Disclaimer: This story is intended for mature audiences only. There are themes of violence from the start and throughout as well as shota and hinted physical and sexual abuse of a minor. It's up to you to decide your own comfort level.
Tick follows tock follows tick follows tock.
This is my mantra, my ritual.
Tick.
I spin the long cylinder piece of metal onto the nozzle of my favorite piece, Colt M1991A1, it's a .45, single magazine – a classic and my fail safe. It works especially well with my silencer and I screw it on to secure it tightly.
Tock.
Brushing some stray strands of my black hair behind my ear, I secure a feathered mask to my face with the satin ribbons that are attached to it. I 'borrowed' this mask and a cloak to cover me from a patron who was carelessly carrying them outside – he won't have any need of them now.
Tick.
Making my way into the decadently decorated main reception hall, I see large drawn ruby red drapes that cover the windows, the only light is from the huge ebony drop crystal chandeliers that hang from the ceiling, they are illuminated with lit tapered candles – how antiquated and Victorian, I scoff silently to myself. Dropping my kit bag down by the wall, I use my foot to slide it under a side table, keeping it safe. I blend in with the rest of the crowd, which is quite easy to do. Everyone here is shrouded in cloaks, and elaborate masks hide their faces. Anonymity is key, especially given what is on offer here.
It looks as though the bidding has already gotten underway. Mingling through the herd, I spot my mark; a tall man with slicked back brown hair, his suit stretches around his wide waist as he stands at the podium, gesturing towards a large cast iron cage. I can't see what's inside it but after my extensive research on this guy I know it must be a child.
This is something that I have learned: the world is a dark place.
It's full of injustice and violence. Hatred, corruption and greed – but that's where I come in.
I'm a killer and a monster.
Life has made me callous, as all I know is what I see – the hurt and the pain, the anguish and torment. Of course I'm sure there are better emotions; happier ones but I haven't seen them. Those who come to me already have their faces twisted in sadness and desperation. You see, I don't need anything as frivolous or useless as feelings or emotions, especially to do what it is that I do. To care about someone is to allow them to have a hold on you, to control you and that is something that I don't need binding me.
Besides, you don't need me to care; you only need me to do my job and nothing more.
I know my role, I'm the one you turn to when you have exhausted all your avenues and when you've got no one else to turn to. Don't worry, you can call on me and I will take care of it for you. If you can't count on anyone else, it's fine - because you can always count on me. That's what I offer, I deliver justice and retribution for those who have been let down by the law, those who can't get satisfaction from the system. However, I only take on jobs that I find truly worthy of my time and my talent, something I can sink my teeth into, something delicious and satisfying.
I am very good at what I do and no one escapes me so it has to be worth it.
I deliver each time – every time.
Although I may be a monster and a killer, I rarely kill without a reason or indiscriminately, I have a rigid and strict set of rules that I abide by. As much as I enjoy killing, and I do, I try to only take the lives of those who truly deserve it, and those who have skirted the system, thinking they are above the law. However, there are times when I simply cannot help myself, I just aim and pull the trigger.
In any case, I do my homework. I have to ensure that each person fits into my criteria without any shades of grey. So, I take my time, I research, I prepare and once I feel satisfied, I carry out my plan. Which leads me here and to that man on the stage.
Yes, the world is a dark place, full of people just like this man – who is soon to be eradicated.
"What say you for this prize specimen?" He calls out. This man disgusts me; even his voice makes me sick.
"One hundred thousand pounds!" Someone behind me calls out.
"One hundred thousand pounds to the gentleman at the back? Do I hear two hundred?"
I maneuver myself closer to the stage, closer to him and now I'm right in front, waiting for the appropriate moment. I can't do it in front of all of these people, too many witnesses.
"Five hundred thousand!"
"Thank you madam, five hundred with you, six hundred to the room? Come on, just look at him – he's worth double."
Shoot now or wait? What to do, what to do? If I shoot now, I would have to wipe out the entire room or take out a small few and get out as fast as I can. Can I get out that quickly? Probably. Shoot now or wait?
"One million pounds!"
Oh, fuck it – just shoot the cunt. I conclude.
I raise my arm in the air, everyone was so engrossed in the auction that they barely register the fact that the thing in my hand is not a bidding paddle and I take my aim.
Tock.
"Two million pounds!" I shout to get his attention and just before his mouth drops open – I pull the trigger. The recoil sends me back slightly as one bullet cleanly enters the center of his forehead. He falls to his knees, dead and the room starts to spiral into chaos. I stand my ground as people scramble past; their screams and shouts fill the air.
I love the smell of fresh blood, especially as it splatters to the ground and sprays over the walls in such a beautiful pattern. Blood, the scent of beginnings and subsequent endings – I inhale deeply – filling my lungs with the sweet iron fragrance, I can't help myself, it's an addiction and I need my fix. Taking aim, I hit a few more attendees as they jostle out and the room starts to empty quickly. I do it for the smell but I can't help but smile broadly as I watch their bodies tumble lifelessly to the ground with a heavy thud. There's something about death and slaughter that intrigues me and entices me, I wouldn't say it turns me on but it is a wonderful feeling that comes over me. From the moment I aim and my index finger just hovers over the trigger – to the final moments of the pull and the shot fired. Watching that last bit of life in their eyes go out, I think I would describe it as nothing more but pure bliss.
I know that I have approximately thirty-five minutes or so to get out and away from here before the police arrive. I move to the wall and press my back flush against it, unscrewing my silencer and popping it back into my pocket, watching as the stragglers exit and ensuring that there is no one else. Glancing at my watch I realize - I'd better leave. I have plenty of time but why chance it?
Quickly unfastening the button at the top of my throat, I take off the cloak and fold it up neatly, reaching under the table; I grab my bag and shove the folded cloak into it along with my gun and the mask. I'm taking them with me to dispose of it later – taking care to leave no trace.
It's time for me to take my leave as I start to walk out towards the door; well my job here is done.
"Please..."
I hear a weak voice call out in the shadows. I assume it's one of my many victims here, as they lay dying. I tend to take measured steps and procedures when I kill but sometimes – like now, I enjoy myself a little too much and indiscriminately take aim, without ensuring a perfect, clean kill.
"Please... help me. Will you help me?" The voice calls out again. It's too innocent sounding to be one of my victims; it's small and weak. I'm intrigued as to what this could possibly be, so, I follow it. I can hear the heels of my shoes crunch and click over the concrete and broken glass of champagne flutes as I wander towards the small voice. Arriving at the large cast iron barred cage on top of the stage, I see a small hand reaching out towards me.
"Oh?" Is all I utter as I try to see the voice that is calling me from the shadows.
My job was to take out Viktor Nogoyev for child trafficking, he ran a ring in his native Kyrgyzstan that collected children from all over Britain and Eastern Europe and sold them into slavery at the best price. A woman hired me; her daughter was taken from their village in Georgia and sold. She'd traveled to London as she heard that this was the last place her daughter was seen. The job was interesting to say the least and so I carried out my due diligence, as I do with every job. I watched, surveyed, monitored, and took notes but unfortunately, after all of my work – I found that her daughter had already died, beaten to death by the man that bought her. With this news, she hired me again, this time to take the life of the man who took her Sonjas'. I was happy to do it, after all my work investigating him – this man fit my criteria to the letter.
This child here must have been what they were bidding on when I came in.
"Are you God?" The question was ridiculous, though innocent enough. However, it is still something that causes me to chuckle slightly.
"God? There is no God here, only me." I answer bluntly.
"Then... then are you a demon?" Two small hands reach out from the darkness and wrap nimble fingers around two iron bars.
"I have been called such and I have been called worse." I shrug, "What is your name?"
"Ciel." He answers calmly, completely un-phased by our bizarre dialogue. "Ciel Phantomhive."
Ciel Phantomhive? Oh yes, I've heard of this case. It was strange, two people, Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive were killed and their mansion in Hertfordshire was burned down. Their twelve-year-old son disappeared without a trace, presumed dead as well and it's been three months since anyone has heard anything. There was no ransom note or apparent reason for the murders. The police were stumped – no surprise there, if they were any good at their job then there would be no need for someone like me. In any case, the remaining family members have offered up a handsome reward for his return but he never returned. Imagine my luck in finding such a prize, I mean, just how did he end up here?
"Well, Ciel, let's say we get you out of here?" I offer as I step closer to the cage.
"Are you a police officer?"
"No."
"Then what are you? Are you one of them?" He asks as his whole voice shudders.
"No, I am an assassin, a hitman – if you will." I admit honestly, well, I've never been known to lie. He goes silent as he tries to mull over my words.
"Who hired you?"
"Well, I don't think you should concern yourself with something so trivial."
"It's not trivial to me." He pauses; I can almost hear the cogs in his brain whirling. "Can anyone hire you?"
"If the cause is right and the price matches, then yes." I kneel down in front of him, even though it's dark, I cast my eyes over him, finally seeing what he looks like.
The first thing I notice, is that he is a small child, short and wispy, completely caked in filth, his clothing is in tatters and his hair is quite matted. However, despite his appearance, he manages to wear a look of haughty pride on his face, a willful determination that is almost admirable. His large, soppy doe eyes glare at me through the bars, although I can see that his right eye seems to be discolored and cloudy as his left is a stark cobalt blue. Underneath his right eye is flaking dry blood; something has definitely happened to it – that much I can see in the dark. I want to reach out and touch it, run my fingers over his cheek just to see how long the blood has been there but of course, I think better of it.
"Well then demon, I want to hire you." He demands, unflinchingly. I fight back my urge to bust out in to laughter. He scowls at me, as he can see that I'm trying not to laugh at his request. "What's so funny? I can pay you, I have more than enough."
It seems the boy is serious.
"And what do you want?"
"Revenge." He states coldly. "I want to find out who killed my parents and who did this to me."
"It wasn't Nogoyev?"
"No – he only bought me." His face falls as he thinks; "I don't remember what happened to me after the fire." He confesses as he bites his lower lip. I can see that he's trying to stay composed – simply admirable.
"Your cause is indeed worthy but what would you have me do?"
"I want you to find those who did this to me." He growls as he tightens his grip on the bars, his knuckles go white as the thin skin stretches across them. This boy intrigues me, he has such hatred and determination but does he understand what he's asking?
"And when I do, what then?"
"You're a hitman, you tell me." His voice is sarcastic as he arches a brow to match his tone. I smile as I nod, it seems he does understand.
"So, you know what I can do but I need you to say it. It has to be an order as I work only on command."
"I want whoever did this to pay for what they have done to my parents and what they did to me."
"Do you fully understand what you ask of me?" I have to double check. Although the boy is willful, he still is a child and being responsible for taking a life is something that can weigh on a person, no matter how wronged.
"Don't mock me demon. I am no longer an innocent child – they saw to that. I am a man now and the head of the Phantomhive family. I demand that you take me seriously."
"You demand?" Well, it was still hard to take him seriously after that foolhardy speech; but this boy has something that I wish to possess. A straightforward determination and his need for justice is something that fascinates me deeply, especially as it's my modus operandi. I smile, and I hold out my hand to him, to which he stares at curiously, "Fine, then shall we make a contract? If we shake on it, then I become your soldier and I will fight for no one but you until we achieve your revenge. Deal?"
Without hesitating, Ciel grabs my hand and squeezes it firmly with both of his hands.
Our deal is struck.