Hitman: Letters

III

Rome wasn't merely a home of beautiful sights. Of course, anyone could say this, but to actually understand the statement was a world of difference. As well as the sights, came along with it a soundtrack. The national Italian opera was undoubtedly a rival of the French opera, so to increase its standards, it practiced late. And what more of an audience to help with the opera's progressions, than Alexander Haven. While seated at on balcony that overlooked the performance of the theatre, Haven stared intently the performers as if they were telling him something in a whisper that only he could understand. I couldn't help but wander into the back of my head to try to find out how this night was familiar.

"Mr. 47, what a surprise to find you here."

"The same to you. I would think that, for a Frenchman as yourself, the Italian opera would be hated. Am I wrong?"

"No, in fact, you're absolutely right. This.. Horrible excuse for an opera isn't the reason why I am here. Actually, I'm awaiting someone. What brings you here Mr. 47?"

"I received a letter with this address. Very charming letter, really. Would you like to read it, Alexander?" I handed him the letter in a relaxed manner, as if I had absolutely no idea of what I had read only minutes ago. He took the torn piece of paper out of the envelope and began reading its contents looking rather shocked, either because of what it told me to do, or because I was so unaffected by it. He read it once or twice, gasped a few times, and then said to me, most definitely shocked, "Looks like you have yourself in a hole full of shit, eh?" His voice was less nervous than his face, though I was still unconvinced of his innocence.

"You mean to tell me, Haven, that you have absolutely nothing to do with this? That you absolutely are innocent? That the address enclosed in this very letter isn't this very room?" He looked at me with such fire in his eyes, but a fire that was not angry, but completely afraid. I had no doubts in my mind that he was guilty, for anyone who was there could have noticed it. He said nothing. I decided to use the old routine.

"Mr. Haven, I'm going to tell you a little story, and once I am finished, I want you to tell me what you think of it." He looked at me as if I were a madman, but approved his understanding. I continued.

"Now, as is obvious, I didn't somehow magically become what I am today. I didn't wake up one morning and say, 'I'm sick of my old life, and I want to become a contract killer and slaughter people that I have never met in my life.' It happened as more of a, recruiting process, if you will. October 26th of the year 1993 was the day that brought forth the beginning of the only career I have called an importance. The more I think about that day, the more I think about the predicament I am in right at this moment. This issue I am dealing with right now is obviously being used by blunt force that I cannot control by doing anything but what it has told me to do. Just like on the 26th of October, I have to kill or be killed. Now, I know what you are thinking Monsieur Haven. You're thinking that the agency that I currently work for forced me to do what I do. But that's not the case. On the 26th of October, 1993, at 2:26 a.m., I awoke in a room which had in it one light which was flickering relentlessly. I was in a daze and I remembered nothing of before. In front of me were two people in black shirts and white aprons. They were eying me as if I were the criminal that was indeed sitting in an orange suit left of me. His nose was broken and his head was shaved. He screamed when I looked at him, which came as a shock to me. I said nothing, kept my mouth shut, and continued looking around the room. As I searched my environment, the prisoner began screaming something in Arabic. I didn't understand at the time, for English was the only language I spoke. I speak 4 now. I was completely confused, of course, but I kept my head. I looked behind the two apron-wearing men, to see the only site I have ever found beautiful. The little girl was around the age of 8, but showed no sign of fear. In fact, she showed absolutely no sign of any emotion at all. Her eyes were in a blank stare at the floor. She gave off the portrait of a corpse. I was now horrified, but since I had no idea why I was, my horror was a double of what it would have been. Finally, one of the men in front of me talked.

'Well, it is apparent that you have absolutely no idea why you are here,' he said, 'but I am going to tell you. You see, five days ago, we picked you up outside of an asylum, naked, and with two bullet holes in your side. We took you here, and tried to revive you from your rather bloody migration-'

'I was in a coma?' I asked.

'Yes, but we knew you would be awake by now.'

'How can you determine the length of a coma?'

'Very easily, but that is none of your concern. The reason why you are here solely because of the gun which is before you.'

I looked down, which I hadn't done until now, and I looked at a gun which had a light brown handle, a chrome barrel, and the title of 'Silver Baller .9 mm.' on the side. I looked at it with a some sort of memory that I could not drag out of the back of my mind, and then I was put through a sensation which I could not describe in words. I turned around, by instinct, and I saw the woman I now work for with a syringe in her hand. It was the first of 2, which she has thrust into me. I writhed in pain in my chair, but my body refused to move. I was paralyzed.

'Oh, I'm sorry, but we can't have you running away, now can we?' The 1st man in the apron began to talk again. I looked at him with face of hate, but he seemed to not notice it.

'What the fuck is this?! Why the hell am I here?'

'That, my friend, is very simple. We picked you up, as I said before, outside of an asylum and took you in. You were in a coma, and we managed to keep you alive until now. We didn't press to keep you alive until we found this gun in your coat pocket. We then knew for certain that you most definitely had skill with weaponry. Now, the only way we can know for sure if you are the person right for us, is if you pick up the gun right now.'

'I don't quite understand-'

'What the hell is there not to understand? Pick up your fucking gun.' At this point I was so much in pain from the crazy poison that Diana stuck in me, and so angry of what was going on around me, that I picked it up obediently without further question.

Now, Mr. Haven, this is where my story becomes immensely and devastatingly confusing for you. I picked up the Silverballer, and a sort of shock traveled through my veins. I felt it surge through my body as if it were death itself. But it was not painful. It was a very strong sensation, but there was no pain involved. I searched the room, and to my horror, and unexplainable confusion, the little 8 year old girl was pointing a gun at me. I was completely and utterly driven out of consciousness for an instant. Everything went blank, and I heard nor felt anything at all. But in an instant, I was awake again. Only my consciousness was not brought about by a syringe, as my paralysis had been, but by a bullet. I expected a bullet to travel through my body, most likely my chest. But no pain overtook me. I looked up to find the Arabic prisoner dead on the floor, and the little girl trembling. She screamed a horrible scream, of excruciating pain, and fell to floor, blood slowly leaking out of her open mouth. It made somewhat since now. The little girl had been made to shoot me, and I was to react with the same action. I was to kill the girl, that, instead of killing the visibly innocent, spared me and killed the visibly guilty instead. She had been brainwashed of course, but somehow she saw beyond the wall that separated her from being a living human. The second man in the apron was turned around and in his hand he held a pistol. I reached for the Silverballer. My reaction was not out of pure will but rather instinct. I shot both of the apron-wearing men in the back, though I had to shoot one twice out of his stubbornness to die. I looked towards where Diana had been before, but she had walked behind me while in the confusion, and she slowly spoke into my ear.

'Congratulations 47. You have passed our test. Not only have you killed the leaders of an enemy agency, but you have passed the test to come into ours as well. I know you don't understand everything so well right now, but soon you will fall asleep from that nasty syringe I had to stick into you earlier, and when you wake up, you will be explained everything. You had a choice today 47. The little girl you see helped you with that choice. If you hadn't have killed those wretched men, they would have killed you. Magnificent job today, 47, and good night.' She slowly walked out of the room through a door opposite the direction of my vision. I tried to move, but my legs were still paralyzed. I slowly drifted off to sleep." After I finished my little story, Haven looked at me with a since of acknowledgement, but still pure horror.

"Your story, Mr. 47, is, well, charming. But what exactly does it have to do with everything right now?"

"It has to do with the fact, that it may look like I am being forced to kill everyone inside of this opera, but there may be another way."

"What would that be, Mr. 47?"

"By simply killing you." Before he could say anything, I had already Shoved my Silverballer into his coat, and pulled the trigger twice. His eyes rolled into his head, and he began to open his mouth to say words that never came out. I took a handkerchief out of his coat pocket which I had seen him use before at the mission acquirement and quickly wiped his mouth with it. I bent his head backwards to make out an effect of mere sleep, and I quickly got up and walked out of an entrance that led into the balcony that was opposite the one I had entered before. I then remembered about Haven's guest, but their meeting would have to be canceled. I walked out of the door as casually as the cold Roman air had accepted me in.