𝑫evotion | Identity V Oneshots 2

♤ Victor Grantz

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌

• ────── ✾ ────── •

It felt like only yesterday your innocence burned away. A little girl, body trembling, knees buckling at the sight of the once humble abode - was now left with a past of ashes. Fate is cruel, already stealing what others might call a "normal childhood." Your father had been involved with a large group of criminals, a kind of organisation that dealt with everything but the law. Guns, money, drugs and all, that was the type of people he was associated with. What kind of relationship does this man have with them exactly? Well it wasn't hard to figure out once everything you knew shrivelled to the ground. You were left with a baby sibling curled up in your arms, skin soft and yet barely bloodied from the clench of your deceased mother. A pure reminder that they were your remaining salvation. It hadn't affected you much, as the memory wasn't as vivid as the first time you've been taken to the leader, all bruised and yet still standing with spirit.

And with that spirit, you became useful to them.

A kind of "equivalent exchange" was what he told you, spitting excuses of how much your father had borrowed from them. The man reeked of smoke, his skin barely muddy from the humidity of the tight packed room. Windows tinted from the outside, it clicked to you that your fate was sealed in that office. In exchange of the money borrowed as well as the protection of your sibling, he has stripped you from your own humanity into a doll. A doll of destruction, a doll that was nailed down and buried in a burden of blood and scars. That was your purpose, and it was this purpose that led you to false freedom.

The training felt like a knife, carving you out into a fine specimen of a mere vessel known to follow orders without retaliation. You were raised like a perfect robot, but the wires and skin weren't metallic. Skin and bones, it was as if the knife plunged into your chest, forced to memorise every detail, every formation. Carving a soldier made for war, it was thanks to you that the group became notorious and gained respect within the underworld of devil wannabes and the wealthy maniacs...
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Sipping on grape juice, the loud cries left you distasteful. The old man that had taken you in had been in a foul mood ever since one of the buildings he owned was trashed and destroyed over the night. It had the appearance of a normal company, employees always so nice and respectful with customers that came and go. It was a shock that it was ran by an infamous mafia boss - almost. It was the third building that had been destroyed within a week, and this caused a rather rigid delay of funds. Money had always been in his mind, so you were rather calm with the whole situation. It wasn't anything to bother with, the rivalry between high ranked groups were often reckless and put to the extreme.

But that's where you were put to collect the debt. It wasn't exactly money wise that you were ordered to settle, and it never ended with satisfaction from both sides. Elimination was the missions you were put into, a kind of method that had shaken others into submission. It was that that your leader had been excruciatingly prideful of. Your usefulness rescued you from another bonfire, and until you fail, heart, head, arm and leg was chained onto a plethora of dangerous favours and missions. You were their doll to reach the top, and as the strings they tied down on your body continue to leave marks, you obeyed without a second thought.

"I hate to interrupt, but there is a little favour I need~" that was the line you were waiting for. The sole reason to be kept around, you found yourself holding a gun instead of the flimsy juice box. It was always loaded, a small but fatal object made to kill. Perfectly fit in your hand, your fingers were accustomed to pulling a trigger, wiring into your brain and letting it be the same as any other reflex.