I do not own Killer. It is the property of Suda 51 and Capcom. Why hasn't this been continued?
I have, metaphorically, died twice, and been resurrected twice , in my life. The first was when I saw... THEM... kill my second dad.
Erickson Resident, January 9, 2003.
The young child saw a bloodbath. The last group of the senators body guards and the senator himself, were shooting at the assailent. OR assailents, really. The boy had snuck away from the man told to take him to the panic room to find him. What he saw would forever be etched into his mind.
At one end, a man in a blue suit with a revolver fired a massive energy blast that sent body parts flying. The guards took cover, yelling "What the fuck!?" When they looked back, an albino with sunglasses had taken his place. He took off the glasses, and disappeared.
"Where did he g-" was all the guard closest to him said before his throat was slit. Then the albino exploded into little specks of blood. What appeared was a young Asian women with a blood splattered dress and a scoped pistol. Before anyone could say a thing, she started firing. Two men fell, then she exploded, just as a guard who had tried to flank her fired. Now, a Hispanic man with a massive revolver turned, and fired.
"Adios, dipshit," the man said, then he to exploded. Next, a young boy with two berretta automatic pistols stood, and as quick as lightning, moved from cover to cover, until he was at the side of one of the guards, and turned him into a human swiss cheese, then he to, became a cloud of red particles. What stood now was a lucha libre, with twin grenade launchers. He turned the remaining guards into a bloody mess. He looked at a security camera, that filmed the whole thing, and then, "Boom," red mist. Now, A black man, in a white suite, with a briefcase now stood. He took out a phone, and made a call.
"It's done. Heh, really wasn't much of a..."
"You bastards..." Matthew Erickson said. In his hands, was his Custom 1911 pistol. The barrel was black, while the grip was a dark gray. The senator almost managed to pull the trigger, when Garcian pulled out his silenced P230 and shot him, right in his forehead.
"Sorry Mills. The target was still alive. He's dead now. What? Another assignment alrea..." He stopped. His eyes had fallen on a young kid, about nine years old. The kid looked at him, horrified, shocked, silent tears flowing down his face.
"He killed him... he shot him... he... he murdered him..." the kid thought.
"Chris... did Erickson have a kid? An adopted son huh? What's his name? I'm asking because I'm looking at James right now.
James's face no longer had a look of fear on him. Now, all that was left, was rage.
That was when I first died. In my place, a killer was born. I took an oath, to kill them. When I left, I took my second dad's gun with me. I never knew my first. I was dropped off at Senator Erickson's house when I was 3. All I remembered was his Grey eyes. See, one of my eyes is grey, like his. The other, is supposedly green like my mom's. I don't really remember her.
My third dad arrived about an hour later. Now this guy, was what really made me a killer. he was the best to me. He was a bit cray, not psycho crazy, more like the calm, collected crazy. He was supposed to have been hired by my late adopted father to be an extra bodyguard, after a few failed attempts on his life. He came in, and found me, crying over my dad's corpse. His name was Curtis. Curtis Blackburn. He never really adopted me, just took me in.
My time with him will always be cherished. Heh Heh Heh hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah. Curtis Blackburn. The assassin. Who would kill just because you Thought! of looking at him the wrong way. Unlike him, I felt more compassion with those I killed, at least if what I read about them allowed me to feel sympathy for those about to die. Then, there was... (sobbing is heard,) Ayame. My first and only love. The girl who... exchanged... her virginity... for mine. SHE WAS ONLY FUCKING 16! THOSE BASTARDS SHOT HER DEAD, LIKE HER LIFE MENT NOTHING! (Now crying uncontrollably) She's dead. Curtis is dead. Everyone who I dared to let in... is dead. I willingly committed the greatest sin I alone could do, and it would be a sin. I opened my heart to them. But I got them. I got them all. The Hellion. Barefoot. The Punk. The red eyed, grey skinned bitch ass fake god, who caused it all. The old man. And... Garcian. Or Emir, or whatever the fuck that shithead was named.
I got them. I'm all that's left. Now, I just have to end that one thing. Then the story will be over.
I would have given anything to have them back. Ironically, I would have thanked the Smith's at one point. Killing my first adopted father.. allowed me to be with the Blackburns. Hm... And Malcolm. But they also took them away.
My second resurrection... left me... cold and hateful. I finally saw what the world was. The hardest slap reality gave you. And that's when... the voices started. The voices of those I killed. Of the Smith's. Of Ayame and Curtis. I still hear them. Just always talking. Never shutting up. My eyes turned red. They were... the eyes of an angel. Yes. I was the angel of death. I fell from grace. Mental torture was my punishment for my wrong doings. I no longer gave a flying shit about those who I killed. The notion that there is at least one saint out there is false. A lie. I just had to make sure Garcie-boy died. Then, I could... lay my soul to waste.
I...
Just...
Have..
To pull the trigger.
And I will be with them.
Ayame, (sobbing. Now whispers,) I'm coming home.
To be continued
