The first lesson in becoming an assassin was to confront death.
When he was just seven years old, his father guided him to an underground facility beneath their home. He timidly walked down a narrow flight of spiraling stairs. Every square inch of his surroundings carved from dull, grey stone. Light and dark alternated. A series of lamps were attached to the walls, each offering a weak source of orange light which casted against the granular grey surface.
"What is this place?" the boy echoed in disbelief as his violet-hued eyes continuously wandered about curiously. He had never been down here before, unaware of its existence.
"A dungeon," his father answered while looking straight ahead. At the bottom of the stairwell, a wide passage of space stretched beyond them, and along each side was a series of a prison cells, many detaining someone inside already.
The youth followed his father who approached one of the closest cells which appeared to have no one inside. But, on closer inspection, his eyes widened at the sight of a small, four-legged creature inside which slowly began to approach the iron gate with crisscrossing bars. He stared curiously at the silent shadow lurking towards him, and in return, a large pair of blue eyes stared back at the little boy with short black hair, glinting in the darkness. When the critter came to the faint light, he could recognize a white coat of fur. "A cat!" He exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement.
Without warning, both the boy and the cat felt a suffocating pressure that oppressed them. A menacing wave of negative energy ghosted through their bodies. Simultaneously, the child flinched, and the cat straightened its tail upright, puffed up its fur, and hissed in response.
The towering man began to unlock the gate with a silver metal key in his hand before sliding it open. A grating sound echoed in the air. Even when an exit was presented, the feline quickly backed off, intimidated by this man's bloodlust.
"Go on," the father gestured his son to step inside. "This is your first time seeing a real cat, right?"
Cautiously, the boy made slow and quiet steps into the cell. Animals had always fascinated him, creatures that were not human, capable of feats that mankind could never obtain. At first glance, he noticed that the cat looked rather old and weary; by no means could it be called a kitten. Lowering himself to a single kneel, he opened both arms welcomingly while observing the furtive creature which merely observed back.
The cat slowly crawled closer, bringing its pink little nose up to the boy's hand to take a sniff. It then mewled while proceeding to walk in circles around him, rubbing its fur against his legs starting from the cheek towards the tip of the tail. A hand gently stroked along its back, feeling the softness of its white fur. It felt nothing like a stuffed animal. He could feel the warmth and the underlying flesh and bones. Unlike a plush toy, there was actual weight behind this living, animated creature.
"It's so cute," said the boy. His eyes softened; his heart melted at the affectionate gestures that the feline was showing to him.
"Don't get too attached to it!" the father warned with a stern, piercing tone.
"Eh!?" the boy swiveled around in shock. "Why not?"
"Catch!" the man tossed a small handheld object that spun in the air.
Before even knowing what was flung at him, the kid caught it with a single hand, fingers gently wrapped around its handle. His eyes analyzed the object up close before widening in shock. Shaped like a tooth, a stainless steel shimmered in the light with a sharp edge and a deathly tip. "A knife?" he muttered quizzically. This was his first time holding the real thing.
"Good catch," the father commended. His tone then became serious, "Now, kill that cat."
"What!?" the son dropped his jaw in horror. His heart sank at the mere thought of taking the life of this feline which had just showed him affection. "Why would I do that?" he exclaimed at the ludicrous demand.
The man crossed his arms, "Because in order to become an assassin, you must learn to kill. That's what assassins do."
That word again: 'assassin'. He kept on hearing that word repeatedly. A part of him thought that becoming an assassin was cool, stealthily snooping around unsuspectedly before delivering a decisive blow. But in his mind, he envisioned doing the killing on human beings. Never did he considered killing an animal before.
"I won't do it," the boy muttered before sliding the knife across the floor, away from his reach. His arms then protectively wrapped around the feline. "I won't kill it," he said decisively.
The gate closed shut, locked. "Then you will decay and rot down here along with that cat. Until you kill it, you will be locked in here." And with that, the father had left the scene, abandoning the child in the prison cell.
The cat lifted its head up, gazing at the small boy attentively. It mewled, drawing the kid's attention and receiving gentle strokes across its back.
"You're so cute!" he spoke to the animal despite knowing that his words would not be understood by the feline. Likewise, he did not understand the meaning behind its mews. Yet, despite being unable to understand each other's words, they felt safe with one another; they could convey some meaning through their body languages.
For several hours, he kept the cat company, stroking its fur and hearing its purr. But, on the very next day, he noticed the cat becoming less and less responsive. The feline would often sleep in a weakened state. It would still purr, but for some reason, he felt that the purr was because it was in pain. Lying beside the feline, he would sleep right to its flank.
On the second day, he woke up from sleeping on the cold, hard floor, sensing someone standing in front of the cell.
"You haven't eaten for two days," the father stated, having returned. "Why are you so adamant about keeping that cat alive?"
"I don't know," the boy responded meekly with a dry tone.
"I told you not to get attached to the cat. Look at your pathetic self, getting all teary because of some dumb animal. Emotions are a weakness. They cloud your judgement; they mess with your head. Getting all sentimental and emotional will get you killed in the real world. It's not that hard. Use your head. Which life is more important: yours or the cat's?"
"Why do I have to choose?" he clenched his fists. "Why can't you just let us both live!?" He raised his voice in protest.
"Because, if you can't even kill a cat, how will you kill a human? Let me ask you something. The fish that you eat, the chicken, the pork, and the beef, where do you think they come from? Animals, obviously, but do you really think they naturally died of old age before ending up on your plate? No, someone killed them. The farmers, who aren't even assassins, brutally slaughtered these animals to feed the humans. I don't see you crying over the meat you happily consume. How many rats and mice do you think that cat might have killed in its life? That stupid cat is probably a better assassin than you!"
"Then," the boy glared back at his father with disdain, "I won't become an assassin. I won't kill."
The man went silent, likely taken aback of those words. "That's fine," he said calmly.
The ease of which his father had accepted his refusal was unexpected. He expected some resistance. But then, his captor continued to speak, "If you refuse to become the heir of this family, then your little sister will just have to do what you could not."
Upon hearing the mention of his little sister, the boy's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't even begin to imagine that sweet, innocent, delicate little girl becoming an assassin. She didn't have what it takes; she lacked the proper mindset to kill. She was too kind and gentle. He didn't want to kill the cat, but if he chose not to, then there was a likely chance that his little sister would have to kill the cat in his stead. Worse, she would walk down the path of murdering countless of lives down the road, a dark path which he could not even begin to comprehend. No. Anything but that. Not his sister. Not Rebecca. He would not allow that. He would never let his sister's innocence be tainted like that.
He scoffed, "My little sister doing what I could not? How stupid." He talked tough while striding over to pick up the knife which he had discarded. His hand trembled as it wielded the blade; his legs wobbled as they walked back towards the sleeping feline.
He remembered his father's warning to not be attached to the cat. It was too late. He loved this cat too much, bewitched by its cuteness. The way it rubbed its cheeks against him, the way it mewled to him, the way it looked at him, this cat was the closest thing he had that could be called a friend. He had already bonded with it for two days, all alone in the same cell without food or water, having only each other's company. It hurts. After all the love and affection that he received from this feline which trusted him ever since its first glance, he was about to betray all of that.
Once he does this, there would be no turning back. He would never forgive myself. He would loathe himself and be disgusted at his betrayal. "I get it now," he realized. "Emotions are a weakness." Before he kills this cat, he must first kill his emotions which would otherwise hold him back, or at least, that must have been what his father intended him to realize. Whatever happens, he couldn't let himself shed a single tear; he mustn't show a single shred of expression on his face. Suppress it. Lock it. Seal it.
Kindness, empathy, and compassion, these were all traits that were chastised because they only get in the way. By detaching oneself from such sentimental feelings, one would have nothing left to lose, the equivalent of having no personal weaknesses. With nothing to lose, there would be no pain. No regret.
He kneeled beside the cat's body which rested meekly on the floor with its body slowly expanding and contracting with every breath it makes. With one hand stroking its fur, he wanted to feel the warmth of a living being once more. If he were to be honest with himself, he had already known. This cat was suffering the entire time, likely very ill. This elderly cat was dying. Ending its life quickly and painlessly may even be merciful. Any hesitation or mistake could accidentally cause this cat further pain; he had to be decisive and precise.
"I'm sorry," he whispered under his breath, right before impaling the feline's heart with the blade in its hand.
He forced himself to feel nothing. Become a void, empty and hollow, nothingness. Endure it. The silent scream in his heart; he must endure it for as long as he can. He must hide it; his father must not find out the truth.
Immediately, he heard the grating of the iron gate sliding open from behind.
"Good grief," the hooded man let out a sigh. "Two days just to kill a cat. Go get something eat and recover your strength." He watched his son silently standing up and walking out from the shadows. There was a different vibe emanating from this boy, one that felt distant and cold. Those stoic eyes of his were different than when he first stepped into the cell.
"Those eyes are a nice look on you. Those are the eyes of a killer."
…
Down the hallway, a little girl with long black hair and violet-hued eyes had just stepped out of her room, and as she gazed down the other end, her jaw dropped. "Pluto!" Rebecca chirped, both startled and excited. Her legs quickly sprinted down the hallway; her arms spread apart before clamping around her brother's torso as she buried herself into him. Cheeks pressed against his chest, she threw all her weight at him, leaning on him for support. "I missed you! Where were you? I couldn't find you for two days."
Her brother stood idly, unmoving and unresponsive. Forlorn, distant, and cold, he was different than before.
Rebecca grew concerned. She saw an emotionless, blank expression on his visage, but she sensed that he was just hiding something from her. "Pluto?" She looked up with a saddened face. "You look thinner," she noted her observation of him. Her brother looked almost malnourished to a degree.
"I'm not feeling too great," he informed her with a dry, weak voice. Deprived of food and water, he had very little strength left in his body to even speak, yet all he could think about was the feline which his very own hands had slain. The image of the white-furred carcass stained in its own blood scarred his mind, haunting him and reminding him of the burden which he'd soon bear. To be the heir of this family meant following the same path as his forefathers, the path of carnage. Giving up now would mean his sin would have been committed in vain; he had decided to become an assassin. If he cowardly refuses, it would be his younger sister who would take up the heir, and he'd do anything to prevent that from happening.
His sister was a year younger than him, making her six-years old. She was purest member of the family, the sweetest, the kindest, and the most endearing. He wanted to protect her innocence; he wanted her to remain naïve of the cruelty that he had to witness even if it meant staining his hands in blood for her sake, even if he meant becoming a monster and losing his human self. This was the secret that his father must never find out.
He wasn't allowed to grow attached to the cat, but his father had always barked at him to not feel attached to anyone. Do no love anyone. Aspire to be a void, an empty hollow vessel, immune to emotions. Immune to loss. Reach the zenith of calmness and clear headedness. Focus with an empty mind. Fear, anger, and stress cause muscles to tense, leading to sluggish movements. Speed and precision were of vital importance to an assassin. These were all his father's teachings.
Therefore, during his time in the dungeon, he concluded: love his little sister in secret, look after her from the shadows. Protect her as an assassin.
"Pluto, there's something I want to show you," Rebecca grabbed his hand and walked away with it, dragging the lethargic boy along with her. "I don't know what to do with him."
Him? The brother remained silently puzzled by her cryptic words. Who was she referring to? Soon, he taken to her room where the girl made sure to close the door shut and lock it. As he watched the youth make her way towards her bed, he heard a high-pitched mewl. His sister crawled down to peek underneath her bed. She meowed before speaking in the human tongue, "You can come out now."
From beneath the bed, a little four-legged creature stepped out from the darkness. A fur coated in pure white, a little kitten crawled out shyly before being gently picked up by the girl's hands. Rebecca walked over towards her brother, presenting him the kitten, "I found this kitten outside. He was frightened and all alone, so I took him inside. I think he was looking for his mother. Eh? Pluto?" She was taken aback by the tears rolling down her brother's cheeks. Never once in her life had she seen him cry before.
The boy gnashed, desperately holding back his tears, but he couldn't help but break down. He killed her. He killed this kitten's mother. He then heard a high-pitched mew, followed by a gentle caress against his ankle. As his watery vision cleared, he saw the little feline rubbing his cheeks against his leg.
"Ah! I'm surprised," the girl watched the lively little furball actively trying to nuzzle with her brother. "It took so long for him to trust me. He really likes you, Pluto."
Stop. He didn't deserve this. This kitten was only acting this way because of his mother's scent rubbed off onto him. He had lived with the mother cat for two days; he probably smelled just like her right now.
"Wanna try holding him? He's really soft." She bent down, reaching out to pick up the endearing little white furball.
No. He couldn't. He didn't have the right to. How could he hold the kitten with the hands that killed its very own mother?
"Here," the girl practically shoved the kitten into her brother's chest, forcing him to hold it. She then smiled while watching the kitten crawl up with its forepaws resting on the boy's shoulder before rubbings its cheeks against him.
"Do you like cats, Pluto?" She asked, knowing the answer already, but she just wanted to hear him say it. The two of them loved animals.
"Yeah," he admitted while observing the playful little kitten nuzzle against him. "I do."
"I'll ask father if we can keep him," she said eagerly.
His eyes widened before flicking towards the girl. "No! You can't!" He said abruptly.
"W-Why not?" Rebecca took a half-step back, a bit shocked by her brother's sudden response.
"He'll never allow it," he held the kitten more protectively in his hands.
"Hmm," she tilted her head, "you think so?"
"We'll take of this kitten ourselves. We'll do it in secret," he said in a dead serious tone, filled with unwavering determination. He repeatedly caressed the kitten from the top of its head and down to its back.
Rebecca smiled. She didn't think her brother would defy their parents like this. Throwing her arms into the air, she was ecstatic, "Okay!" If her brother was in on this little plan too, then she'd gladly oblige.