I was born to be an assassin.
My earliest memories involve death. Not in the way that most children discover it… through the death of some beloved pet or grandparent. No, my earliest encounter with death is my sister staring me straight in the face and explaining to me that I had just killed someone.
No one had been able to prove it was I, of course. The idea of a girl who could sing so beautifully that it could kill was absurd. I would learn later in life that a girl with similar powers to mine, Chloe Walsh, had been locked away in the local penitentiary from birth due to her similar powers. The critical difference being, of course, that I was considered beautiful and she repulsive.
I think about her a lot. Most nights I really do not have anything to do but think.
Santa Destroy was the perfect town for us, growing up without any parents. I truly couldn't have born anywhere else. The dirty, filthy streets was filled to the brim with crime, corruption, and pollution. It was easy for me to be pulled from the public school system and spend my days reading books at home, and my nights walking the streets, observing Santa Destroy's unique culture. My sister didn't like me going out at night… she said it was too dangerous. But I did it anyway, because I knew that I, too, was dangerous.
Even then, a part of me wanted to die.
I had no friends: most local children spent as much time as possible out of the city and fled once they were old enough to fend for themselves. I envied them: I knew in my soul that I would live and die in this city.
I was worried about my sister: She deserved so much better than me. She thought I didn't notice the bruises, the cuts, the injuries. She tried to explain the broken leg away as an accident and the five prosthetic arms she had installed onto her back as being due to a unique medical condition that was too complicated to explain to me. But I knew better: She had gotten involved with the United Assassin's Association. She had become a killer to provide for me, in this city that had no real future for us.
A part of me doubts that anyone knows this city as well as I do. Most citizens of this city are aware of the Association, they are aware that they are surrounded by assassins at any given moment, and yet they barely process it. They never assume that the man who keeps returning rental videos two weeks late and the high school girl carrying around a katana are assassins. They simply keep their heads down, move on, and never think about them again.
Sometimes I fear that I care about other people more than I should.
It's a bit of a hobby of mine to follow along with the daily lives of the assassins. This was not something that was talked about on fan forums for the UAA, but the assassins involved in the fights were real, breathing people with real lives. They went to school, had marital disputes, and yes… looked after a monster of a little sister. There were times when I would pass by a fairly high ranking assassin in the dead of night. They were the ones who would perk their heads up and look around when I would start watching them. Their animalistic instincts, honed from a lifetime of battle, alerted them to my presence.
There were a handful that I got to know very well. Being younger, I found myself drawn towards the high school. A part of me always longed to be among the hustle and bustle of the crowds, and at a certain point in my life I felt the urge to do it. To pretend, if only for a while, that I was an ordinary girl going to school.
It did not take long for me to realize that my fantasy of being a normal girl, surrounded by friends who understood and loved me was nothing but a fantasy. No one recognized me. No one looked my way… unless it was a suggestive look from a lecherous teenage boy. I felt completely isolated and alone.
It was the same when I ventured onto the college campus. Everyone I saw was laughing and having fun, and I sat alone in the darkness, watching them. My sister never had the heart to ask me to stop these adventures, but she didn't really need to. Soon enough I drifted away into the realm of fantasy. My reality simply wasn't worth living.
I had always been musical: but as the sound of my voice killed all those who heard it, I tended to not like to practice in front of an audience, especially not my sister. I shut myself in my room and played piano in hushed, silent conditions, long after my sister had gone out to work every evening, and I would stop just before she came home. It was my greatest fear that I would kill her by accident, and so I was especially careful of keeping track of the time. I felt a strong feeling of revulsion and guilt every time a noise escaped my own lips. My natural inclination was to sing along with the melody, and yet every time I had to force myself not to do it.
My skin was as pale as the moon, perhaps to reflect my lifestyle. I looked nothing like my sister, I thought, every time I looked into a mirror. Frail, sickly and a born monster. We were nothing alike.
I worry about her.
I knew she was an assassin. I never watched her fights on cable, as I feared seeing her killed right before my eyes, but I had a tendency to collect memorabilia of people she had killed in combat. Names and faces of those she had killed began to pile up in my room, and I began to wonder.
"When are you going to retire as a killer?"
She lowered her tea and considered.
"When I'm killed." She said simply. She ignored my horrified expression and went back to her tea. Such was life in our household.
It wasn't right for her to do this for me. It wasn't right for her to put herself in harm's way because of me. It wasn't right for her to make these sacrifices for me, someone who didn't deserve it. Whose only talent was Death.
It was that evening that I made my decision: If I could not reliever my sister of her burden, then I would help her carry it. I made my way to the UAA building in the dead of night and stared up at it, deep in thought. I felt rather like I was turning myself into a brothel, to be used and abused for the rest of my life. Still though, I entered the building through the window and met with the UAA's premier agent.
"I have been expecting you."
She was French. I suppose men would have found her beautiful, but I found her trashy and conniving. She was the sort of woman I was sure had used and abused people all of her life. She talked to me cheerfully about all of the fighters she had seen go to their deaths; How so many men and women tossed their lives away simply for the chance to be recognized as the best.
"I am not interested in that." I interrupted. She looked at me as if I were insane. And I suppose in a way I was.
I had not become an assassin for personal gain. I had done it for my sister. When she became number one… and she would… I could hold off the rankings below her from taking it from her. When I was killed, she would be free to walk away and live out her own life as she wished.
Perhaps, without me, she could start a real family. The thought made me happy.
The UAA had exploded in popularity since Travis Touchdown took the number one position and walked away: It was a tumultuous time for them. It was an unprecedented move. Although officially the UAA quickly replaced the number 1 with the next assassin, it was a hollow claim to the throne he left behind. We all knew that it hadn't really been won fairly, and as a result was not worthy of respect. That man was killed, and the man who killed him was killed, and then that man was killed in turn. Until Jasper Batt Jr. stood at the top of the rankings, twisting the city to his will.
In the end, I was ranked number four. The number three candidate, Captain Vladimir, was a senile old man that I hadn't the heart to kill, and knew would pose no threat to my sister, who was ranked second. It was only a matter of time. I thought. Jasper Batt Jr. would fall to my sister's blade, and then I would be the shield that protected her. Until she too was ready to abdicate the number one position.
And then nothing I could have possibly foreseen occurred: Travis Touchdown returned.
He wasn't permitted to simply retake his number one position, oh no. That wouldn't be fair to the other competitors. But he was allowed to start from the very bottom and work his way to the top. Every day I checked the rankings, and he was leaping upwards leaps and bounds. Twice he jumped halfway up through the rankings in a single stroke. He must have been killing hundreds of people a day to get these kinds of results. I felt sick to my stomach.
The Goddess Of Death, Sylvia called me. I personally thought of myself as the Reaper. I took no pleasure in what I did, only in what it guaranteed. As long as I could keep the best in the world away from my sister, nothing else mattered.
I received the notification in the mail from the association. After the incident when I had knocked out Sylvia for an entire week, she never called or met with me personally. I rather got the impression she feared me more than most assassins. I opened it, and let out a brief exhale of breath.
It was time.
I applied my make-up (Every day I was startled to find how old I looked without it) donned my dress, making sure each strap and article was in place, and then checked my weapons. The rifle I had learned to be quite at, but the scythe I was still struggling to master. My movements were still sluggish and amateur. My real talent was in the beauty of my voice. Those who heard it would die.
As the defender, I got to choose the location for the fight. I chose the grocery store. Most of my fans tended to prefer it when I fought in dark, spooky locations, but the more I control I had over the association the more I opted for ordinary locations. I was not in it to please anyone: My rationale was purely to protect my sister.
He wasn't much to look at, I thought, as he stepped onto the roof of the building, hands in his pockets. Not for the first time, I wondered just why this particular individual had so many fans. Even my sister was enamored with him. I, however, saw him as nothing more than a lecherous thug, a man who saw the UAA as a way to accomplish all of his depraved desires.
I whistled. It was my melody… a ghostly tune that haunted all of those that hunted. The mere sound of intimidated all who heard it.
Travis stopped, listening.
"You know this song?" I asked, as I readied my weapon.
"Nope."
Such a short, simple answer. It was almost like he didn't care what was going to happen next.
"How tragic." I said, as I gently raised the sniper rifle up to my eye. "Let me teach you."
Reaper Reaper, that's what people call me
I rarely had the chance to let out my natural singing ability. It was only those that I wished dead that I was able to bring forth the full force of my voice and demonstrate my real talent. Even if someone like him didn't live to remember it… that was enough.
Why? 'Cause they all DIE –
Every single person I had ever sung to was dead now. My sister never admitted this to me, but the cries I made when I was born killed both of my parents.
when I sing I end their lives
Becoming the assassin was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I got to protect my sister and use my talents for something I cared about. I will die with no regrets.
you act as though payback
makes you a noble man is that a fact?
I knew of Travis. I had been watching him carefully, even before he had become the Number One Ranked assassin. He presented himself as a changed person now, someone who fought for revenge rather than personal gain. But I knew better. He hadn't changed. He was the same man who lusted after Sylvia.
Well, you're a goddamn philistine
It was remarkable… he was still fighting me.
Requiem aeternam
Bullet right through the sternum
Lullaby to hell, babe
Reaper's got your name!
How is he still fighting? He couldn't… be stronger than me?
Margaret is Greek, you geek, it means a pearl
I'm a pure girl -
boys cannot crack this oyster shell
Travis had gotten into the UAA out of his desire to have an affair with Sylvia Christel. The thought of it disgusted me. The very idea of sex was strange and off putting to me. Even now, as the words left my lips, I doubted that I had missed out on much.
So go on, whip around that sword
like you're the best, it's such a bore
Another hero? Oh, please
He was no hero. He wasn't fighting for anything real. He was simply trying to justify his actions. He was nothing but a violent thug, one who spent his days whacking it to lolicon hentai.
Requiem aeternam
Reaper has come, sinner!
Thigh-high socks are my absolute territory
Go on and drool -
the otaku cannot resist
A part of me wondered if he found me attractive. The thought was strangely off putting. Somehow every time I insulted him he looked happier and happier… as if he enjoyed being shit on by a pretty girl.
You think the fire in your eyes
makes you a tiger in disguise?
Dream on, you goddamn pussy!
I wasn't going to win this. I knew, as I exchanged blows with him. I couldn't understand it: His melee attacks were far superior to mine, but my rifle shots and my voice should have been enough.
Why?
Why was I going to die here, to this man?
Reaper Reaper, that's what people call me
Why? 'Cause they all DIE -
when I sing I end their lives
You act as though payback
makes you a nobleman, is that a fact?
Well you're a goddamn philistine
It dawned on me then, just as he was about to deal the final blow. He didn't care. He didn't know anything about me, my background, my sister, what I was fighting for. He cared nothing for what I was saying about him. He wasn't listening to my song at all. And that was why I could not win. He was such a philistine he was completely immune to the dangerous beauty of my voice.
He penetrated me through my stomach. I stared up at him and asked:
"Riveting melody, isn't it?"
He leaned forward and grinned.
"Catchy as hell."
He lied to me. In his last moments, he lied to me, to make me feel better about myself. There was nothing more I could do.
"That is so…"
I fell.
"Sublime…"
FIN