I want to say thanks to everyone who reveiwed so far, your support has been the one and only thing that has kept me going on this story. Thank you all! (Oh, yeah. My birthday is on this sunday! ^_^)
***
"I tired to kill him, but the sacred one got in the way." The bloodied assassin said, clutching his still bleeding stomach where Chelsie had winded him when he had shot Julie. How he had escaped from the police, was a bloody incident.
The man had removed his cloak now, he had a strong, lean, muscular body. His hair was fairly straight, dark brown in colour, it was overgrown and hung loosely around his shoulders. He had cold, narrow blood red eyes. Overall, a rather threating character.
"That is no excuse!" Voltaire snapped back.
Voltaire sat in his huge armchair in his office, files and pictures (possibly a list of people he still had to kill) surrounded him on his wooden desk. Which had a peculiar dint on the right hand side, from getting to angry with his clients.
"Your supposed to be the best, the very best." Voltaire began.
"He's your grandson!" The assassin argued, in a disgusted tone. "Why don't you kill him?"
Voltaire raised from his chair. Nobody, EVER, talked to him like that! Voltaire paused for a minute, then sat back down in his chair, cupping his hands together. "Because, he already knows too much, and with those 'friends' of his, he is liable to put two and two together and get five." Voltaire banged his fist on his desk, causing the dint to get even deeper. "We NEED that girl. THAT girl to HAS to join us. She WILL join BIOVOLT. It was YOUR job to eliminate Kai before he got too close. You have failed. Failure is unacceptable."
"Look, how was I too know she had feelings for Kai?" The assassin said.
"It was your job to stop that from happening!" Voltaire roared, banging his fist on the desk again, just a few more and he was sure the desk would give way. "You killed her family, why can't you kill Kai?"
The assassin had had enough. "I killed her family, yes. But she's different! You don't know what happened back there!" He shouted back, trying hard to keep his temper.
"I know you got beaten up by a child." Voltaire said, in a satisfied tone.
"A child who's a black belt in karate!" The assassin sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I doesn't matter," He said slowly. "It took me three years to find out she wasn't dead anyway."
"According to this." Voltaire began, pulling a sheet of paper out of one of his many drawers. "You used a high explosive to destroy half a city block, yet she survived. The one person you were trying to kill."
"Yeah, she's good, but she's also got the Devil's luck." The assassin admitted.
"Well, rememb--." Voltaire began, but was cut short by a loud knocking at his office door. The door opened and one of his servants walked in, after bowing his head slightly, he continued.
"Master Voltaire, we have just received word." The servant said. "Julie-sama and her friends are competing in the national Regional in preparation for the Beyblade Finals."
"Yes." Voltaire said, taking in the information. "That will be all." He said, dismissing the servant.
The servant bowed, then left, closing the door silently as he had opened it. Voltaire started at his client that stood before him. Who was now drumming his fingers on the desk. "Remember," Voltaire continued. "We don't want her dead. Not this time."
"Fine." The assassin muttered. Slinging his abnormally large handgun over his shoulder and heading for the door, his back turned on Voltaire.
"There is no room for failure at BIOVOLT, Adam."
The assassin looked round, with a expression of astonishment on his face. Nobody had ever used his first name before, he liked to keep it to himself. He just shrugged, Voltaire had more contacts then people Adam himself had killed, he was bound to know. After all, why wouldn't he?
"Yeah," Adam replied casually. "I know."
And with that, Adam left Voltaire to indulge in his childish fantasies of world domination. As long as he got paid, he couldn't care less. But Julie should have been dead. Why wasn't she? He had shot down entire gangs tougher than one small girl, she should be dead… Should, but wasn't.
Adam placed his handgun in his holster, carefully concealed thanks to his jacket.
Adam existed BIOVOLT through one of their many back doors. He dug deep into one of his leather jacket pockets and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and took a long, deep breath, inhaling the fumes.
Who knew? Maybe it would put him out of his misery sooner.
He walked out in the street, unpopulated, deserted, as it should be at one in the morning. I wouldn't make a difference if Adam had to make his way through a crowd of people. Most people kept a safe distance from him anyway, he wasn't a social person. And people seemed to be pulled away from him. He had no friends, and didn't need them. He was like the negative end of a magnet, pushing all ordinary people away.
BIOVOLT had bases all over the country, which was useful. Adam didn't like to appear in the same place more than once. He feared it might arouse suspicion. But, then again. He never stayed in the same place long enough to get to know anybody.
There was something Voltaire wasn't telling him. He knew he wanted that girl and her friends, but for what reason, he wasn't entirely sure. Normally, Adam would never dare, let alone have the time to wonder what the person he was currently working for had stored in their twisted little minds.
Adam continued to wonder aimlessly around the town, not wondering where he would wind up, not caring either. He was still badly hurt where that little bitch had kicked him in. But he didn't notice. Didn't care either. Hell, he never cared about anything.
Voltaire said he wanted the five girls for his plan. But what exactly was that? Why did he want five girls? What good would they do his company? He pondered these questions for some time, searching for an answer he knew he did not know. Different thoughts came into his mind, most made him feel sick.
Adam walked down a street and noticed police and news crews crowded round an ally. He imminently knew where he was. He stood there, looking at the now crowded scene. Even if it was past midnight. It would be in the news tomorrow.
Why did his subconscience take him here, of all places? Was it because he felt partly responsible for injuring that girl he shot? No, that couldn't be it. Adam had killed countless, maybe millions of people. Why was he suddenly asking himself if that girl was really okay?
'Because, you know. Somewhere in your heart, that when you shot that girl. It felt like you were shooting yourself.' That voice was back again, that voice that Adam hadn't heard in nearly twenty years. The voice that he had kept in the back of his mind for so long. Imprisoned, isolated, forgotten.
'Get lost.' Adam thought back furiously.
'You know I'm right. Why do you never listen to me?' The voice asked calmly.
'Because your not real.' Adam thought, getting highly frustrated with himself.
'Maybe I'm not, does it really matter, Adam Carter?' The voice asked again, in the same mocking tone.
'Get out of my head!' Adam thought, gritting his teeth.
'No matter how hard you try to push me away, I'll always be here. Deep in your mind. Waiting, for you be me. To be you, Adam. The Real you.' The voice echoed away. And for the first time in his life Adam was scared. Why did the voice have to come back and why now?
Adam shook himself out of this conversation with his other self, and continued to walk down the street, past where he had shot the girl. Not looking back. Thoughts of himself, and the monster he had truly become. And why.
***
"I tired to kill him, but the sacred one got in the way." The bloodied assassin said, clutching his still bleeding stomach where Chelsie had winded him when he had shot Julie. How he had escaped from the police, was a bloody incident.
The man had removed his cloak now, he had a strong, lean, muscular body. His hair was fairly straight, dark brown in colour, it was overgrown and hung loosely around his shoulders. He had cold, narrow blood red eyes. Overall, a rather threating character.
"That is no excuse!" Voltaire snapped back.
Voltaire sat in his huge armchair in his office, files and pictures (possibly a list of people he still had to kill) surrounded him on his wooden desk. Which had a peculiar dint on the right hand side, from getting to angry with his clients.
"Your supposed to be the best, the very best." Voltaire began.
"He's your grandson!" The assassin argued, in a disgusted tone. "Why don't you kill him?"
Voltaire raised from his chair. Nobody, EVER, talked to him like that! Voltaire paused for a minute, then sat back down in his chair, cupping his hands together. "Because, he already knows too much, and with those 'friends' of his, he is liable to put two and two together and get five." Voltaire banged his fist on his desk, causing the dint to get even deeper. "We NEED that girl. THAT girl to HAS to join us. She WILL join BIOVOLT. It was YOUR job to eliminate Kai before he got too close. You have failed. Failure is unacceptable."
"Look, how was I too know she had feelings for Kai?" The assassin said.
"It was your job to stop that from happening!" Voltaire roared, banging his fist on the desk again, just a few more and he was sure the desk would give way. "You killed her family, why can't you kill Kai?"
The assassin had had enough. "I killed her family, yes. But she's different! You don't know what happened back there!" He shouted back, trying hard to keep his temper.
"I know you got beaten up by a child." Voltaire said, in a satisfied tone.
"A child who's a black belt in karate!" The assassin sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I doesn't matter," He said slowly. "It took me three years to find out she wasn't dead anyway."
"According to this." Voltaire began, pulling a sheet of paper out of one of his many drawers. "You used a high explosive to destroy half a city block, yet she survived. The one person you were trying to kill."
"Yeah, she's good, but she's also got the Devil's luck." The assassin admitted.
"Well, rememb--." Voltaire began, but was cut short by a loud knocking at his office door. The door opened and one of his servants walked in, after bowing his head slightly, he continued.
"Master Voltaire, we have just received word." The servant said. "Julie-sama and her friends are competing in the national Regional in preparation for the Beyblade Finals."
"Yes." Voltaire said, taking in the information. "That will be all." He said, dismissing the servant.
The servant bowed, then left, closing the door silently as he had opened it. Voltaire started at his client that stood before him. Who was now drumming his fingers on the desk. "Remember," Voltaire continued. "We don't want her dead. Not this time."
"Fine." The assassin muttered. Slinging his abnormally large handgun over his shoulder and heading for the door, his back turned on Voltaire.
"There is no room for failure at BIOVOLT, Adam."
The assassin looked round, with a expression of astonishment on his face. Nobody had ever used his first name before, he liked to keep it to himself. He just shrugged, Voltaire had more contacts then people Adam himself had killed, he was bound to know. After all, why wouldn't he?
"Yeah," Adam replied casually. "I know."
And with that, Adam left Voltaire to indulge in his childish fantasies of world domination. As long as he got paid, he couldn't care less. But Julie should have been dead. Why wasn't she? He had shot down entire gangs tougher than one small girl, she should be dead… Should, but wasn't.
Adam placed his handgun in his holster, carefully concealed thanks to his jacket.
Adam existed BIOVOLT through one of their many back doors. He dug deep into one of his leather jacket pockets and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and took a long, deep breath, inhaling the fumes.
Who knew? Maybe it would put him out of his misery sooner.
He walked out in the street, unpopulated, deserted, as it should be at one in the morning. I wouldn't make a difference if Adam had to make his way through a crowd of people. Most people kept a safe distance from him anyway, he wasn't a social person. And people seemed to be pulled away from him. He had no friends, and didn't need them. He was like the negative end of a magnet, pushing all ordinary people away.
BIOVOLT had bases all over the country, which was useful. Adam didn't like to appear in the same place more than once. He feared it might arouse suspicion. But, then again. He never stayed in the same place long enough to get to know anybody.
There was something Voltaire wasn't telling him. He knew he wanted that girl and her friends, but for what reason, he wasn't entirely sure. Normally, Adam would never dare, let alone have the time to wonder what the person he was currently working for had stored in their twisted little minds.
Adam continued to wonder aimlessly around the town, not wondering where he would wind up, not caring either. He was still badly hurt where that little bitch had kicked him in. But he didn't notice. Didn't care either. Hell, he never cared about anything.
Voltaire said he wanted the five girls for his plan. But what exactly was that? Why did he want five girls? What good would they do his company? He pondered these questions for some time, searching for an answer he knew he did not know. Different thoughts came into his mind, most made him feel sick.
Adam walked down a street and noticed police and news crews crowded round an ally. He imminently knew where he was. He stood there, looking at the now crowded scene. Even if it was past midnight. It would be in the news tomorrow.
Why did his subconscience take him here, of all places? Was it because he felt partly responsible for injuring that girl he shot? No, that couldn't be it. Adam had killed countless, maybe millions of people. Why was he suddenly asking himself if that girl was really okay?
'Because, you know. Somewhere in your heart, that when you shot that girl. It felt like you were shooting yourself.' That voice was back again, that voice that Adam hadn't heard in nearly twenty years. The voice that he had kept in the back of his mind for so long. Imprisoned, isolated, forgotten.
'Get lost.' Adam thought back furiously.
'You know I'm right. Why do you never listen to me?' The voice asked calmly.
'Because your not real.' Adam thought, getting highly frustrated with himself.
'Maybe I'm not, does it really matter, Adam Carter?' The voice asked again, in the same mocking tone.
'Get out of my head!' Adam thought, gritting his teeth.
'No matter how hard you try to push me away, I'll always be here. Deep in your mind. Waiting, for you be me. To be you, Adam. The Real you.' The voice echoed away. And for the first time in his life Adam was scared. Why did the voice have to come back and why now?
Adam shook himself out of this conversation with his other self, and continued to walk down the street, past where he had shot the girl. Not looking back. Thoughts of himself, and the monster he had truly become. And why.