Chapter 1

And so I woke up, that red hair, those maniacal eyes, and that goofy armor staring down at me. The infernal statement just randomly popped into my head...

People were always asking me... if I knew a guy named Fighter...

"This is it... ground zero... Would you like to say a few words to make the occasion?"

My vision was still fuzzy and for a moment I didn't see anything at all... but I recognized the voice... How I wished it were the voice on the phone when you call to order sofas. But I knew it wasn't. I tried responding to Fighter, but my words were muffled. Only vowels came out, I felt my mouth get cut a few times. Seeing this, the red haired maniac pulled whatever it was from my jaws. He let the hand holding, not surprisingly, a sword fall to his side.

"I can't think of anything." I mumbled and spit blood to the floor

Fighter nodded and walked away from me. He turned his back on me... Didn't he know I was insanely powerful? I could get up and rip him to shreds... Why did he turn around? Nevertheless, for a moment my mind wandered from the destruction at hand, and Fighter's intentions and I asked myself... what had he been doing with that sword... My mind flashed an image of Fighter in a weapons shop having a little too much fun. I quickly changed the station on my mind.

"It's getting exciting now." I heard Fighter's monotonous voice ring behind me

You know that saying how the one you hate never hurts you, you just hurt yourself for hating the person?

Actually, I think I just made that up, but I think it still holds some truth.

I looked back at him staring down from a window thirty stories above the ground, leaning against it. He stared out into the night as if looking for something. What was Fighter looking for? Chaos.

We have front row seats for this theater of mass destruction, not that when the shit came down I was going to mind. The Black Wizards have been aiming at the foundation columns of a dozen building and on Fighter's word a few square blocks would be reduced to smoldering rubble... And I know this... Because Fighter knows this...

"Think of everything you and I have accomplished..." Fighter spoke

By now, after hearing his voice for so long... It had almost become otherworldly... The voice you heard so many things from, so good, now going so bad... And then I realize, in that fleeting moment that the sword, the Wizards, everything... Had something to do with a girl called White mage...


CLANG


This is Bob... Bob lost all his magic.

We were in an old church building... It was falling apart but people from all over came around... Why? Because they lost all their magic... This was a support group for mages who got their magic stripped away from them. In most cases the MP was completely taken away and in turn most of their other attributes went down too. In Bob's case, it was intelligence.

"We're still mages..."

"Yes we're mages... Mages are what we are..."

Bob was a Red Mage. We were surrounded by Black, White, and Red mages. Even some Wizards were thrown in there... In this little group of once mages I tried to become a beacon of hope... And so I did my part...

"You cry now." Bob told me, tears flowing from under his plumed hat when he pulled me against his armor.

Actually, let me start over...

I am in the middle of a terrorist plot at the moment with Black Wizards and yet I have the time and energy to tell you my story... Oh well, plot holes don't concern me.

For as long as I could remember... I couldn't sleep...

When you're a person like me with insomnia, your day is both humorous and tiring. Everything looks like it's set aflame but it's all far away so you take no joy in it... Everything looks the same, too. It's all just a copy... of a copy... of a copy... And so I strolled back to my desk in my office. Why did I take this job in the first place, I ask myself and then I remember, I am in poverty and I have some experience in the this field.

On a completely unrelated note when the RPG genre begins to appeal to younger kids with their Game Boys, everyone will give them cutesy titles. The Bird's Quest. Pokemon Scarlet. The Adventures of Big Bird RPG.

I shook myself from my state of daydreaming. I saw my boss, an old Ninja, walk over to my desk with a stack of files. What a dickhead...

"We're gonna need you outta Corneria a little more this week. We have a few red flags to cover..."

I looked around my plain cubical. I stared at my computer, blinking with pop-ups. I imagined people getting mutilated. I just stopped listening... Nothing he said ever made a difference to me... I always ignored it... Especially on Tuesdays. How did I know it was Tuesday? He was wearing his cornflower blue Ninja cowl. I decided to not just leave the poor bastard hanging there. Someone in his office has to be a little nice to him.

"You want me to de-prioritize my current reports?" I asked, humoring him

"Yeah, here's your airship coupons, call me from the air if there are any snags."

He was peppy this Tuesday. He must have had his double-elixir enema.

Like so many others I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct. I would sit on the toilet for hours at a time looking at the shower curtains and wondering if curtains with a flowery design described me better. Not even considering the fact that I didn't have any friends so it was all for self-gratifying purposes anyway. I would look through catalogues buying staves, knives, electric chairs, plates, and dining room sets. My life became the by-product of cheap furniture and spell books... Of course... these things had a built in fail-safe for people buying shit they didn't need.

"Please hold." The cheerful voice on the recorder spoke

For a determined consumer like myself, a recording wasn't going to stop me. I was going to wait out the musak and buy the swivel chair that I think best describes me as a person. I went through my high-rise apartment, stacked full of clever tables, sofas, and knives smothered with blood, to my fridge to make a sandwich. Very often the phone was up to my ear. What kind of sandwich? Spam with mustard. It was nasty but I seldom went to the store nowadays. And even if I did, I knew my reason for not buying much... I didn't want someone to get rich off my hard earned cash.

"No... you can't die from something like insomnia."

"You're sure about that?"

"I think you have mental problems, myself. You're in here saying that you cast spells at people and kill them and you're not able to sleep... Perhaps the bloodshed is the problem... personally... that's why many people are sleeping for eternity... cause you killed them."

I hated my doctor... He always put things so bluntly.

"I prefer to use the term "Put them out of their misery"."

"What misery?!"

"The misery they endure by becoming citizens and living in the world that cares only about gil and how to earn it!"

And yet, this makes me a hypocrite... Half the people I've killed don't sit at home and look through catalogues while they take a piss.

My doctor thought I was a nut... And now, that I've admitted to killing people... He was going to try and bust me.

"Well, that's interesting, however just try some sleeping pills temporarily..."

"Alright, doctor."

He was part of the mass conspiracy to steal money from the poor and hurting... In my mind, he was miserable.

"Excuse me, doctor." I called after him

He turned and looked at me. He had a smirk on his face... At that moment... a flash of anger rose through me... embodying itself in a being, a warrior with a sword. He rose behind the doctor and began to stab him but then... disappeared... My rage held out, however.

"I may not be able to die from my insomnia... But you can."


STAB!


Before I realized it my knife was in my hand and I had just stabbed my doctor. I put the knife in my pocket and casually walked out.

Security, you ask? Simple, I just had told them I had walked down the hall and found him that way... I knew it wasn't a good story, but I wouldn't know then that soon many problems would arise so they would not even look for me anymore.

How I got to those support groups is... Many magic associations have a policy on the abilities of the applicant.

"I'm sorry... you're spell casting abilities are just too high to be in this organization."

This was the headquarters of The Magic Hitman Association of Corneria.

"Wait...you're saying I'm over qualified to kill people?"

Something I had never heard before.

"No, what I'm saying is..."

I really didn't hear much of the following... I was still trying to comprehend the fact you could actually have to much experience to be in the business of killing people.

"... and so with applicants, such as yourself, we require that you forget you have magic and humble yourself for a weekend or two before you can be in our business."

"Because I'm too good at killing people?"

"No sir, it seems you have problems that we should not get into. A person like you is liable to kill too many people. That is our problem with you."

Many different words that said, basically, I was just passionate about my job.

"So what do you want me to do?" I was ready to explode because of all this red tape

"There are support groups over in Second Methodist on Wednesday nights." He told me

I didn't see where this was going. Was I supposed to kill them all? After all, people who go to support groups are usually miserable.

"And...?" I was waiting for the mention of death

"The support group you are to attend is "Remaining Mages Together". You are to go and humble yourself by listening to their problems and acting as if you have problems. If you can understand where you've been going wrong by killing so many people, you are thus hired."

I was stunned.

"You're saying you want me to just go there and act like I don't have any magic? Listen to people with problems?!"

"That's the idea."

I had nothing better to do.

I walked out to Second Methodist. Walked up the stairs to a long hallway, all filled with support groups. This was going to be torture. Maybe that was the point, for me to feel as much pain as those I've killed. I wasn't quite sure. I walked down the halls with paint peeling from the walls and crying echoing. I walked into what seemed to be the worst room of them all. A sign was taped onto a Wet Floor stand. It read, "Remaining Mages Together". Even the title made my stomach churn. I walked aimlessly through the room that seemed the dullest, and worst built rooms I had ever been in. I wanted to set it aflame and see the colors dance around as if in a play... But I didn't... I was here for a reason, even if that reason was not clear to me. I wandered to a table with a filled coffee pot, pens, and nametags. I took up one of the plastic writing utensils and wrote down a fake name. This would be my only time here, why do they need to know who I really am?

And so I slapped the sticker that read "Hi, My Name Is", with my fake name, Kuja, on my chest and I sat down in one of the horrible plastic chairs. The kind you were forced to sit in back in grade school. I just sat down and didn't say anything. They looked at me, not with contempt, however, but with sorrow. They believed I had lost my magic, too. This made my mind laugh, but my face remained stern.

Finally, a mage stood.

"Hi... erm..."

The mage was not comfortable with the situation. Opening up yourself to so many strangers.

"Well, my name is Cartan, and I've lost my magic."

There was assorted clapping, like in the movies at an A.A. meeting. This guy, Cartan, apparently had completely changed the way people looked at white magic. He had been a pioneer. The first male white mage. It was going great, until he got married. A thief. His wife was a thief, which was also unusual. She had stolen everything of his and his ability to use magic. No one knew how. Perhaps it was just a story to conceal something more embarrassing.

"Well, she re-married the other day... and I mean... that's great... She is a great woman... But I ha... I ha..."

He tried to get the word hate out. He couldn't. He was an instrument of white magic. He could not hold anyone in contempt for anything. They were all equal to him and he loved everyone. I found this asinine.

The leader of the group stood up. He patted Cartan on the head. More assorted clapping.

"I am proud that Cartan was able to share himself with us... We are going through this together... and we are strong as one. Now, let's split up into groups."

What a hypocrite.

The mages rose from their seats and found partners. I stayed in mine. I didn't know it but my face had curled into a mask of sorrow. Maybe I had feelings... Nah... I just didn't want anyone to discover me. I guess it worked. Before I had looked the room over a tall, red mage walked toward me, the plume in his hat waving back and forth as he walked. I looked at his tag. His name was Bob. He held me his hand, and I took it.

"My name is Bob." He spoke, already starting to cry

"Hi... Bob... I" I couldn't even finish my sentence.


CLANG


My head bashed against his armor. My head throbbed. It turned out Bob was a Min/Maxer. You know how people who play D&D always try and max out their stats to the very highest with the least margin of weakness... Bob was the first. Now, with his magic gone, this lowered all his attributes considerably. This made him an idiot.

I began picking up the tail end of whatever he had been saying...

"And now, my girlfriend left me, I lost all my intelligence, and my D&D buddies... won't even return my phone calls."

Could a mage with this kind of pain make me actually feel something for him or should I might as well vaporize him. After all he, like most people, was miserable. Is it not my duty to put him out of his misery?

He stopped crying.

"It's ok, Kuja. You can cry."

He hugged me tighter and there I stayed, in the breastplate of his armor, head throbbing. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hate him for opening up to me... I wanted to kill them all... But I couldn't... Something they said... Something about them made me feel no hatred. I understood what my killing had been doing to people. What pain I had been causing... And I cried... I cried for a few minutes, my beady eyes flowing with tears onto his armor. He kept patting me on the back, saying it's ok. He assumed my magic was gone too... When really, all that was gone was my hatred.

When I got home, my eyes still moist, I fell on the bed and reflected on my day. Before I knew it, my eyes were closed and I was asleep... Not even the dead sleep that well.

I became... enlightened... I now knew what they meant by humbling myself. They needed me to be merciful. They needed pity amongst my evil. That's what these groups gave me... And, It granted me sleep. I took the entire schedules of these groups off bulletin boards. I looked through papers. I always remembered not to say anything. I remembered to listen, not to speak. When I didn't say anything, people always assumed I would die at any moment right there in front of them. Even though they too were suffering the human instinct kicked in and they felt the need to say everything they could to me, the guy about to keel over and die. If those people, suffering and hurting cried harder, I cried harder for finally understanding what I had put so many people through...

"Now we're going to open the next door..."

Guided meditation. I thought it was great... Though I hadn't lost my magic or my attributes I still felt I got something out of these groups... I was the center of attention... I, in their eyes, was about to die. This gave them a shred of hope, knowing others were out there suffering as much as they were... I gave them this hope... and that made me cry too...

"Now breath, and step forward into your cave."

When I was in my cave, I saw skulls lying on the ground. Fire shooting up through the crevasses in the rock. Statues of warriors with swords crumbling before my eyes.

"You feel the healing energy of this place all around you."

To most people, my cave would give them a heart attack... To me... It made me calm... full... and complete.

"Now find your power animal."

I always saw a tiger crawl from around one of the corners. It roared at me, with it's enormous teeth... Then it spoke to me...

"Die!"

And then it fell to the ground and died.

Just like my animal implied... Every evening I died... And then every morning, when I awoke from the bliss that had become sleep... I was born again. Resurrected back to my hateful self... Then, that night, the hatred died... and that was a piece of me dieing, but I didn't care...

Bob loved me because he thought I had lost my magic too. So that's where I was, head against his breastplate... Ready to cry... Ready to let loose from my hatred... But one day... Lying against my Red Mage comrade... she walked in... and she... ruined... everything...