Alright gang here is the peice I promised! I finished it early
Recycled from my drafts of character tests and a particular line I thought would make an interesting short story. (Apolgies in advance for any spelling mistakes)
Killshot
A Kairo short story
Tws- mentions of child abuse, guns, blood, mild discription of a death, brief mention of drugs (specifically sleeping meds)
When you look a man in his eyes you see his soul. Never look the man you are going to kill in his eyes.
His soul reminds you he is human. And seeing a kill as human always makes them harder to dispose of.
I shot him anyway, of course, I was told to. It didnt matter if I saw his soul or not. I was compliant and brainless, the perfect little soldier. I was given instructions and I followed them exactly.
The first time I killed a target I threw up, cried like a bitch to the point I thought I was going to hack up a lung or two the floor. I was twelve.
Twelve and so incredibly fucking stupid to have wasted all that energy begging Azira to take me off duty, knowing she'd never pass up the opportunity to show off her shiny new weapon to the rest of the world.
I was scared out of my mind of going back, but I had no choice. Azira assigned, and I went. My target was Kylie Vidalias, daughter of an Garidian nobleman. I dont know what crime a girl my age could have committed to deserve such a fate. I didnt question why. I was told to and I did it.
I lifted the gun, lined her up in my sight and shot her. I watched as she fell to the floor at her fathers feet inches from the limousine meant to take her to a shelter. The blood pooled on the ground, the light in her eyes left and I knew I completed my task.
I knew I hated myself for it, but I didnt cry this time. I dont think I ever cried again after the first time. I left, and I didnt look back once. Her fathers sobs rung in my ears, echoing in the rafters and haunting me.
From that day on I would trail Azira on nearly every Sentry assignment of hers, wearing the same unform almost every time. White button up shirt, white shoes and white pants. Always with the white. Probably so the blood stood out. Bloody psychopath, that woman.
Id stand beside her like a little ornament to show off. It was as if she was saying 'look, I've got the rencarnation of the Celestial of fire on a leash. And if its so easy for me to get a literal god imagine what I could do to a mortal like you.'
A threat without saying a word. They all knew who I was. It was impossible not to, I looked just like him.
I knew weather someone was going to die based on the uniform color. Black, intimation by show of force. Red, negotiation and White meant death. White was the most frequent. Azira had alot of enemies.
I did my job, and I did it well. She'd kiss me on the head and tell me that I'd improved. Just a bit.
Its was ither praise or expressing her disappointment by upping my training hours until I passed out from exhaustion. She'd take that as me not taking things seriously, then it was off to the cage in the basement to reflect on my actions.
The only way I could sleep most nights came in pills that would leave my mind a mess for hours the next day. An insomniac was a liability, and if I was tired I'd get sloppy. Im sure theres better ways to get a kid to sleep but I never saw them.
A couple of ferveish drug induced hours of sleep and I was onto the next assignment. A predictable pattern of living. See her signal, Aim, kill, rinse and repeat. Sometimes a dagger, sometimes a gun and sometimes a scythe. Always so much blood.
What bothers me is I'd do it and I wouldn't feel anything after. I never felt anything after. No shock at taking a life, no second thoughts, no fear. Nothing. I shot them, they died and I moved on to the next target. That lack of feeling was the scariest part about it all. To take a life and not dwell on it. To destroy a fellow living being and feel nothing.
I had my rage though. I had hate, burning hot hate at the sight of what I'd become and how I didnt feel anything when I killed. I felt so much more when I wasnt killing, so many confusing feelings, I doubt I'd know the names for them. But hate is one I knew well, and famillarity breeds alliances.
I know that I held onto hate like hell. I used it when I killed to feel somthing, to hold onto an emotion and convince myself I was still human and that I wasn't desentised to all that shit when I was. And when it died down I found new things to hate.
The Gaurdianship for existing, my targets for making me do this, Orion for letting Azira treat me like this when he knew damn what was happening behind closed doors.
And Azira herself. For putting me through hell and back, though I knew I could never fully hate her. A twisted part of me saw her as my mother, cared what she thought of me and bore her cruelty at my mistakes as a lesson to be better and never disappoint her again as long as I lived on this bleeding earth.
I hated until all my emotions were more strangers then ever in my hours of normalcy, and the hate only could be felt at its fullest when I killed, leaving me in a dangerous white hot blindness after of witch I usually remembered nothing of.
I suppose I made things worse for myself in the long run. Woulda fucked myself up in the head if I wasnt allready such a wreck. Maybe the anger was the only thing keeping me sane. I wouldn't know for sure, I'm not a bleeding therapist for Hells' sake. I know only one thing and one thing only.
When you look a man in his eyes you see his soul, and looking in his eyes makes him harder to kill. It reminds you that he is human.
Theres no soul in a man as far from human as I am.
I should know. Ive looked desperately.
END
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