The Agency

LXI. fabrications

TW: Abuse, violence

"Yves! Your brother is here to see you," one of his maids, Loretta called from the main hall. She communicated with him using the loudspeaker system that was installed in the whole house.

Yves rolled his eyes as he paused his Gamecube and pushed himself off of his poster bed. He was tired of seeing his brother all of the time. Doesn't Marcel have better things to do? I know I do. It's my one day off from blasting people's heads off, and now I have to listen to his monthly guilt trip.

The visits had initially been weekly, but once Yves had been sent off of to training, that had all been stopped. Marcel wasn't able to talk to him when he had been shipped out to some secret location. Not even Yves knew where he had been during that time. But that camp had turned him from a soft little bitch into a man. He could kill people with his bare hands, knives, guns, machetes, spears, grenades...he was un-fucking-stoppable. If he had ended up staying with his bitch ass brother, he would still be the pussy he used to be.

I'm glad that Marcel gave me to Father. If we hadn't been separated, where would we be now? Still staying that dirty motel? Now I have my own staff to do whatever I want. Who needs family bonds when you have servants?

He didn't even bother changing into real pants. It didn't matter. The conversation was going to be the same as always. It was going to last 30 minutes, and on the dot, Marcel would excuse himself and leave. Yves already knew the routine so well, he could have the conversation with himself.

However, he needed the distraction because the kill that he had to do last night had been bothering him. It was a family of four. The father was a nasty alcoholic who owed a lot of money to a lot of sick people. He had elected to shoot all of them execution-style and then set the house on fire. He couldn't bring himself to wake up the nine-year-old, so he just put a pillow over his face and shot him through it. He hated killing children. They were innocent. They had nothing to do with the evil their parents were involved in, but he knew he had to kill them anyway. If he didn't, he knew Father would do it and then punish him. He knew Father did not have any sympathy for them.

He hadn't been able to shoot the baby because he knew that the brains were going to go everywhere and he wouldn't be able to handle that. After pondering about it for a little while, he smothered the child with one of the pillows in the nursery. The way that the baby smiled at Yves when he entered the room. The way he laughed while Yves looked around for the thing that he was going to use to kill him would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. He laughed in the way only a baby could: a mixture of coos and blissful gurgles, his mind undisturbed by the ugliness of life. Yves's dreams had been filled with the smell of baby powder. He could also hear the light giggles of an infant wherever he went. He wondered if that was ever going to go away. If he would ever stop seeing the vision of the dead baby's confused eyes staring up at him when he lifted the pillow. He would regret lifting that pillow to see the baby's eyes for the rest of his life.

But from the moment Yves entered the main hall, he knew that this one was going to be different. Marcel didn't look as confident as he usually did. He looked angry and a bit anxious. He was tapping his foot and looking around frantically. Yves decided not to comment on it because his body language could say more than he ever could.

"Hello Marcel," Yves murmured. Marcel turned towards the direction of the noise and his face melted into an uneasy smile.

"Yves! It's so good to see you!" Marcel clasped his brother in a hug. He backed away. "Let me get a good look at you." He studied his body and Yves suddenly began sweating, hoping his brother wouldn't see his scar because that would open a can of worms that he knew Marcel wasn't ready to know about yet.