"So, on my planet, or dimension, or whatever you want to call it, things are a lot different. We don't have heroes in capes who fly around saving people. Everyone is mostly stuck with their lot in life. Most of us are trained from a young age to do what will benefit society the most. So, if you are good at building as a child, you become a carpenter. Like that. If you are exceptional at singing, you become an entertainer.
I was good at killing. I don't remember how it came to be, I just remember being chosen to be trained. I was taken from my family when I was still learning to walk, forced to become an assassin. I didn't know any better. I didn't innately grow up believing that murder was right or wrong. I was taught that murder had a positive effect on society. It was a way of controlling population, punishment, and political gain. Therefore, I wasn't doing anything wrong. If anything, I was benefiting society.
I was trained for ten years, until the final test. Generally, the assassin has to be put through a final test, to hone their abilities and make sure they are prepared. In order to be ruthless, and to be objective, we needed to learn to put everything else aside. We had to leave emotion and relationships and love behind. The only thing that mattered was the target, and how fast we could finish the job. The final test is always a test of emotional endurance, to make sure you are fit to assassinate anyone you could possibly have to. Your only loyalty has to be to your master. Nothing else matters other than finishing the job. For the final test, it is customary to have the trainee kill their own family.
After the training was complete, I was given the opportunity to work for the royal family. They were impressed by my skill under pressure. I was told they requested me, out of all the others. It was an honor. In return, I was given a home, a family, and a purpose.
At first, it was like any other job. I worked in the palace confines, with strict contact only from the family and their advisors. Usually it was the king who gave me the targets. But after time, he felt comfortable enough to have me around all the time. I was attached at his hip, going everywhere with him. Where ever he was needed, I was always the shadow behind.
Since being raised, I had not had much contact with the outside world. In order to maintain objectivity, I was not allowed to go out and have friendships. I was not allowed to wander the streets or be independent. I was raised within the confines of my role. And then suddenly, I was given a seat at the table. I had the kings ear at all sorts of events. I learned about our world, and how it all worked, through him. I suppose it did make me a better killer, it made me stay objective. It wasn't until the end that I realized it wasn't a world I wanted to live in.
The king didn't like getting his hands dirty, and so I was often the one carrying out his plans. Most of the time, it was simple. I was young, and inexperienced. Or maybe his political enemies were not so big yet. After years, we were a family. I wanted to believe that they all cared for me. Make no mistake, there was always an order to things. I was his right hand. He made sure I was cared for and fed. It was the closest thing I'd had to a family relationship.
Early on, his two children were taken from him. I think he was a benevolent ruler until then. He had an air of righteousness about himself. He took the burden of being the ruler with great pride, and he cared for the country like he cared for me. Eventually, the children were found. After their cremation, he changed. His demeanor was darker, full of hate. He confided in me that he would give anything to have the people who did this dead. So, I obliged. And when he was grateful to me, it felt as though I was his new daughter. I felt I had made him proud. I had been worthy. He trained me and laughed with me, and in a way, he was the father I never had.
He became harsher, and all of his council started to dwindle away. People deflected, ran away, and died at my hands. I did whatever it would take to make him happy, proud of me. Part of me ached for him, and I internalized his sorrow. I thought if I could only do better, be more heartless, bring back more bodies, maybe I could bring back what he had lost.
It was never instilled in me to question. I had been raised with one purpose. I wasn't taught to think for myself, to have ideas, and to define right and wrong. I was good at one thing, so that is what I did. After the years went on, soon I was the only one left. He would not sleep at night anymore, so we would walk the castle grounds. Most of the time, he spoke to me as if I could offer solace though I rarely spoke. Maybe after time, he interpreted that to mean I tacitly agreed to his plans. I didn't have the capabilities to agree or disagree. It was not my right to tell him how to run things. I think it helped him. It certainly helped me understand him more.
Soon after that, fires were lit around the country. People would be yelling in the streets and it wasn't safe to leave the castle at all. For a while, it was just the two of us cooped inside. I had to get cleverer with my targets. And after the years they became more intense people. Heads of state, generals, rival kings, I would target anyone he asked me to. I think a part of me just wanted to make him happy the only way I knew how.
After enough time, the castle walls fell, and the streets ran red. People were killed, many who I had seen around the castle, many who were also confidants of his. I didn't comprehend that my life might be in jeopardy, and I wasn't taught to value life anyway. It was known that people in my line of work don't usually have peaceful endings. I understood that long before this.
I watched him get beheaded in the streets, and the months I spent without him were the hardest. I had no purpose in life anymore, I had no family. I was cooped in a prison awaiting the riots to die down. Once a new tribunal was elected, the first thing to decide was what to do with me. I think they took pity on me, since I had been only a child in the beginning. They sentenced me to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, where I was told I would be tortured. They wanted me to suffer, but they didn't want to have the blood on their hands. I thought at the time, that being beheaded in the streets seemed like the kinder thing to do.
Either way, they sent me off and I ended up landing here. That's why, the first thing I did when I saw you hurt, was kill to help you."