Chapter 10 KRUGER

He wished he had stayed dead at that point; for nothing he had ever known compared to the intangible pain in his heart now. Intangible; something he could not grasp, or heal with any technology or medicine. Nothing in the world here or the one above could heal his black and broken heart.

I had never cried before.

Ever.

It was never acceptable, as a boy or as a man, ever. The man who taught me to fight, not feel, the man I had once called father, never accepted it. The thin red lines of my past, scars, encumbering my forearms like the tattered threads of the burlap cloak I now bore reminded me every day of his tyranny. My life had been a cruel one. Lacerations inflicted, bruises perpetuated, mental scars were everyday but still, I did not cry.

The man who faced me in the shattered mirror now was otherworldly. Bleeding knuckles from perforating the pitiful drywall of the harrowing place I now called home. Lips were torn and ragged from wailing in wrath. Gashes from clawing at my own manifestation, trying to be rid of the memories that always came flooding back whenever I saw it. Cruel metal bio-implants now punctuated the torn-up expression, mocking, glittering, with the reminder of human inferiority and susceptibility. I was adorned with metal, bio-armor off the black market. Above all, what disturbed me the most was the eyes; red, bloodshot, glossy, wild.

For three long days, I had been like this. Since I was torn from her, I had been like this.

Now, I cried.

Hysteria wracked me endlessly, hindering my temperament, making me more ruthless than ever before. I could not control this feeling. This feeling I had never known, never been exposed to. The hardships, war and violence had desensitized me beyond the point of feeling anything human. So I thought. It would be so much easier if I was void of all emotion; a machine only sent with an order to kill and retrieve. Not a slave to command, but a dog of war. A merciless, cold-blooded monster bred to kill is what I was, groomed from the dawn of my life to be a monstrosity invulnerable to the emotion that had always hindered humanity. I never knew what human was. Darkness had been injected, become a part of my being, from a very young age. I had lived forever since then, and the past was nothing but ancient dust now, but the pain had never been so potent. Not like it was now.

Being locked away was probably not the best option, then again, neither was being amidst humanity. I should be chained like the perilous creature inside me, who had broken free of its bondage and tore apart any last shred of mercy I had left in me. I was rabid, meant to be put down.

Yet, no one could put me down.

I was invulnerable.

The derelict, wounded walls of my novel apartment mocked me, as if reflecting myself in its grime. Sunlight scarcely leaked through the ragged curtains, pooling on the floor only where I did not tread. Darkness was my only companion, and the light never struck me with its warmth. The apartment had belonged to a pair, a duo, cruelly ironic given the circumstances that I would have otherwise had another body to fill the bedroom opposite mine. Everything was shabby, uncleansed. It was as if it had been trampled over by years of neglect, though it had only been three long days.

Crowe and the newest recruit, whose name I did not know, had made arrangements for their captain while I was incapacitated, trapped in my mental prison. For three days I did not talk, I did not eat. I barely interacted with them, the closest things I had to friends.

I stalked through the streets of my new home, a broken city called Saphrihi, somewhere in eastern South Africa. It did not matter to me where I was, I still found myself looking for one particular face; the face of the one who had taken her away from me.

I couldn't even say her name. Acrimonious saccharinity flooded my thoughts whenever I thought about her, which was all the time. The only time peace remotely came to me was in my dreams. They were blank; black, full of nothing, not even her.

Reality only came to me when I was hunting. Right now, I was blatantly aware of my surroundings, she locked away in the back of my mind but far from forgotten. I had been re-activated, Delacourt having given the order as soon as the government had stopped looking for the body that had inexplicably disappeared. The body of their vengeful prisoner who had escaped their steely claws, who had even fallen through my own. But now, Delacourt had since forgotten her. There were other unfortunate souls who needed her attention, and so, here I was back on the prowl. My target was a man of 'refined' stature, rather, as close to 'refined' as one could get in this godforsaken shithole. He lived in a wealthier neighborhood, and by wealthier, they meant not as ghetto as the surrounding city.

Beginning my stalk a day ago, I had already come close to my prey. I had stood beside him at the market and watched as he inspected each rotting piece of fruit before selecting a dozen. He had wandered away to obscure the view of people from other stalls with his preposterous amount of body fat. Shadowing him closely but not without acceptable distance, I waited until he was in a sheltered area, out of view of the crowds. When he did not comply with my silent commands to make himself scarce, he plodded into another bazaar down several blocks away.

I was getting tired, my strength unavoidably being sapped by my malnutrition as of late. I had wished to be done with this hog and asleep in the apartment I was slowly beginning to accept as my own. His fate was not meant to be sealed that day. The fat man approached a stall and began to chortle loudly with the owner. The proprietor of the pottery stall looked to be about my size, my build, and my strength. He did not have the eyes of a murderer, though I wouldn't put it past the scars burdening his arms and legs that he wasn't not a cold-blooded killer. I decided to keep my distance, his obvious resilience similar to that of my own. Fighting someone my own size was not something I often enjoyed; I preferred to ensure my victory in a fight.

Today, I had not found him yet. I traced my path from yesterday like a hound searching for prey. Sure enough, I found him surveying the food stalls again. Pig.

I couldn't even come up with a decent insult. It would be mortifying if anyone could catch a glimpse inside my head. The weakness that went hand in hand with the wrath was like a permanent brand, visible only if consciously covered. Fortunately, weakness left me when I didn't focus on it. With distraction, I was able to forget the human emotion gnawing at me from within.

The fat man walked around for a spell, stopping briefly to look at stalls absentmindedly. It seemed his mind was elsewhere; watching cautiously for something. Perhaps he knew I was on his tail, prey catching wind of a predator.

A small gaggle of children ran towards him, screaming and yelling at him. I snorted amusedly at the scene happening before me from beneath my burlap cloak. The kids poked and prodded him annoyingly, each taking his attention away from the one that had scuttled up from beneath and swiped his wallet. The thief gave 'thumbs up' to his mates, who began to run after him out of the bazaar. Outraged, pink and glistening, the fat man flustered around, yelling curses after the kids. I had to admit that I was impressed at the kids, especially the one who had swiped the wallet from beneath the hippopotamus. The wallet that likely had and ID and an address.

Confident I could find the fat man amidst the otherwise emaciated public, I followed the group of thieves out as far as the outskirts of Saphrihi. Several shacks dotted the train tracks cutting through the boundaries between the affluent and the extremely affluent. The kids walked along the tracks, balancing like alley cats. One by one, the group of five dissipated as they each went to their respective shacks. My target was the last, and was alone now.

Speeding up to a jog, I quickly covered the ground between me and the child. The streetlamps were the only lights that shone against the inky blackness. Not even the moon shone, the smog of the city cruelly choking out its light. I was perfectly camouflaged, a chameleon in my own environment. I shadowed him until he was standing directly under a streetlight.

"Aye! Kid!" I barked out the darkness. "Stop thea, boy."

I saw the child stiffen, his arms going rigid at his side and his neck snapping to look behind him. He did not see anything, of course, just the orange glow of the lamp. "Who's there?" he called out. There was no inherent fear in his voice, though he looked terrified. Again, I found myself impressed at the boy's courage. He must have only been seven or eight, but I could see in his eyes he was aged beyond his years.

"No one," I answered abruptly, not revealing the hint of amusement in my voice. "You got a wallet, boy, I think belongs to me."

"I ain't got your wallet!" he retorted immediately. Fuck, he's toying with fire. My amusement grew as I looked at the eyes sheltered behind a shaggy, dark brown mop. The boy was facing me now, and even though he couldn't see me, I knew he was looking at me.

I snorted contemptuously. This insolent grub was brave, I gave him that. I guess he deserved a look at the face of terror. With a steely gaze, he watched me as I stepped forward out of the darkness. The look on his face didn't change from cautious arrogance, though mine tilted up into a half-smirk. The boy's skinny little arms crossed in front of his chest. The steel in his brown eyes reminded me of my own.

"What's your name, boy?"

He stared straight at me, unwavering. "Drake Tomlin, but people call me Drakey."

"Alright, little Drakey," I sneered, mirroring his crossed arms in a mocking gesture, "let's see that wallet you took off the fat man today, eh?" Drake stiffened again, his wild brown eyes growing wider. He knew what he had something I wanted and was prepared to test me for it.

"What's it to ya?" he retorted hotly.

"Well you see, little guy, I need it. It's got the name of my target, you see, and his home address—"

"So that's what you are then? An assassin?" he interrupted excitedly. "Do you hunt people? Do you have a gun? Are you a mercenary? What's your rank?"

All his questions hammered my sore brain, increasingly agitating me. Since he was only a child, I stayed my blade. As much as I wanted to put an end to his incessant chattering, I felt a soft spot for the boy. From what I could establish, he was courageous, cunning and clever; the perfect makings for a perfect soldier.

However, right now, he was only annoying.

"Shut up!" I snapped, making the boy jump backwards a step. "I'll ask again," I said with a raised eyebrow, "may I have that wallet you've got in your possession?"

Drake pondered for a moment, deliberately toying with me. Finally, he tilted his head in mock interest.

"Can I come with you?"

I stared at him, brow furrowed. "What?" The question had honestly caught me off-guard. He asked again; same volume, same unwavering confidence. I considered it for a moment, surprisingly. I had just considered him making a fine soldier; I could take him under my wing, however uncharacteristic of me it would seem. But then again, who would ever, let alone a child, want to train under my supervision? It was confusing, but not unnatural for me lately, for me to be so out of character.

After thinking briefly about it, I asked, "So there's no other way you'd give me the wallet then, eh, boy?" When he shook his head, I chuckled at his untiring persistence at testing me. "Fine, you can follow when I go to fetch mister…?" I motioned for him to toss me the wallet, which he flung to me readily now. Opening it, I read the ID of my target. "Mr. Veteriage," I chuckled, remembering a similar word in Afrikaans. "So he really is Mr. Fatty, then, eh?"

Drake laughed as well, picking up the resemblance as well as I did. "So where is this Mr. Fatty anyways then, assassin?"

I looked back at the ID. "Says here he lives in the upper east end, on the ocean." I looked at him. "Little far away from home, eh, boy? You sure?"

Drake looked down at his ragged shoes, kicking aside a stone. "It's no problem for me, assassin. I ain't got no home here anyway… Or anywhere, for that matter…" The forlorn look in his eyes was real, guttural. I recognized it immediately because I had seen it every day in the mirror for the last three days. Pursing my lips, I decided.

"Alright, then, Drakey. Let's git a move on. The earlier we start for the upper east end, the sooner we get to our prey."

The light in his eyes was very satisfactory, and from then on, I had myself a little comrade.

Her memory didn't daunt me quite as much, but the memory of her still lingered with a dull, intangible ache.