She Devil: Karma Akabane x OC (Ass Class)

Two Words: Selfish Bastard

Warning: the following contains language that might not be suitable for children. Oh yeah, and that there's some gore. Read at your own risk, even though personally I don't think it's THAT bad...

Current time of date: August, 2013

(Melody is fifteen years old in 2015, which is the year where she joins E-Class)

What would you do if you were in my shoes? What would you do if you were kicked at until you needed a transfusion from a stranger, because your parents weren't willing enough to let their own daughter live? What would you do if you had to run away from your home country just to leave those who harmed you? What would you do if your only friend died?

Who would you blame? The cops, because they needed to enforce more strict policies upon the American population through Congress? Your parents, because they needed to pay more attention and be more sympathetic about your problems? Your only friend, because he knew that he was about to die and yet made you feel emotions for him? Or what about your torturers, because they're partially the reason you needed the transfusion?

The answer: you blame yourself.

Your torturers wore gloves. The cops couldn't keep up with every crime that happens within Detroit. Including the crime that involved you as the victim. The other states don't care because it's not their problem. Your parents are always out on business, and your relatives are everywhere but where you're currently at. Your friend depended on you to save him, and you failed.

You couldn't fight back. You were too weak to fight off your torturers, you were too scared to tell the police because you didn't have enough evidence to support your claim that people were out to kill you, and you assumed that things will get better in life.

Yeah, it sucks to be me right?

And just when you think things will get all better, BAM! Life comes around to slap you in the face to let you know that this is only the beginning.

Excuse me if I may seem a little bit random by mentioning weird memories.

For starters, my father. I remember one day where he finally noticed that I was going through a tough childhood, and so he told me what his occupation was.

He's a killer. Not a murderer, a killer. An assassin who has a large bounty on his head.

He taught me some moves. Of course he didn't teach me all of them. I mean, what kind of idiot teaches their own student everything they know?

I'll give you an answer to that. An idiot who will never make it to become an assassin.

But that's not where I learned all my moves. You'll find out soon enough about that.

My father has purple eyes and black hair, like me. In fact, I gained most of my looks from him. That part, I enjoy.

What part about me I hate, is the part where I take pleasure in people's fear. That comes from my sadist of a mother, who does who knows what during the day.

They never talk to each other. To me that's worse than arguing. It's just an eerie silence. I couldn't even make them talk to each other. And I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Why live with each other if you're not even going to talk to the person you live with?

I was thirteen then. My parents were rarely home so I did whatever pleased me.

So I stole.

It was fun. I liked the rush. The anticipation of being discovered and starting a fight. The rush of being chased at. I still do it, in fact. It never gets old for me. I consider it my occupation. It's where I can hurt people financially, and if the opportunity ever happened to show up, physically too.