Underside

Part 1: Violent Assassins - Chapter 1: Blackouts

I looked dead, but she backed away just in case. Which was a good choice on her part, because I wasn’t. Curled up my inside my sleeve like a quiet animal lay a dagger, waiting for a target.

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“Shutdown.” the monotone voice announces just like it does every other day.

Almost immediately all of the power goes out; a miniature blackout, one dark building contrasted against a never-ending landscape of bright, shining lights.

The familiar sound of the machines turning off in the adjacent room hums through the walls, into my concrete, nuclear-bomb protected bedspace. Notice I said bedspace, not bedroom. And concrete with nuclear-bomb protection, after all, they have to protect their best Wolf assassin. Their only Wolf assassin.

The small computer chip embedded in my arm shuts off too, leaving my body limp and my sight dimmed. I can’t move or see, it’s almost like I’m a computer that the Kandu Law Enforcement shuts down each night and starts up again every morning. For protection, they say. And even though I seem dead, I’m not even asleep, not at all.

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Like I was saying, I’m senseless and immobile, but my mind is roiling with thoughts. Recalling the accomplishments of today I think of the blood spilled haplessly on the ground and the dust that fogged the air as knives flashed and lives fled. On the surface of my mind they are accomplishments, although if I think harder I start to feel disgust at what I’ve done. Sometimes I wonder if the mindset I have towards the assassin I am for the Kandu Law Enforcement is forced . . . artificial . . . implanted. To them I’m like a fragile prison inmate. I get the best of everything and the highest honors . . . but that’s among other assassins in the group, not real humans. So how can I know how I’m being treated and how I want to be treated if I can’t even see what’s real?

Is there even a real?

What would be the definition of real, if everything a person saw, existing or not, was real to them? Is real universal? Or is it different for every single person?

Well, what do I know? I really should shut down instead of thinking about these things. I was born an assassin and will die an assassin . . . although they trained me so well it would take an extreme effort to die of anything other than sickness or old age. Why do I let them control me? What about me is worth controlling?

My thoughts always lead to a dead end, that being the inevitable need to wake. The more I think, the faster I reach the dead end. Annoyance and helplessness clogs my mind, like the feeling of wanting to scale the wall at the end of the road but falling down each time; like having a never ending stuffy nose to battle.

Speaking of which, I am not breathing right now. How I manage to survive the night, both mentally and physically, I have no idea. But somehow the Kandu Law Enforcement doctors can turn everything but my mind off. Therefore my mind is my greatest weapon. A wonderful asset in battle. But the battle hasn’t started yet.

I will try to escape. My life isn’t theirs to use, I’m going to leave. Before that though, I need all of my secrets back . . . the ones that are real.

Blackout.

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Sweet dreams, says the assassin silently in her mind. Eyes closed, long lashes shadowing her cheeks, dark midnight hair pooling around her shoulders, facing up to the concrete sky. She seems almost dead, but don’t be fooled.