AN: I have not uploaded anything in a while but that's no surprise. I never really got into writing. I blame it on my short attention span, haha. I fell back into the Black Cat fandom recently and have been dying to contribute something. This is what happened. I have to say, this is hands-down the longest fic I've ever written. And just for the hell of it, I decided to try angst just because I love emo-ness.
This story is set before the events of the series, when Train is still a part of Chronos. I suppose this technically falls in with the manga but it could work for the anime, too. Although, I never was a fan of the anime. I just didn't like what they did with it. I'll shut up about it now or I'll never stop.
Just a little note: there is some very slight hints of Train x Sephiria towards the end. If you don't like it, it can be easily overlooked.
(italics represent Train's thoughts)
Enjoy.
Train Heartnet rested on top of an exquisite stone building. With his trademark black coat and careful self-control he was almost an extension of the shadows, carefully hidden from view. It was starting to snow and already a thin layer of white coated the darkened rooftop and courtyard above which he sat. Exuding all the patience in the world and despite the rising cold, Train remained motionless like a statue. Only his breath, which came out as a fine, frosted mist, gave the slightest indication that he was living. His target would soon be arriving.
At exactly ten past midnight, a well-dressed man in his late forties strode calmly across the snow-covered lawn. His steps were precise and his posture spoke of importance. As he walked, unbeknownst to him, a pair of cold, amber eyes were watching his every move.
James Hattford. You are going to die, tonight.
Train knew little about this man, other than the fact that he was a major drug lord and human trafficker that had recently crossed the line, prompting Chronos to put out the hit. Train didn't particularly care, though. As far as he was concerned, this was just another faceless piece of scum that no longer deserved to live. Just another life to add to his collection of dozens.
The assassin didn't move. His honeyed eyes were still fixed on Hattford, who had stopped to examine the obsidian fountain with a lazy, almost child-like curiosity. The Black Cat's fingers twitched on the handle of his gun, Hades.
Fool. Wandering alone at this time of night. You've certainly placed a lot of trust on those worthless guards of yours.
Train recalled the stunned expressions frozen on the guards' faces as he'd knocked them unconscious and hid their bodies. It had been almost pathetic. Train smiled inwardly and continued to gaze at the man, so ignorant of his fate. He watched as the drug lord showed no sign of moving on. This was it, then.
With a single leap, the assassin sprang from the shadows, his heavy black coat fluttering soundlessly in the night. He landed softly in the snow behind Hattford and in one fluid motion withdrew Hades, cocking the ornate pistol at the head of the startled man.
"I've come to deliver some bad luck."
Without so much as a pause, Train pulled the trigger.
A single bullet tore through flesh, bone and brain matter. Within seconds, another undistinguished criminal was dead, his body falling gracelessly to the ground. And the surrounding snow, as if bearing testimony to the murder, was now painted in a dark new shade of red.
-------XOXOXOXOX--------
Train ran. He had no idea who or what he was running from. Only the overwhelming sense of danger kept him going. Here he was, ankle deep in blood, drenched to the bone in the tainted, scarlet liquid that marked him as a killer. Still he kept running, with Hades clenched in a death grip in his right hand.
Only when his lungs finally threatened to give out, did he stop and turn to see what he was running from. What he saw caused the breath to catch in his throat.
Rising from the ocean of blood beneath his feet were bodies, all of which were misshapen and distorted by death. Yet, their faces remained distinct, all of them familiar to Train. Every one of them bore a look of intense hatred in their sunken eyes. Every one of them cursed the name of the Black Cat who had ended their lives. They stumbled and clawed towards him, eager to exact their revenge.
Even though his hands were so shaky that he could barely aim, Train lost no time in shooting his pursuers. He fired Hades with trained precision and each bullet found their mark. Each victim, murdered again.
As the phantoms collapsed back into the sea of blood, Train began to run again. He needed to escape, no matter what. His instincts screamed at him to.
As he ran, he felt his surroundings shift and suddenly, it was like taking a step into the past. He was ten again, standing in his parents' living room. Frantic and unsure, Train scanned the room for any sign of his previous pursuers.
Instead, he saw his father sitting at the sofa, his back turned towards Train. His mother was bent over and fussing with the coffee table. Both his parents looked up as he hesitantly took a step forward.
"Train."
His father got up and came over to him. Train instinctively took a step back.
"Son, what's wrong? Did you have another nightmare?" the expression on his face was gentle and full of concern.
Train flinched as his father put his arms around him. His mother came over, too, and hugged him as well. When he realized that they weren't going to harm him, he felt his apprehension slowly melt away and he eased into the comforting embrace. It had seemed like forever since he'd felt his parents' embrace. It was a feeling he'd missed. He would've gladly stayed that way forever.
"Oh, Train," cooed his mother softly, "There, there, honey." Train sighed contently and snuggled deeper into her warmth. "Oh, you poor boy." She began to stroke his hair, slowly. "But you know, if you'd only been a good child like we raised you to be, you wouldn't have nightmares."
Train's eyes snapped open and felt himself tense at his mother's words.
"Yes, son, you've been bad again, haven't you?" his father chimed in. "You see, good people don't get nightmares. Good people have clean consciences. But you're not good are you? You've been bad. You've killed. You're a murderer, Train. Murderers don't deserve to be at peace."
Something was very wrong. He felt his fear creeping back again and Train suddenly wanted to break away, but he couldn't. His parents wouldn't let him. Even though he struggled, their hold on him only tightened, threatening to suffocate him.
"L-let me go!"
His father chuckled mirthlessly. It was such a terrifyingly foreign sound that it sent shivers down Train's spine and only encouraged him to fight harder.
"But, Train, honey. You're a killer. Killers aren't allowed to roam free. No, killers must be killed," whispered his mother, her eyes were now shining with a horrible glint.
Train's eyes widened. His amber orbs, once again, filled with terror.
"No, let go! I said, let me go!"
Train lashed out at the figures of his parents, striking them as hard as he could. They cried out and abruptly let go, stumbling away from him. His mind was blank and his instincts focused solely on survival. Train took advantage of the opportunity and immediately raised Hades, still gripped tightly in his right hand. He quickly emptied its barrel into the apparition of his parents before they had time to react. Very soon, both his mother and father collapsed soundlessly to the floor, their bodies riddled with bullets.
Train was panting. His whole body was numb and shaking with regret as he watched the image of his parents bleed and die for the second time in his life. With their dying breath, they cursed his existence.
The sound of clapping came from behind. Train immediately swivelled around and aimed to shoot but his pistol clicked empty. He had used up all the bullets in his gun.
"Such a violent nature," purred the figure before him, "it's just like you, Train".
Standing in front of Train was Creed Diskenth, a man he barely knew but sorely disliked. He stood conceitedly, dressed in his usual flamboyant garb. His clear fascination with the assassin was repulsive.
"Those enchanting eyes of yours, right now they gleam with such lovely murderous intent. Tell me, do you intend to kill me too?" His tone gave away his inner madness.
"What do you want, Creed?!" Train hurriedly reloaded his gun, keeping it pointed at Creed's head.
Creed chuckled. "I merely want to observe this talent of yours. The cruel and efficient way you kill is unmatched by anyone." He swept an arm at the bloody heap that lay near Train. "To see the way you slaughter, even your own parents. You are truly heartless! You were born an executioner! It's absolutely magnificent!"
"Shut up, you freak!" Train shook his gun wildly at Creed.
Creed laughed. "Then make me, Train. Shoot me!" He spread out his arms wide, daring the assassin. "Come on! You are the Black Cat, a cold and callous murderer! Come and kill me like you did all the others! I want to see malice fill your eyes! I want to feel your bullet tear through my flesh! Only by your hands, Train!"
"I said shut up!"
Creed continued to laugh madly. "Show me your bloodlust! Your bitterness! Your hatred!"
"SHUT UP!"
The bullet ripped through Creed's forehead, intent upon silencing him forever. However, his laugh continued. No matter how many shots Train fired, the sound would not cease. Even after his body had disintegrated into ashes.
-------XOXOXOXOX--------
Train woke up in a cold sweat, the remnants of Creed's laughter still ringing in his ears. He was panting hard and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Shaking his head right and left, he gradually took in the sight of his plain bedroom, the last of the dream subsiding. Realizing where he was, Train calmed.
"Damn it…" he muttered. Train sat up and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. His heart was pounding fiercely in his chest. He sat that way for a while, ignoring the sheets that clung to his moist skin. After a while, his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal.
A nightmare…
Again, the images flashed before his eyes. The sight of his former victims rising from their graves to take their revenge upon him, his father's icy chuckle, his parents, killed by his hands and Creed….He could do nothing to get them out of his mind. They were haunting him, even now. Their hate-filled eyes still glared at him in his mind's eye.
A thin beam of line peeked through an opening in his beige curtains. Train looked up, and sighed.
It must be morning, already. His new mission would be starting soon.
Train flung aside his sweat-drenched sheets and got up off the bed.
Should probably take a shower.
He started to head for the bathroom but stopped, catching sight of himself in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. He looked like a mess.
Chocolate-brown hair stuck to his forehead and neck. His shirt, un-buttoned, fell limply around his body. It was crinkled and creased, evidence of his troubled dreams. His toned chest and abdomen still glistened with sweat in the semi-darkness. But that wasn't what stopped him. What had stopped him, though, were the sight of his own eyes. The amber orbs, infamous in the underworld, were the most disconcerting. They looked familiar, yet foreign, shining with something that Train was reluctant to acknowledge.
The words of Creed came back to haunt him:
"Those enchanting eyes of yours, right now they gleam with such murderous intent. You are the Black Cat, a cold and callous murderer."
It was true and Train couldn't deny it. Indeed, he looked like a killer.
It had never been his choice to become an eraser. He hadn't wanted to but things happened, things beyond his control. The death of his parents had been the start of it all. It marked the start of Train's damnation. Choosing life over death, he had been trained by Zaguine to kill in order to survive. Even after the man's death, it was too late for Train to turn back. Killing was all that he had been exposed to during his childhood and it was the only thing he knew how to do. Before long, Chronos took him in. With his unsurpassed gunmanship, he quickly ascended the ranks, excelling to the point where he became a Chronos Number, the feared assassin Number XIII.
He hadn't questioned any of the missions. He had long since grew desensitized to seeing people die and it made only the slightest difference now that he was the one pulling the trigger. When he was younger, after he had killed his first target, he had been unable to sleep for weeks. He kept seeing the man's face in his mind and the look of death disturbed him. He might even go as far as to say he had regretted it. Eventually, though, those feelings subsided and a part of him learned to just block it out. With this new nightmare, however, the feelings came flooding back. For the first time in a long while, Train questioned his reason for killing.
His captain, Sephiria, had once told him that he must never forget the reason for which he kills: To keep peace in the world.
But for what? Peace mattered little to Train. He had no relatives, no one that he cared enough for to rid the world of trash. In fact, not one of his relatives had bothered to show up and try to take care of him after his parents' death. Was it for Chronos, then? Train scoffed inwardly. He never had any delusions about the organization. Chronos doesn't care about him. All the Elders care about is his ability to annihilate his targets. They would use him in any way possible to further their own goals. In short, he was merely a tool to them.
Train reached out a hand and touched his reflection.
He had absolutely no reason for living. There was no motivation behind his actions. No incentive or rationale. Right now he was a pet cat, blindly following the orders of his master.
His fingers clenched into a fist.
That was it. He could see it now, clearly for the first time. His reflection was showing him what he truly was: chained. Like a pet cat, his neck was wrapped in a thick, iron collar. It was heavy with the burden of his sin. It weighed him down. He could also feel its tight grip on his neck, threatening to choke him unless he obeyed. This was the collar that Chronos put on him so many years ago. It still tied him to them. Worse yet, he could see, from that choker ran many chains. The thickest ones draped like serpents around his chest, threatening to crush the breath from his lungs. They ran down his arms, too, and tightened around his hands, binding them to work for Chronos, alone. He was fully shackled to the Elders' will and it infuriated him.
A cat lives free, he thought. What would it take for him to break these binds?
Train's hands swept to the nearby bedside table upon which lay Hades. He picked it up and ran his fingers along the familiar handle. Its smooth black surface was cold to the touch. This ornate gun was a gift from his master, Chronos. It was a symbol of his servitude. For four years, he'd served the Elders with this gun.
Maybe it's time for this cat to run away.
It wouldn't be hard, he thought. He could defect right now and be free. He could use Hades. Chronos wouldn't be able to stop him. He half fancied he could even take on Sephiria, if he had to.
But Chronos wouldn't accept it. They'd chase him, even if they couldn't stop him. They would try to recapture their pet or kill him. Chronos did not allow traitors. Train would be chased to the ends of the earth until the day he died. What would he do? Even if he did escape, he had nowhere to go. How would he live a normal life? As much as he hated to admit it, he'd become far too dependent on Chronos.
Train continued to stare at his reflection. The chains were still there. They were still mocking him.
Then there was only one other way.
Slowly, he raised the gun. With his eyes still fixed on his reflection, he trained Hades to the side of his own head. The cool feel of the barrel was almost soothing.
It would be so easy…
This would break all the bonds. It would end everything. He had nothing that chained him to life. He was only chained in his obligation to Chronos and that would fade with death. He could already picture the chains falling away.
Would anyone miss him? Train smiled bitterly. He doubted it. He tried to picture how they would find his body. He tried to picture the way his body would lay sprawled on the wooden floorboards, the way his blood would stain the walls. Maybe the captain would shed a couple tears for him. Maybe. He could've laughed at the thought. As if he and Sephiria were that close. He would have to be really delusional. No, nobody would be there to cry at his funeral. Chronos would mourn the loss of a valuable assassin but the rest of the underworld would rejoice.
Train sighed and his finger deftly flicked off the safety. He was done with life. Maybe he could pay back some of his sin this way, too. He recalled his dream, the way the bodies of his victims screamed for his death. It was only fair that he should join them.
Train took a deep breath.
This is it, then.
Suddenly, a loud rapping came from his door. A brassy male voice called out.
"Number XIII, Train Heartnet. I apologize for waking you up so early. The Captain wishes to see you."
Train pulled a look of annoyance. Sephiria probably wanted to brief him on his new assignment. This early in the morning, too. It was so like her. However, Train didn't move. He had a choice to make here. He could answer the door, choose to take the mission and continue to serve Chronos, remaining a tool. Or he could escape this life. It was one click of the trigger away.
"Number XIII, please open up!" came the voice again.
Train's finger tightened on the trigger. Just a little more. Time to make a decision. Which was it?
The rapping was insistent now, and Train fully expected to hear the same male voice again. He gripped Hades tightly, fully prepared to end his life here and now. No more hesitating. However, the male voice he was expecting to hear was replaced with a soft, feminine voice. One he recognized very well.
"Heartnet…please."
It came so unexpectedly and Train couldn't help but hesitate.
So she was here. How did she always know...?
In the end, Train sighed. He couldn't do it. After all that, he just couldn't.
I'm a coward.
Slowly, he let Hades fall to his side. Maybe there was something interesting to live for after all, even if it meant living in chains. He'd wait for that.
I had an unbelievably fun time writing Creed's dialogue. It was so amusing to pretend to be insane.
Phew, so what did you think? It's my first time writing a truly angsty piece. Please drop a line, I'd love to hear how I did, even if it's anonymous. Remember, reviews are lovely.