Chapter One -- The Bearer of the Blade
I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the sight of the mangled corpse dropping to the floor. It fell with a heavy thud, the woman’s fingers grazing the toe of my shoe. I jerked my leg away from her blood-stained, filthy fingers. They curled gently, donning the newly broken, jagged nails of ruined manicure and a dull wedding ring. A thick, metallic scent in the air praised me for my work.
A large gash seeped blood and stained the cream-colored carpet, alongside other minor wounds to the woman’s body. I’d only run my sword and struck a fatal blow after missing several times. She’d fought me hard and, admittedly, valiantly, but lacked my decades of experience with executing murder.
And even for my profession, I was amongst the youngest and most successful assassins to be working at a national level. I felt the corners of my lips pull upward at the thought, and I tucked a strand of dark hair that had freed itself of my ponytail behind my ear. The skin felt hot and sticky.
Turning my eyes downward, I examined my hands and clothes. The form-fitting, black uniform was tinted with death, and the snow-colored skin of my hands was drenched in the blood of the still bleeding doctor. I winced.
I left the bedroom and searched the large apartment for the bathroom. I checked my face in the mirror, also bloodstained, and winced again, glancing at a digital clock resting on the corner of the counter. The woman had made quite the amount of noise for an apartment building, and judging by the thin walls, there was quite a grim chance of an extensive time period between now and the arrival of the police.
Yet, with the body being discovered so quickly, I’d likely be caught with a face covered in blood at the train station anyhow, as if possessing a blade on my person wasn’t suspicious enough.
My sensitive ears perked as loud sirens sounded in the distance. Multiple sirens, it seemed like. I swore and bit my lip, staring into my own reflection. I stopped biting when I tasted the woman’s blood.
I quickly dashed to the bedroom and drew random garments from the dresser. I pushed them to the bottom of my pack and dashed out onto the balcony.
After a quick climb to the rooftop, I peered down at the city below. Indeed, the navy, speeding cars and flashing lights of the local police force were pulling into the lot below. I turned and began to search for a suitable place to shower, the rooftops serving as my highway.
A short while later, I came across a nearly abandoned hotel. The establishment was almost always booked during the area’s tourist season, but practically deserted year round otherwise. I wondered how they could afford to stay open with such little business, but, in the end, decided to merely appreciate its convenience by picking the lock of and slipping into a penthouse window.
I made my way to the bathroom, and immediately felt myself raise an eyebrow at the countertops covered with a layer of dust and grime. Perhaps this is why business was so slow.
Despite its repulsive conditions of sanitation, it’d have to do. I ran the water of the shower, hoping it would remove some of the filth before I had to step in.
After undressing and folding the bloodied clothes at the bottom of my pack, I peered at my naked, blood stained figure in the mirror. I lifted an arm and flexed at myself in the mirror, my brow furrowing at the miniscule amount of muscle I had.
I checked the temperature of the water and inspected the slightly cleaner floor of the bath before stepping in. I quickly rinsed the blood from my body, looking forward to taking a proper shower at home and tucking myself into bed, reading a book and talking to Vincent.
