First WK fic... sorta... There's another one underway but its not being nice. Anywayz,
feedback is great!
http://www.envy.nu/antidote

Standard disclaimers apply.

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False
by Rubie
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He still remembered his first target, fresh and sharp as if it was just yesterday. How old
was he then? Twelve? Maybe thirteen? The target was probably no more than thirty years
of age. They had wanted to give him an easy first assignment and sent him to kill a target,
a woman, and although it was meant to alleviate him, it only frightened him more. Or
perhaps it wasn't fright, more like discomfort.

Who was she? A drug dealer? A gangster? Or murderer? He couldn't remember. But he
didn't quite care anymore... Not now at least. Now they were just targets, regardless of
who they were and what they did. And now, he was simply a tool, blinding striking where
the wielder pointed and directed.

Nevertheless, he was upset those years ago when he threw that dart at her neck. And she
fell stiffly to the ground, dead almost instantly. But that wasn't what engraved itself into
his mind.

He remembered staring at the cooling body for a long time, afraid to move to shatter that
perfect silence that followed a spirit's passing. Even when his dark blond bangs teased his
eyes, he stayed still, watching the blood pool in almost a sense of silent fascination. And
awe, too, of the power that he wielded. But most of it was a dim sort of surprise.

Just a soft crunch, and she fell solidly. There was no struggle. No cry of pain. Just a
grunt, and she was dead. It wasn't even dramatic, like those movies that he watched in his
free time. So he was surprised, disappointed perhaps? No... those weren't the right words
to describe it. He was... fascinated.

But that wasn't what engraved itself into his memory either.

It was that soft, eerily soft voice that drifted from the building across the street, singing,
'My Shining Star.' That was the voice he awoke to in the mornings, haunting him hours
after those nighttime demons reluctantly loosened their claws from his mind.

So who died that night? The woman, or himself?

Or did they both die, slipping in the dark abyss when the light of day failed to led its hand
to him, a killer, a murderer, an empty shell of a child who lost himself in his own maze
when he forgot his own reasons?

And some say there were two deaths for every kill: the killer and the killed.


End
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This part was originally part of the teaser I'm coauthoring with Neil-san for another weiss
kreuz fic. I got sidetracked and came up with this.. so I guess you could kinda call it an
extension. This may have a follow up... but it depends on whether or not my brain will
cooperate... -.-;;

Inspired by Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. A GREAT book.. read it!!

Questions, comments, or concerns welcome!