The Search for the Smiling Assassin.

The taxi screeched to an abrupt halt in front of a dingy four-storey building. My body shifted slightly forward as my momentum ceased, before I landed back on the torn cotton seat. I gazed through the dusty cab window and into the wet and windy world outside. Through the relentless rain, I managed to make out the unique architecture that complimented the almost archaic building. This building had a history, something that if someone had the time to sit down and examine, they would find a timeline previously thought non-existent.

Now, all this once proud building was good for was shielding crack-addicts and whores from the law.

The mysterious woman hurriedly paid the cab driver his fare and she grabbed my arm again before pulling me forcefully out of the car. The driver seemed almost grateful to see us go, and he sped off quickly into the curtain of rainwater. I lost sight of him and his car almost instantly.

The mysterious woman continued to tug at my sleeve, directing me to the front door, swinging open the metal security grate and fumbling with the lock before opening it as well with a loud creak. I followed her inside willingly, grateful to be finally out of the rain. She proceeded up the stairs, her pulling less forceful now, as she had realized that I was prepared to follow. After circling up the building three times, she exited the stairwell and approached a door labeled '3F'.

Fumbling with the lock once more, the woman swung the door wide open with a cringe-worthy squeak and walked through, holding it ajar for me as she entered, and after a second's hesitation I followed her in.

The woman dropped her blood-stained daggers on the table then turned to face me. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, and her hair fell accordingly, covering half of her face in black strands. She had a lopsided smile underneath her button nose as she studied me for a moment, before lunging at me and wrapping her hands around my neck in a manner that suggested we were not 'just friends'.

She locked her lips onto mine and kissed me passionately, causing me to lose myself in the heat of the moment.

"No." I managed to mumble, before pushing her away from me and breaking the kiss. She seemed hurt, but quickly regained her casual disposition as she stepped back.

"I should've known. You don't know who I am, do you?"

I shook my head. Finally! Someone who understands!

She sighed and sat down on a checkered green and brown sofa.

"My name is Skya." She said, pronouncing it 'Skee-ya'. "Don't you remember?"

I shook my head again. Should I?

Her lower lip quivered. Tears welled up underneath her amazing blue-black eyes and she forcibly closed her eyelids, willing them back.

"I-I'm sorry." I uttered, unsure of what to make of this. Here was an amazingly beautiful woman, a woman who had just killed someone before in order to save me, and she was now crying because I didn't remember who she was.

"Don't be." She spoke softly, before standing up and walking towards another door.

"The bathroom is in there. Have a shower and freshen up, we'll talk once you're ready."

"No." I said once again, this time with more force.

"I'm sick of this… this running, killing, whatever. Tell me what the fuck is going on, right now." I demanded, slightly astonished at the string of words that were spilling from my lips.

I expected her to be shocked, angry, sad or maybe just indifferent to my outburst. I certainly wasn't expecting her to smile, so when she did, I completely forgot what I was planning to follow up with.

"Just like old times. You haven't changed one bit. Very well, what would you like to know?"

I took a deep breath. Finally, she could provide me with the answers I seek! I could've asked her what my name was, how old I was, what I was doing wandering the streets of rundown downtown, but no, instead I decided on perhaps the least helpful of all questions available to ask:

"Why are those men after me?"

"They're hired thugs, armed and sent by a man called Vladimir, to keep an eye on you, so you don't cause any damage."

Vladimir… why does that sound familiar…?

"Vladimir?" I repeated, images suddenly flooding back. Abrupt, abstract shapes, flashes of black, red, orange and silver filled my mind with confusion and utter anarchy. I cradled my head in both of my hands, and for the first time since my realization that I had no idea what my history was, I examined them.

They weren't old, perhaps eighteen to nineteen years, but as my gaze traveled down my hand to my wrist and forearm, I saw small red marks, indicating signs of narcotics abuse. I looked at my other hand and it was populated with the same cluster of red dots, and my mouth fell open in shock.

"Wha-What is this?" I shouted, pointing to my right wrist with my left hand. The woman –Skya- simply continued to smile. "You still don't remember? Hazeem was afraid of this, afraid of the side-effects-." She began to state, but she cut herself off and turned away.

"Please. You must rest. Clean up, have a shower and we'll talk. I promise."

I sighed exasperatedly. "Very well. But then we shall talk." Skya simply nodded in response. I left the living room and entered the bathroom, swinging the door shut a little too hard.

I removed my clothes and turned the dull silver knobs, causing a soothing torrent of warm water to erupt from the showerhead. I sighed again, but this time in relief and comfort, as I stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed. A thick, steamy fog was enveloping me and warming my body. I finally felt at peace.

I took this time to examine my arms in more detail, and I noticed that the red dots were not scattered haphazardly all over my forearms like that of typical junkie injection fashion, but rather they were in orderly lines, traveling all the way from my wrist to my elbow. I ran my fingers over the spots and cringed slightly. They were tender… as if the 'operation' was a recent one…

Another piece of the puzzle…

I let my arms hang limply beside me and continued to bathe. I must've spent a good twenty minutes showering, and when I dried myself with a dirty yellow towel that hang from a protruding hook in the tiled wall, I slipped into the same clothes I had been wearing before I entered the apartment and turned to face my reflection in the clouded mirror. I raised my left hand and wiped away the moisture from its surface, and I revealed a young man in his late teens, with straight black hair and emerald green eyes. I noticed a dark shadow on my chin and above my lip, stressing the fact that I had not shaved in a few days. It wasn't a particularly well-built jaw, but it wasn't flimsy either. It was solid, but my cheeks looked as if they had seen better days. They were sunken and pale, and the cheekbones could be seen protruding from them. As a matter of fact, now that I examined my reflection more thoroughly, I noticed the tell-tale signs of lack of sleep, as my eyes were bloodshot with black shadows beneath them. I felt my skin on my face with my fingers, and it felt gaunt, almost rubbery in texture.

I stepped away from the basin and dried my hair thoroughly, before exiting the bathroom.

"Feel better?" Skya asked with a small smile. I couldn't help but smile back.

"Much. Thank you. And about my previous outburst… I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that after trying to help me."

Skya turned away and a slight reddish hue enveloped her cheeks. She was blushing. "This isn't like you, and I suspect your apologies still hold the same merit as they did before your bout of amnesia, but for what it's worth, apology accepted." She turned back to face me and grinned, flicking away a few loose strands of black hair from her eyes with a quick shake of her head. "Now we can focus on the matter at hand. Explaining your history to you."

"About time! Please, tell-." I began, but I was harshly cut off by the incessant wail of police sirens, cutting through the thick air and my heart.

Skya's eyes widened ten-fold. She didn't speak for a moment, but eventually she was compelled to do so. "You must leave. Now. I cannot explain."

"No! Perhaps they are not coming this way, maybe we will be lucky and-."

Skya shook her head vigorously. "No, I cannot take that chance. Please, you must go!"

Now my eyes widened. I was so close! So close to finding out who I really was! Now my chance, my opportunity was fleeing like a common crook from the law.

Perhaps that is all she is, a crook, a criminal.

The police sirens drew closer. They were right outside the apartment now. I heard tires screech painfully on the wet asphalt, and I saw the whole street outside the rear window bathed in red and blue. I could hear the car doors of police cruisers opening quietly and slamming shut forcefully. They would be here soon, but why? How did they find out?

"Why must I leave?"

"I told you I cannot explain. Take the fire escape, please! For me!"

For her? But I did not know her…did I?

I could hear heavy, rubber-soled boots pounding on the termite infested wooden floorboards as they increased their pace and traveled surely up the stairs.

"Go! NOW!"

"But where am I to go!" I demanded exasperatedly, her forceful pushing causing me to approach the window against my will.

The heavy footfalls ceased, right in front of the apartment door. A moment's silence followed, before a blunt, heavy object crashed into the door, making it buckle and sway slightly. The echo didn't even have time to dissipate before another crash resounded through the moldy living room.

"Follow the note! Find the Smiling Assassin!" She yelled over the crashing, and behind her the wooden door fell inwards, its hinges splintered and shattered.

The note… Titans' Tower…

The Smiling Assassin? I am somehow involved with him?

I leapt through the window just before Skya turned her back to me and lunged at the five heavily armed police officers, scooping up her daggers in the process.

I never saw what happened next, only heard it. The screams of pain, of terror, of despair. They followed me all the way down the rusted metal fire stairs, each breath I took causing another breath to cease forever.

I heard the blades whistle through the stale air before slapping noisily on flesh and bone. I heard the screams slowly die down; one by one they faltered and fell, each swipe silencing another voice.

Then came a gunshot, and the screams and swipes were no more.

Why was I so important? Why did a woman of sensuous beauty and amazing skill just give her life to save me? Why did I kill three men before with a strange lack of regret? Why is going to Titans' tower so important to ensure my survival?

I could answer the last question at least, I thought to myself grimly. Hopefully the people in there could provide me with the answers I seek.

I snaked my way past the deserted squad cars, their lights still flashing rhythmically on and off in a mesmerizing pattern in a wave of red and blue and even contemplated stealing one, but I quickly shook that thought out of my head. Squad cars are easy to track, and I wouldn't even get past this street before I had the whole precinct on my tail. No, I would have to use my feet.

I popped the collar of my black coat and thrust my hands in my pockets before slowly walking towards the 'richer' part of town.