The Jakal
::He sat on a gargoyle, hovering over the edge of a building, glaring at the dark city beneath him. His crimson cloak fluttered in the chilling wind, and he winced slightly as the breeze brought his fresh to crawl with pain from his wounds. He knew that his time was almost over, for he was too badly injured. Even if he was cured, he doubted that he would want to live after what he had done.
They called him "The Jakal", because of the tattoo on his back. His weapons of choice were knives, specifically throwing knives, over the more advanced guns, or even swords. Not that he hated guns, he had a handgun tucked away at the moment, but he preferred to have a more personal battle. Guns were for cowards who were less than a man. Those who had crossed him found themselves dead as his blades pierced and tore through their flesh, as if ripping out their very soul from their bodies. His knives now lay scattered beside him, stained with blood. After gazing at it with his morbid brown eyes, he realized again that he was covered in blood. Most of it was that spilled by others, although his wounds were far from healed. The dark, red liquid seeped through his clothes and brought about an eerie smell about.::
/You murdered her/
Yes, and he regretted it then. But, dammit, it was her fault. She wanted death! Her dark eyes mocked him as he fought with his own personal demons.
/You slit her throat/
Why was he tormenting himself over her fate? After all, The Jakal does not distinguish between innocents and doomed souls. He moves stealthily through shadows until the time comes. . .the time to take the release a being from the pains of life. Because of her, everything had changed. When he lost her. . .
/Blood. . .so much blood/
He walked cautiously into the dimly lit room of a warehouse. The place was large, and it was usually empty, but currently it had been converted to the headquarters of Santos, a drug lord in the city. Their eyes stared at him, as they recognized him as the creature they feared in the darkest reaches of their hearts. He, who before did not distinguish between life and death. His jagged knives, strapped around his legs, were the cause of split families, destroyed friendships, and stolen lives. His cloak covered his back, but beneath, waited his precious gun. It was only used in a tight spot, he never really had many of those. He was never caught, and never even accused of a murder. He was truly The Jakal.
Santos went up to meet him reeking of cheap cologne and smoke, and when he spoke, one could see his yellowed teeth. He had hired Jakal before, when his services were needed, and was always pleased with the results.
Jakal spoke in a deep voice, barely over a whisper, "What is it this time?"
The boss grinned, and said in a low nasal voice, "The son-of-a-bitch Maurice betrayed us. He ratted to the cops about a major cocaine deal. I want you to find the piece of shit and fuck him up good. The job pays $100,000 if you decide to take it."
The cloaked man turned to leave, but he was called back Santos. "Don't kill the lil' shit. What I want you to do is kill his wife. Slit her throat, or whatever it is you do, but make sure he watches. Then, beat the living shit out of him, but DON'T kill him. I want him alive." He grinned evilly, showing that he had other plans for Maurice.
"May I ask why all this is necessary?" the cloaked man inquired.
"That bitch has to suffer for fucking with my money."
The dark one nodded and left.
He questioned himself for taking on the mission. But, he had to do it. After all, they would have killed him if he didn't.
/You did nothing/
Rule number one: Assassins aren't supposed to know outside of what they have been told.
Maurice's apartment was on the poor side of the city, but the gangs didn't mess with him. Everyone living in the slums and the streets knew whom he was, and that anyone or anything in his way would be struck dead. But "The Jakal" believed it worse to live afraid than to die fighting.
The apartment sat on the third floor, contrasting to the bleakness of the slums. How his wife had survived here, he didn't know. The lights were on, and he climbed up the fire escape to look in. The bed seemed to be occupied, but the curtains blocked the view. He silently crept through the window, and then walked stealthily toward the bed just as the occupant arose. He froze as she spoke, "Maurice, is that you?" Her bare body was glistening with sweat, and she smelled like him. "Maurice...", Her eyes widened. Then she saw him and she was about to scream when recognition dawned. . .
No! Why did it have to be her! Out of every female in the city, hell, in the whole damn world, it had to be her. The one he knew.the one he loved. . .
::Nine years ago::
He ran steadily amidst the crowd, running from the vendor who was shouting at him. Sure, he did steal some food from him, but he was a kid and couldn't work. He had no money, no family, and had to survive on the streets. Yes, he knew it was wrong but he didn't care. . .after all, back then he thought life was important. He turned the corner into an alley and hid, ravaging the morsels of food and awaiting his time to sneak off. When all the noise had died down, he snuck out of the alley and headed on his way. Same old, same old...but fate had something else planned for him. He heard a girl's scream, which was then quickly muffled. Normally, he would have ignored it, but something about this stood out in his mind. He followed the direction of the scream just as another shrill shriek broke out.
And then he saw her, an angel being attacked by hoodlums. They were tearing off her clothes and laughing as she screamed. Her long, silky hair was in disarray and her delicate facial features where bruised and twisted in fear. Years of anger stirred inside him as he yelled at them to stop. The leader turned around and said, "Fuck off." He then turned back around to take the first turn with her.
And that's when he lost it. As if by instinct, he threw the pocketknife that he kept in his pocket, striking the leader in his neck and severing his spinal cord, killing him instantly. Blood trickled out in a stream as the other gangbangers fled the scene. The girl was crying hysterically, and when he went up to her, she unexpectedly hugged him, sobbing all the time. He flinched; he had never been touched this way before and was unsure of what to do.
He eventually escorted her back home. On the way, he learned things about her. Like, that she was from a wealthy family and didn't like life at home. She ran away because of that and had gotten herself lost, and that was when he saved her. She lived in a brownstone on the edge of town. Once they got there she thanked him and left inside. And he had made the mistake of falling in love...
He cursed his naïve behavior as a child. For, what did he know of love back then? Slum-rats and angels are not allowed to fall in love.
/Love. . .you don't know love. . ./
He had come back many times, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Until one day, he finally saw her as she was in the garden, reading a book under the shade of a tree. He scaled the fence surrounding the property, but slipped and fell when he was going down.
She heard him fall, and she rushed up to him. Worry filled her face as she examined the fallen body, but as he assured her that he was okay, it was replaced with delight. She was happy to see him, for she too had fallen in love...
They met secretly for months until one day, she told him that she had to leave.
"Why?"
She cast her eyes downward. "My dad said that we had to go away for a while." Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she looked back at him.
"Will I ever see you again?"
"Of course." She smiled at the thought. "I promise that we'll meet again..."
::Present Day::
And they did meet again. However, it was not as they had dreamed of. The gods must be laughing their asses off as they cruelly twisted the threads of fate. He cursed them and himself.
/Yes, it's all your fault. . ./
They stared into each other's eyes for a while with unbroken silence until a presence entered the room. They both turned their heads simultaneously and saw Maurice walking in. "What the hell?" he yells as he sees the two there.
Swiftly Jakal moved. He slid a knife from his strap in the blink of an eye, and he pressed the blade against her throat. "For your betrayal, you shall suffer," he said softly to Maurice.
/No! Don't do it!/
/Yes! Kill her!/
The voices arose even louder now in a shrill tone as he waited. Maurice had meanwhile drawn a gun and had it pointed at them, but he wouldn't shoot. He was afraid of missing and hitting his wife.
/She deserves to die!/
/It's not her fault!/
She said nothing. She stood there and looked up at her captor, her former lover. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. He, however, knew what she said.
...Kill me...
/There, see! She wants it!/
/No!/
/Yes!/
/No!/
She said it again.
/End it all.../
With one swift move he slashed her throat open, and watched in horror at what he had done. The pools of crimson flowed as the body laid on the ground...Her blood...He could have sworn that he heard her soothing voice. . .
"...thank you...I loved you..."
She died a fallen angel. Maurice dropped his gun, and fell onto his knees, crying. Darkness rose up inside "The Jakal", as it had done a long time before, as he glared at him.
"He had done nothing but watch! He could've shot him and stopped this from ever happening! It was all HIS fault!"
/It is all your fault.../
The Jakal struck once again as he sank into Maurice's body, constantly stabbing his motionless torso. The body laid slumped on the ground with its entrails falling out of his wounds and blood drenching the carpet.
"Death...and so much pain..."
/...you murderer.../
He went back to the warehouse leaving a trail of blood on the way. The boss looked up to him and sneered. "Where the hell is Maurice?"
The Jakal glared at him. "Dead."
"What the fuck! You were not supposed to kill him!"
"What's done is done."
The boss snarled as he tossed money at him. "There, you get $20,000. You failed. Now get out."
Jakal looked up at him and smirked, his knives shimmering. In a flash, he launches a blade into the eye of Santos. The boss' head snapped back from the force and fell to the ground. The other members around him reacted swiftly, but he was faster. In a tornado of knives, they all felt the glory of death. Blood splattered everywhere as he was hit by a last second gunshot. The gunman must have had the gods on his side...
The shot was heard by others in the building and more appeared out of nowhere, firing guns at him. He was hit again and again but he did not stop or falter. He fired at them with he sidearm, but had to flee in order to live.
/...Murderer. That's what you are./
/...You should have let them kill you.../
Rain has begun to fall as he looks upon the cityscape from a roof.
"What are the voices trying to tell me? That I could be cleansed of his sins?"
/Bloody likely./
No, it wasn't likely. The rain swept down his face and drenched his clothes. It was cleansing the city of blood and death, cleansing it of sins. He, however, could not be purified.
/It wasn't your fault. /
/It was your fault. /
/It wasn't her fault. /
/Everything is your fault. /
::He sat on a gargoyle, hovering over the edge of a building, glaring at the dark city beneath him. His crimson cloak fluttered in the chilling wind, and he winced slightly as the breeze brought his fresh to crawl with pain from his wounds. He knew that his time was almost over, for he was too badly injured. Even if he was cured, he doubted that he would want to live after what he had done.
They called him "The Jakal", because of the tattoo on his back. His weapons of choice were knives, specifically throwing knives, over the more advanced guns, or even swords. Not that he hated guns, he had a handgun tucked away at the moment, but he preferred to have a more personal battle. Guns were for cowards who were less than a man. Those who had crossed him found themselves dead as his blades pierced and tore through their flesh, as if ripping out their very soul from their bodies. His knives now lay scattered beside him, stained with blood. After gazing at it with his morbid brown eyes, he realized again that he was covered in blood. Most of it was that spilled by others, although his wounds were far from healed. The dark, red liquid seeped through his clothes and brought about an eerie smell about.::
/You murdered her/
Yes, and he regretted it then. But, dammit, it was her fault. She wanted death! Her dark eyes mocked him as he fought with his own personal demons.
/You slit her throat/
Why was he tormenting himself over her fate? After all, The Jakal does not distinguish between innocents and doomed souls. He moves stealthily through shadows until the time comes. . .the time to take the release a being from the pains of life. Because of her, everything had changed. When he lost her. . .
/Blood. . .so much blood/
He walked cautiously into the dimly lit room of a warehouse. The place was large, and it was usually empty, but currently it had been converted to the headquarters of Santos, a drug lord in the city. Their eyes stared at him, as they recognized him as the creature they feared in the darkest reaches of their hearts. He, who before did not distinguish between life and death. His jagged knives, strapped around his legs, were the cause of split families, destroyed friendships, and stolen lives. His cloak covered his back, but beneath, waited his precious gun. It was only used in a tight spot, he never really had many of those. He was never caught, and never even accused of a murder. He was truly The Jakal.
Santos went up to meet him reeking of cheap cologne and smoke, and when he spoke, one could see his yellowed teeth. He had hired Jakal before, when his services were needed, and was always pleased with the results.
Jakal spoke in a deep voice, barely over a whisper, "What is it this time?"
The boss grinned, and said in a low nasal voice, "The son-of-a-bitch Maurice betrayed us. He ratted to the cops about a major cocaine deal. I want you to find the piece of shit and fuck him up good. The job pays $100,000 if you decide to take it."
The cloaked man turned to leave, but he was called back Santos. "Don't kill the lil' shit. What I want you to do is kill his wife. Slit her throat, or whatever it is you do, but make sure he watches. Then, beat the living shit out of him, but DON'T kill him. I want him alive." He grinned evilly, showing that he had other plans for Maurice.
"May I ask why all this is necessary?" the cloaked man inquired.
"That bitch has to suffer for fucking with my money."
The dark one nodded and left.
He questioned himself for taking on the mission. But, he had to do it. After all, they would have killed him if he didn't.
/You did nothing/
Rule number one: Assassins aren't supposed to know outside of what they have been told.
Maurice's apartment was on the poor side of the city, but the gangs didn't mess with him. Everyone living in the slums and the streets knew whom he was, and that anyone or anything in his way would be struck dead. But "The Jakal" believed it worse to live afraid than to die fighting.
The apartment sat on the third floor, contrasting to the bleakness of the slums. How his wife had survived here, he didn't know. The lights were on, and he climbed up the fire escape to look in. The bed seemed to be occupied, but the curtains blocked the view. He silently crept through the window, and then walked stealthily toward the bed just as the occupant arose. He froze as she spoke, "Maurice, is that you?" Her bare body was glistening with sweat, and she smelled like him. "Maurice...", Her eyes widened. Then she saw him and she was about to scream when recognition dawned. . .
No! Why did it have to be her! Out of every female in the city, hell, in the whole damn world, it had to be her. The one he knew.the one he loved. . .
::Nine years ago::
He ran steadily amidst the crowd, running from the vendor who was shouting at him. Sure, he did steal some food from him, but he was a kid and couldn't work. He had no money, no family, and had to survive on the streets. Yes, he knew it was wrong but he didn't care. . .after all, back then he thought life was important. He turned the corner into an alley and hid, ravaging the morsels of food and awaiting his time to sneak off. When all the noise had died down, he snuck out of the alley and headed on his way. Same old, same old...but fate had something else planned for him. He heard a girl's scream, which was then quickly muffled. Normally, he would have ignored it, but something about this stood out in his mind. He followed the direction of the scream just as another shrill shriek broke out.
And then he saw her, an angel being attacked by hoodlums. They were tearing off her clothes and laughing as she screamed. Her long, silky hair was in disarray and her delicate facial features where bruised and twisted in fear. Years of anger stirred inside him as he yelled at them to stop. The leader turned around and said, "Fuck off." He then turned back around to take the first turn with her.
And that's when he lost it. As if by instinct, he threw the pocketknife that he kept in his pocket, striking the leader in his neck and severing his spinal cord, killing him instantly. Blood trickled out in a stream as the other gangbangers fled the scene. The girl was crying hysterically, and when he went up to her, she unexpectedly hugged him, sobbing all the time. He flinched; he had never been touched this way before and was unsure of what to do.
He eventually escorted her back home. On the way, he learned things about her. Like, that she was from a wealthy family and didn't like life at home. She ran away because of that and had gotten herself lost, and that was when he saved her. She lived in a brownstone on the edge of town. Once they got there she thanked him and left inside. And he had made the mistake of falling in love...
He cursed his naïve behavior as a child. For, what did he know of love back then? Slum-rats and angels are not allowed to fall in love.
/Love. . .you don't know love. . ./
He had come back many times, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Until one day, he finally saw her as she was in the garden, reading a book under the shade of a tree. He scaled the fence surrounding the property, but slipped and fell when he was going down.
She heard him fall, and she rushed up to him. Worry filled her face as she examined the fallen body, but as he assured her that he was okay, it was replaced with delight. She was happy to see him, for she too had fallen in love...
They met secretly for months until one day, she told him that she had to leave.
"Why?"
She cast her eyes downward. "My dad said that we had to go away for a while." Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she looked back at him.
"Will I ever see you again?"
"Of course." She smiled at the thought. "I promise that we'll meet again..."
::Present Day::
And they did meet again. However, it was not as they had dreamed of. The gods must be laughing their asses off as they cruelly twisted the threads of fate. He cursed them and himself.
/Yes, it's all your fault. . ./
They stared into each other's eyes for a while with unbroken silence until a presence entered the room. They both turned their heads simultaneously and saw Maurice walking in. "What the hell?" he yells as he sees the two there.
Swiftly Jakal moved. He slid a knife from his strap in the blink of an eye, and he pressed the blade against her throat. "For your betrayal, you shall suffer," he said softly to Maurice.
/No! Don't do it!/
/Yes! Kill her!/
The voices arose even louder now in a shrill tone as he waited. Maurice had meanwhile drawn a gun and had it pointed at them, but he wouldn't shoot. He was afraid of missing and hitting his wife.
/She deserves to die!/
/It's not her fault!/
She said nothing. She stood there and looked up at her captor, her former lover. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. He, however, knew what she said.
...Kill me...
/There, see! She wants it!/
/No!/
/Yes!/
/No!/
She said it again.
/End it all.../
With one swift move he slashed her throat open, and watched in horror at what he had done. The pools of crimson flowed as the body laid on the ground...Her blood...He could have sworn that he heard her soothing voice. . .
"...thank you...I loved you..."
She died a fallen angel. Maurice dropped his gun, and fell onto his knees, crying. Darkness rose up inside "The Jakal", as it had done a long time before, as he glared at him.
"He had done nothing but watch! He could've shot him and stopped this from ever happening! It was all HIS fault!"
/It is all your fault.../
The Jakal struck once again as he sank into Maurice's body, constantly stabbing his motionless torso. The body laid slumped on the ground with its entrails falling out of his wounds and blood drenching the carpet.
"Death...and so much pain..."
/...you murderer.../
He went back to the warehouse leaving a trail of blood on the way. The boss looked up to him and sneered. "Where the hell is Maurice?"
The Jakal glared at him. "Dead."
"What the fuck! You were not supposed to kill him!"
"What's done is done."
The boss snarled as he tossed money at him. "There, you get $20,000. You failed. Now get out."
Jakal looked up at him and smirked, his knives shimmering. In a flash, he launches a blade into the eye of Santos. The boss' head snapped back from the force and fell to the ground. The other members around him reacted swiftly, but he was faster. In a tornado of knives, they all felt the glory of death. Blood splattered everywhere as he was hit by a last second gunshot. The gunman must have had the gods on his side...
The shot was heard by others in the building and more appeared out of nowhere, firing guns at him. He was hit again and again but he did not stop or falter. He fired at them with he sidearm, but had to flee in order to live.
/...Murderer. That's what you are./
/...You should have let them kill you.../
Rain has begun to fall as he looks upon the cityscape from a roof.
"What are the voices trying to tell me? That I could be cleansed of his sins?"
/Bloody likely./
No, it wasn't likely. The rain swept down his face and drenched his clothes. It was cleansing the city of blood and death, cleansing it of sins. He, however, could not be purified.
/It wasn't your fault. /
/It was your fault. /
/It wasn't her fault. /
/Everything is your fault. /