On days when one is feeling crushed, useless, and generally unstable, one does not exactly appreciate ravens flying out of the sky and perching themselves on one’s head. Especially if that raven reminds you of things best left forgotten. Even more so if it has been following you for the entire day.
“Dear raven, please go away.” I tell it with a sigh. “You loyalty is quite flattering, but I am heading to Kandu, the concrete city, which is not a good place for ravens. In other words, you should not and cannot follow me. Have a nice day.”
I’m sure anyone who happened to intrude upon this scene would have found it somewhat comical. I, however, was almost adamant that I wouldn’t let the raven go and leave me all alone again, despite what I had just said.
Peering at me curiously, the raven caws some more and demands to know the reason why I’m not walking forward.
“Well, you’re an annoying little Corvidae, aren’t you?” Reaching up to grab a handful of hair away from the ravens claws I fully give in. “Get off my head,” I say to it. The raven caws happily.
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Together, swinging along at an amiable pace, are the two escapees. One nagging thing tugs at the Wolf assassin’s mind though, it brings flashing images of a slumped figure beneath a tree, clear crystal eyes drilling into her own, hidden secrets brushed away in the dirt. The third escapee has not escaped, but again, neither have they. Yet.
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A tall concrete and iron forest has encompassed the raven and I. Dark skyscrapers just about to be lit up like candles in a dark room. All except for the Concrete Chambers; one miniature blackout among millions of other buildings aglow with fluorescence. To the people of Kandu, law enforcement. To me, home.
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Stay under cover. Stay under cover.
Don’t let anyone see your face, or the tattoo on your back.
Hide the raven.
Keep a large and easily escapable distance from the Concrete Chambers.
Be anonymous. Be silent. Be indistinguishable.
I’m back in Kandu, but have never felt this way before. Here begins my life in hiding, and I am going to start by stealing some clothes.
Walking briskly up to a middle aged woman about my size I grab her arm, wrap a hand around her mouth with a vise-like grip, and pull her into the shadows of a building. All without anyone noticing.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to wake up with a really bad headache, and some embarrassment.” I tell her, then I press a sensitive spot on her head and leave her unconscious, wearing nothing but her undergarments.
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The shirt is a little too big, the pants too short; my lean and muscular body starts feeling out of place in the loose airy fabric. I am accustomed to typical assassin garb, which consists of a tight, fitted black jumpsuit, a waterproof detachable hood, and really weird shoes that I usually go without.
To my surprise, the city seems bigger and friendlier than it does from my favorite vantage point on the top of the Concrete Chambers. From several miles in the air a lot can be seen. Now the people wear smiles, and the buildings don’t tower, they shelter. The whole world feels like it has changed. Or maybe I have changed. I think the latter is more likely.
When you keep to the shadows you notice more than when you watch from above. You notice the poor, and the confident rich, and the slum-like places, and the pressing crowd. You notice the fat wallet partially obscured and hanging from a pickpocketer’s coat hem. You realize that your life is just a miniscule string of the busy, interwoven life of the human race together. Unfortunately, I am not human, I am a superhuman, it says so on my info card. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. It also says that I am a level nine in ability retention. It shows that my reactions and reaction times have improved exponentially, and that overall, I am perfect.
But I’m not.
I am too imperfect to speak of. Everything about me has been fabricated, and I am not a real person who has real, genuine emotions. All of it existed once, but I have been programmed for years, and I swear it has rubbed off and is permanently imprinted in my brain. And in my actions. I was born a human, I was turned into an assassin, I will forever be an assassin. It’s a sad and simple truth that can’t be escaped.
YOU ARE READING
Underside
Science FictionAelise Teronne used to be an assassin working for the Kandu Law Enforcement. She was in the Wolf level of assassins, a collection of highly skilled and trained superhumans who were programmed into killing everyone they were told to. Aelise did that...
