A/N: Thank you to all of those who reviewed and who are following the story! ^_^ I really appreciate the feedback. It motivates me to keep this thing going. This chapter was written from Raizo's POV. Please Read, Review, and Enjoy~

Constantly choosing the lesser of two evils is still choosing evil.

- Jerry Garcia

Chapter 2: Monster

The breeze was warm and inviting. It blew his hair away from his face and caressed his cheek. The cup in his hands was piping hot, so he gingerly sipped its contents. The scene before him was breath-taking and beautiful. He gazed upon snow-capped mountains, rolling green hills, and a sea of the tallest evergreen trees he had ever seen. The sun was just beginning its decent, so the wondrous land of Italy was bathed in a rich, canary-yellow light. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He came to this spot whenever he was troubled—whenever he wanted to clear his head. It usually worked but, for some reason, not today. He just couldn't shake the thoughts that plagued his mind. He couldn't shake…her.

"Hey, Raizo, its time to go."

"Alright, I'm coming." He finished the last of his tea and placed the cup on a sterling silver tray to his left. A young woman with jet-black hair wrapped up into a tight bun walked up quickly, bowed, and removed it.

Raizo laced his fingers behind his back and stretched.

One more day, one more victim to slay.

One more night, time to take another life.

It was a mantra he repeated to himself over and over and over again, with the vain hope that it would somehow make what he was doing 'alright'. That it would make murdering someone he had never seen, who had a wife, a husband, a daughter, a son, a mother, a father…that it would make slaughtering them all…'alright'.

But it was never alright. No matter how many times he told himself, he could never fully accept it as the truth. But, so is the life of an assassin. It doesn't matter what you think or how you feel. What matters is getting the job done, doing it right the first time, and leaving no survivors.

Not one. Not one…

Tonight he was alone. They were testing his abilities; seeing if he truly was what he claimed to be. He performed the usual tasks: he cut the lights, severed the telephone lines connected to the house, siphoned the gas from all of the vehicles, and set-up a cell phone jammer to block all signals. He did all of this, passed the German Sheppard guard dogs, and slipped into the house within five minutes. It was just too easy.

He did not know why he had to kill this man, but he was going to. He was going to take the lives of him and all of the members of his household. Raizo never asked questions, he never talked out of turn. He did what he was told and did it without being told twice. He was ruthless. He was cold-blooded. He was a Ninja Assassin.

No one had noticed that all of the wires in the circuit breaker had been cut, because everyone was fast asleep. Raizo traveled through the shadows. He entered the Realm of the Shadows by stepping into a corner of the living room and exited when he slid from the darkness underneath a bed. Judging by the posters on the walls, the toy cars, and the plastic guns, this was a boy's room. He quietly crawled from beneath the bed and got to his feet. He looked at the child huddled close to his pillow. His hair was brown and his skin was tan. He looked so peaceful, so innocent.

But that would not be enough to save him.

When he was done, he stepped into the shadow of the boy's cardboard cutout of a famous basketball player and left the room. The child's end came swiftly and without pain. It was the least Raizo could do.

The next room he entered was the most important. There he found the man he was to kill and, lying next to him, his wife. They both looked like they could be in their mid-thirties. Raizo walked up to the side of the bed and placed his gloved hand on the man's shoulder. He awoke with a jolt. The man first appeared confused, but when he realized who it was at his bedside, his expression morphed into one of sheer terror.

"Please," he pleaded, "please don't kill me!"

"Shh," Raizo whispered and placed a finger on the man's lips.

"O-Okay…Okay…" He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing—accepting that death was imminent. Tears squeezed through his closed eyelids and streamed down his face. He shivered and twitched uncontrollably. Raizo was reaching into the folds of his suit to retrieve the weapon that would take this man's life, when said male's eyes flew open and he grabbed Raizo's arm. "Wait! I know you will not spare me, but please…," he started sobbing, "please spare my wife and children. I love them more than anything else in this world." He wept openly, a once powerful man broken down into nothing but tears.

Raizo gazed upon him with jaded eyes. He was not there to put him at ease, he was not there to make deals or to compromise. He was there to do a job; complete a mission.

In response to the man's begging and entreating, Raizo delivered the same message he did to all of his marks. He leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear, "Your killer…is Vitorre." A blade pierced his abdomen, along with ten others that pierced him from neck to waist. He didn't even have time to think. All he could do (now that he was immobilized) was register the agonizing pain and watch from the corner of his eye as Raizo repeated the action to his sleeping wife. They both would have shrieked and cried out in pain, but the blade in their throats made any form of speech impossible.

Within moments, they were dead. Raizo always waited until the last tear rolled, until the only thing that still moved was blood as it emptied from their bodies. He turned around, ready to leave now that his job was complete, and found himself looking down upon a small, little girl. He knew exactly when she had gotten out of her bed to use the bathroom; he knew exactly when she entered her parents' room—hoping that they would let her spend the night with them.

She had seen everything.

And yet, she did not cry. She simply asked, "Why?" in that small, high-pitched voice of hers. Raizo got down on one knee and motioned for her to come closer. She was dressed in a pink nightgown and clutched a stuffed monkey to her chest. Her first steps were hesitant, but she eventually made her way into Raizo's arms. He turned her around so that he could hug her from behind. He was not going to tell her that everything was going to be okay, because not even he could bring himself to tell such a lie. He just held her.

"Sir? Are… are you going to kill me, too?"

Raizo stroked her long, brown hair and pulled a knife from the folds of his suit. As he placed the cold, metal blade against the bare skin of her neck, he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry." He slit her throat quickly. Instantly, blood poured forth and dribbled onto his gloved hands. He laid her lifeless body to the floor and wrapped her limp arms around the blood-stained monkey. He stood up and looked around the room, looking at the death and the destruction that resulted from his hands. There was no emotion—no grief, no regret, no remorse. He simply turned his back to the scene and walked into the darkness of the closet. And with that, he was gone.

He walked up the pebbled path in casual clothing. He donned a pair of fitted jeans, a white v-neck, and a pair of matching tennis shoes. There was a large overhang that loomed before the front door of the house that served as a drop-off/valet parking area for the landowner's more esteemed guests. Raizo passed several rose bushes, finely manicured hedges, and marble statues polished white and to the point of shining. Waiting for him at the door was a man in a black suit with dark-tinted sunglasses. He took a puff of his cigar, flicked some of the ash off, and put it back into his mouth. When he noticed Raizo walking up, he gave him a nod in greeting and opened the door. Raizo returned the gesture and walked in.

The place had a high, dome ceiling with intricate paintings outlined with gold. Real gold. There were logs burning in a nearby fireplace and the walls were covered with brilliant tapestries. The floor he walked on was solid granite and glinted in the light of diamond chandeliers.

Eventually the spacious room narrowed into a dim hallway. At the end there stood a man and a door.

"Vitorre will see you now." With that, he swept open the door. Raizo entered wordlessly. The door was left open for security reasons. Raizo couldn't understand why, though. He was a ninja. He could slaughter everyone in this mansion if he really wanted to. The thought quickly left his mind, though, once he laid eyes on the man he had come to see. Vitorre. The room looked like your typical crime boss' study: wide, dark wooden desk, high-back chair, a few bookshelves, and—of course—a couple glasses and a bottle of hard liquor.

"Raizo! So good to see you." His voice was deep, but his Italian accent was heavy. "Ha, I must say that you have far surpassed my expectations. I knew that I would be getting a skilled assassin when the Grand Master of Tanjao sent you, but still! You are a true killing machine, eh?"

How could someone be so jovial about murder?

"Please, have a seat."

"No thank you."

"Sure, sure, that's fine." Vitorre propped up his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together, and placed his chin on the bridge that his fingers created. "So, no survivors I assume?"

"Yes. I followed your directions exactly." Images of the young girl flooded his mind—that crimson smile he created when he slit her throat.

"Good, good." Vitorre uncapped the bottle of liquor and started to pour himself a glass. "You like whiskey?"

Raizo shook his head.

"Eh," he said with a shrug. He took a sip of the drink and reclined in his chair. "Raizo…I like you. You do your job and you do your job well. I've had my eye on you for quite some time and I've decided that you're better than side jobs. I want you to be one of my personal bodyguards."

Raizo remained motionless, his face a stoic mask.

"I'm going to an auction tonight," Vitorre continued, "and I would like you there for some…extra support. Now, this is a very special type of auction that only a select few know about. I'm inviting you because I trust you. And my trust is something that you don't abuse, capisci(1)?"

"I understand."

"Good!" Vitorre clapped his hands together. Raizo caught the glare of his many gold rings and bracelets. "Meet me here tonight at eleven. My men will dress you in uniform when you arrive."

Raizo nodded.

"Alright. Ciao."

Without another word, Raizo stepped out of the study and went on his way.

The meeting was brief, but then again, they always were. Raizo went directly to him for assignments and, in return, a suitcase full of money would be waiting for him in an alley the following day. But he didn't do it for the money. Yes, the cash paid for his flat, but that was all he used it for. The rest he gave to charity, the homeless, or the hungry. It didn't make him any more of a better person, but in those instances when he gave a starving mother a wad of bills, when he donated thousands of dollars to orphanages…he felt genuine happiness. In those instances…he didn't feel like such a monster.

No, he didn't do it for the money. He did it because no matter how hard he tried to stay away, his fingers itched for his knives, for his blade, for his blessed kusarigama. He lusted for the scent of blood. But each time he killed, it didn't leave him feeling satisfied—it left him feeling empty. Hollow. Like there was nothing inside, not even a beating heart. How could he feel otherwise? She had stolen his heart and had run off. Mika. His Mika. She plagued his mind constantly and never allowed him a wink of sleep. All he could see at night was her lifeless body tied to that dreadful stake in Tanjao's dojo, her beautiful smile, the agony in her eyes when he told her goodbye. It was all his fault. Initially, he thought that he was doing the right thing, that she would be protected and that, eventually, he would keep his promise—he would see her again. But, now that he was involved with Vitorre, he couldn't help but wonder,Did I make the right choice?

Raizo knocked on the door precisely at 11 o'clock. He needed only wait a minute before a brown-haired man answered. "Salve!(2) I am Fabio, Vitorre's partner in crime." He winked. "Please, please, come in." He stepped aside and allowed Raizo entrance. "We are very pleased to have you with us," he said, gesturing to the rest of the crew who lounged around. "This evening will be a very special one, eh?" He poked Raizo in the ribs with his elbow. His grey eyes had a sort of impish light to them.

What was going on tonight?

Fabio put his arm around the male's shoulder and guided him into what looked like a coat room. "Alright. Here is your new uniform!"

His new 'uniform' consisted of a tailored, black, three-piece suit, a pair of matching leather shoes, and a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses. On a chair sat a rubber-band and some gel.

"What is that for?" Raizo inquired.

Fabio smirked. "Why, your new hairstyle of course."

x-x-x

Raizo felt like a completely different person. He was dressed in black from head to toe (which really wasn't that different from his usual attire) and his hair was slicked back into a ponytail. But, he did have to admit that upon inspection in a mirror, he did look like quite the bad ass. Now he was waiting in the main room of the house with the rest of the crew.

At about 11:30pm, Vitorre waltzed into the room, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a complementing light gray shirt, and a tie with stripes of three shades of blue. His long, black hair was combed back and gelled. His grey eyes gleamed in the yellow light. "Alright, men, who's ready for some fun?"

The hotel was beautiful—from the gold fixtures to the satin carpets. Women laughed and cavorted about, some dressed modestly, others leaving little to the imagination. But no time was to be spent ogling. Vitorre and his crew went straight to the elevator. Once inside with the doors closed, Fabio said to the elevator man, "The Lounge."

"Yes, sir," the man operating the elevator replied with a nod. He pulled out a ring of keys and flipped open a panel. Underneath was a keyhole. He inserted a small, golden key and twisted it to the right. The elevator immediately began its assent. The machine was incredibly fast. It soared up and up and up at 20 miles per hour. Raizo noticed that there were only 12 buttons marking the different floors of the building, but the screen in the elevator said that they had just passed floor 24. He furrowed his brow. What kind of hotel was this?

It only took them three minutes from the moment they entered the elevator to reach their destination on the thirtieth floor.

"The Lounge," the man announced and the doors slid open.

The elevator opened into a long, dim hallway.

"Sir Vitorre, your room is 201. Complementary Grey Goose will be waiting."

"Thank you," Fabio answered for him. He stepped out first, followed by Vitorre and the rest of his gang. Raizo brought up the rear. They walked down the hall silently, the thump of their leather shoes echoed throughout the hall.

"Ah, here we are. Room 201." Fabio swept the door open to allow his superior entrance. They all filed inside and, because Raizo was last, he closed the door. The room was dimly lit and cold. It was empty with the exception of what appeared to be a circular stage in the center of the room and a chair not too far off. Vitorre took a seat while Fabio poured him a glass of Vodka.

"Good evening, gentlemen." The female, automated voice pierced the silence. "We have beautiful new pieces for you tonight. We have comprised a wonderful selection based on your past purchases and preferences. Enjoy."

Smooth, slow jazz began to play through the speakers as the stage lit up. White lights that trimmed the edge came to life and a glaring spotlight illuminated the center.

Raizo raised a curious brow. He noticed the rustling of curtains beyond the spotlight. Then, a woman came forward into the light. She had tanned skin, fair hair, and her eyes were a sparkling blue. But all of this was lost to Raizo, because all he could focus on was the way she swayed and wobbled, barely able to stand on her own two feet. His eyes immediately went to her arms and, just as he expected, he found small puncture wounds. She had been drugged.

What…what is this?

Vitorre shook his head. The spotlight was turned off and the woman was ushered back behind the curtains. When the spotlight was turned on again, a new one stood in her place. Her olive skin and brown hair suggested that she was a native—Italian. Vitorre considered for a little while, but wound up shaking his head again in disapproval. She was taken away.

Realization suddenly dawned on him. This was no ordinary auction. And they weren't just displaying women. They were trafficking them. Disgust made bile well up in his throat. These men were sick. Absolutely revolting. How could they dishonor and disrespect women in such a way? Had they no morals? Raizo started to rethink his entire relationship with Vitorre. Raizo could kill the guilty and the innocent without blinking an eye, but this…?

But then, another thought occurred to him. Were the two of them—Raizo and Vitorre—were they really so different? Although one murdered and the other manipulated and abused, they were still one and the same. This made Raizo's blood run cold.

No matter how he looked at it, they were both horrible, ruthless beings.

They were both monsters.

(1) Capisci - Italian for "understand"

(2) Salve - Italian for "hello"