on his black leather gloves to where the tip of the fingers can be removed. He pulled his hand away, looking at the little maroon specks of Rust on his glove. He sneered a little, hating it instantly.

"They could at least try to keep this place presentable." He mumbled as he walked into the dark area, dusting his hands off in the process. Looking around, he saw that nobody was there. Yet at least.

"Brilliant." He mumbled with a smile as he picked up an idle stick and pulled a folding chair from a stack in a corner. He decided he would sit and wait for them like the gentleman he was. He set up the chair in the center of the room on purpose so he was hard to miss. Johnathan smirked and sat down awaiting his bounty patiently as he removed his knife from its holster, beginning to make a task of carving the stick and sharpen his blade further. He'd done this idly, closing his eyes and thinking about his mother and his little "sister" whom was actually his brother. His mother didn't want another boy after himself, so she did everything possible to groom him to where 'he' would act like a 'she'. Their mother even gave him the name 'Cara', a girls name. Aside from that, they'd once lived together happily.

Once upon a time.

It had been a normal day for the family. A Sunday afternoon when the sun was going to set and the breeze was just right. They lived in a quiet neighborhood with fairly nice neighbors. Johnathan would have been seventeen and Cara would have been ten. Their mother was in the kitchen, making dinner and humming a small song in Italian. The two children were playing around with each other happily, Cara trying to reach the toy that Johnathan effortlessly held above his head.

"Come on, Johnny! Gimme!" Cara laughed as he continued to reach up higher. John leaned back, determined not to let him have it.

"Nope! You have to get it yourself." He replied with a smirk.

Cara pouted and John laughed. The mother chuckled to herself as they played.

As the minutes progressed, all John remembered was Cara just about to take the toy from his hands when a gun shot rang out. Johnathan's eyes widened as he instinctively pushed Cara down to the ground and shielded him with his own body. He looked over to their mother and his eyes widened more out of shock. There she lay, pale and lifeless on the floor with an expression of shock frozen on her face. Johnathan was horror struck and Cara closed his eyes tightly, beginning to cry silently.

Johnathan could remember the man's footsteps as he walked into the house more, calling over his shoulder to a second man to come in. Cara covered his mouth to hold back his whimpers of fear, Johnathan held Cara close and held his breath.

"Search the house." The man ordered his colleague in a raspy voice. He sounded like he was in his late thirties or maybe less than that. Johnathan could hear the footsteps of the second man head up the stairs while the first man walked past the couch they were hiding behind. John looked up to a small black drawer that he knew his mother kept a weapon in. It was roughly five feet away from the couch and he wouldn't be able to reach without being seen. He had to consider his options.

-Let the men find both him and Cara and possibly be killed?

No. Out of the question.

-Create a diversion and have Cara run and hide?

While it may work, it was still risky. Cara was only ten and he doesn't know how to defend himself even if he were caught. And Johnathan would've most likely been killed on the spot, leaving his little brother helpless.

He could hear the second man about to approach the stairs to come down.

'Quickly John. You're running out of time.' He thought to himself. He looked to Cara, who was shaking violently. He couldn't leave him like this.

"Cara, I need you to listen to me." He whispered to him, Cara nodded.

The wood creaked under the heavy man's weight as he was walking over to their couch.

"I'm going to distract him. While he's occupied with me, go into the back woods and keep running. Go to our treehouse, and I'll find you." John whispered. Cara nodded shakily, his pupils dilated with fear.

This was risky. Too risky. But it was the only was to possibly ensure his brothers safety.

"One.."

The man stopped at the couch.

"Two.."

Johnathan prepared himself as Cara got ready to run.

"Three."

Johnathan jumped up and wrestled the man for his small hand gun, grunting as the man was caught by surprise when John jumped up.

"Cara, run!" He barked to him as he tried prying the mans hand away from his firearm. Cara ran as fast as he could out the door and into the back woods, keeping his footing as he bobbed and weaved through rows of trees and bushes.

John managed to rip the gun away from the burly man, disarming him. The second man heard the ruckus a quickly shuffled down the stairs.

"What happened? What's going on?!" He yelled frantically as he surveyed the room.

"Look up, idiot!" The disarmed man pointed to John who has just pulled the hammer back on the hand gun. John shook slightly in his spot, looking at the same weapon that took his mothers life just a few minutes before. The gun was still a little warm from the shot it made earlier. John's hands grew clammy with sweat, going to take the next course of action.

"Why are you just standing here?! Kill him!" The man yelled out to his partner.

John looked up from the gun slowly, his heart rate increasing with each passing moment.

'Take the shot.. Don't miss,or you'll surely die!' A raspy, disembodied voice called in Johnathan's head. Just as the man took his aim, John did the same.

Now both men were looking at each other, guns raised, playing a game of fully loaded Russian Roulette.

Who would win?

Would they both miss?

Will they both die?

Were they willing to accept the wager?

So many unanswered questions!

These thoughts ran through John's head at a rapid pace.

'Stop it.' He chided himself, 'Don't lose your cool.' He shook his head, regaining his composure.

Without hesitation, the man took his shot. His aim was John's head, but John was quick to realize this earlier. He ducked as he saw the man's finger begin to put pressure on the trigger, so when he shot he would miss. Seeing his chance, John took a quick aim and shot the second man in the knee which caused him to yell out in pain and drop his gun. The first man gasped, scrambling backwards as John got close enough to pistol whip him. Wasting no time, John hit the man on the side of the head with the butt of the gun which caused him to crumple to the ground. Johnathan panted a bit, yanking the ammo cartridge out of the gun and breaking Hammer on it, rendering the weapon useless.

"You're done for." Johnathan glared to the men, kicking the other gun away from the first man as he reached for it.

"Go to hell." He groaned out as he tried standing.

Just then, something snapped inside Johnathan. Walking over to the black drawer, he opened it and pulled out a clean blade with a sharp red edge, silver metal, and a black hilt.

His mother's prized knife, which he would now claim as his own. John chuckled to himself as he looked at his own reflection in the blade. He could see his ruby eyes had dilated, having a slight crazed look to them.

Needless to say, he enjoyed it.

"What are you laughing about, punk? I'll wipe that smile off your face!"the man stood shakily, slowly collecting his bearings. John looked up with a shark-like grin on his face, his pupils dilated immensely, and just the general look on his face mirrored insanity itself. The man froze in utter terror as he looked at John, his face growing pale and cold with beads of sweat running down his face.

"You seem afraid." John stated very calmly, his grin never wavering. The second man looked to his boss, the same fear in his eyes.

"I was afraid, too. Of course, that's when you broke in here. You remember that bit, I assume.." John's smile faded and his expression turned into a look of boredom. He fixed his grip on the knife, beginning to walk toward the men. Quietly.

"I'll make you pay with your lives. You don't deserve any mercy."

The first man tried turning on his heel and running but John was faster and much swifter. He grabbed the back of the man's collar, the same blank expression on his face.

"Tell Satan I say 'hello.'" John mumbled as he pressed the sharp blade to the man's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

"And before you die. My name is Johnathan Sanchez. Remember that."

Before the man could scream, John had already swiftly pulled the knife across his throat and dropped his lifeless corpse. Upon hearing him hit the ground, the maroon blood that spilled from his throat covered the carpet like fresh paint. The second man could only stare in complete shock as his partners life was taken away so quickly and effortlessly.

"W-what are you..?" He asked John, trying to back away but failing as his injured leg wouldn't let him do so.

"Who am I? I'm a bunch of things." Johnathan replied, once again fixing his grip on his knife.

"Johnathan Sanchez. Or also, the one who's going to kill you." He smirked as he kicked the second man onto his stomach. He tried yelling for help, but it was cut short by Johnathan's knife pressed to his throat this time.

"Yelling is a very bad idea on your end." Johnathan whispered as he watched him struggle to keep his head up.

"G-go to hell." He mumbled and Johnathan smiled.

"I guess I'll meet you there, huh?" He said with a slight twinge of sarcasm. And with that last comment, he ended his life just as quickly as the first man's. Johnathan stood up straight, looking over his work like an artist in a museum spotting out discrepancies in a certain piece. He looked over his shoulder to his mother and walked over to her, placing the bloody knife on the counter top. Johnathan got to his knees, and planted a small kiss on her cold and pale cheek.

"Rest easy now, mother. They got what they deserved, and will never hurt anyone ever again." He whispered as he pulled away, sliding her eyes closed with his fingers.

"I promise." He said aloud as he stood up and grabbed his long black coat from the closet next to the kitchen. He pulled it on, taking the knife off the counter, stepping over the two lifeless bodies and leaving the house to go meet Cara at their rendezvous point. As he walked, he didn't feel remorseful or sad. He was calm and felt that justice was done.

But was it really justified?

"HEY! Are ya deaf or something?" A voice called to Johnathan, which snapped him back into the present.

"Oh, pardon me." Johnathan said as if it were no issue at all. He looked up smiling, looking to a man probably around his age with a red shirt, loose fitting grey jeans, and black sneakers. He was glaring at John with piercing blue eyes along with a look of irritation that clearly showed with his sneer.

"What are you doing here? This is gang territory!" He grabbed John by the collar. Just just looked at him with a blank expression, seemingly staring into his very soul with his ruby red eyes. The man's expression faltered slightly at John's stare. Johnathan took a look behind his new 'acquaintance', seeing at least ten more people wearing the same thing with the exception of a few bandanas and tattoos that showed.

"Oh look, a welcoming party." John stated blandly, as if being surrounded by 10 people were just plain boring. He yanked himself away from his captor and brushed himself away, fixing his collar and brushing himself off of all the dirt particles.

"Ever thought of hiring someone to clean this place? You know, new floors.. Windows.. Stairs. Maybe even new paint. I'm thinking a nice red will do." John gave a small smirk at the last part. The gang members only tilted their heads, but the rowdy one from earlier spoke up.

"Now you wait a moment! Who gave you the authority to order us around?!" He went to grab John again, angry that he was trying to make them look stupid.

John grinned, taking his jacket off and revealing a white long sleeve button up shirt while also removing his knife from its holster. The man stopped, not daring to advance any further.

"I think red paint would go very well with these walls. Of course, nothing is ever free." John's eyes glinted with a spark of malice, causing everyone to slowly back away. The fear in their eyes were the same as the men from five years ago.

He loved that look of terror in the eyes of his enemies.

Even though there were at least ten of the gangsters clad in red and grey, nobody dared to step up against him. They knew who John was, but they didn't think he would find them so easily.

"You can run if you want to. I'll just hunt you down and find you again.. You won't like when I find you. Nobody ever does." He stood where he was, not moving as he looked at everyone. They were all paralyzed and shaken to the core with not so much his words, but how he was so calm while issuing them. He spoke without hesitation and knew what he was going to say without stumbling over his words. His face was expressionless, he seemed like a living statue.

"Now, I'm going to kill you all." He said at a pace that was oddly calm and spoke as if he were handling a mere child. John took one step toward the group, a dark smirk gracing his features.

"But before I do. I'd like one last piece of knowledge to get into your brains before they're scattered everywhere." He pointed to his head while saying this, twirling his knife in his free hand. Nobody seemed to breathe. They knew they were doomed as soon as they figured out who he was.

"My name.." He started, stepping to his first victim who visibly shook and broke out in cold sweat, knowing he was taking his final breaths.

"My name is Johnathan Sanchez. Remember that as you all burn in hell." He said loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"One more thing." He jabbed his knife into his victims stomach, his shirt starting to soak in the blood from his injury. The man coughed, his eyes widened as he gasped for air. John quickly retracted his blade, watching the man double over and hit the ground as well as watching his blood spill onto the cold stone floors. He shrugged and looked up.

"I'll meet you in hell soon enough. Until then, bid a 'hello' to the devil for me."