The young teen looked out at the city he called home – a place he had authority over not too long before. To an external source, his emotions might have been viewed as solemn, angry, and confused.
He was good at persuading others.
Perhaps that was why it was so easy to lure that despicable human out of his home and into the dead of night. Nobody would be awake at such an hour. From where the two kids stood, they were able to look out upon the city, giving way to the Nile. The mountain that had appeared only hours ago had sprung a waterfall, spilling out into the wide river.
“What did you need me for?” The young man who had been summoned was grouchy from an interrupted sleep, but was able to comprehend that his acquaintance had asked for him at an unusual time.
Wrapped in a black cloak, the formal patroller paced the porch with uncertainty. He didn’t stop when he replied, “we need to talk.”
The young man looked at Sarrol with a quizzical look. “Yes?”
Sarrol could feel the blade’s sheath scraping against his leg as he walked, tucked into his belt and covered by his cape. Then, almost impulsively, he turned to the young man he had been needing to see. “I wanted to thank you for making me what I am today.”
The young man gave him a suspicious look. “I’m sorry about what happened –”
Sarrol raised his hand. “It’s okay.” Gradually, his soft features began to turn grim, his eyes now glaring at this despicable human being before him. “You know . . . I am more dangerous than you make me out to be.” He advanced towards the young man, chuckling softly as he did so. “I’ve done some things that nobody, not even you, knows about.”
The young man’s breathing increased as the adrenaline coursed through his body. “What’s this about?” His voice grew shrill with fear. “Sarrol . . .”
They stood there in silence for what seemed like hours. Finally, Sarrol decided to continue his speech. “You knew Ellie’s family, am I correct?”
“They’re all false memories, but . . .”
“But you knew them?”
When the young man nervously nodded, Sarrol continued. “I’ve been doing some research on her father’s death. The fatality proved to be caused from an anonymous source – but many suspected it was murder. The time at which he died and the marks on his body suggested it.”
“Sarrol . . . what are you –”
Sarrol didn’t have time to mince words anymore. “I killed them.”
The young man had the impulse to run, knowing, due to past events, what was coming to him. But he was frozen – shock numbing his entire body. He never knew Sarrol was capable of murder. “B-but why . . . ?”
Sarrol shrugged as if he were having a casual conversation. “He was the leader of a soon-to-be revolution. If it weren’t for him, the no-killing act would have never been created or put into effect.” He pondered for a moment. “I was against this, of course.” He chuckled at the irony. “So, in attempt to prevent the revolution from taking place, thus forcing the Empress to pass the act, I killed him. I killed him both in cold blood.”
It almost sounded like he was bragging. “Of course, you can probably tell why I’m telling you this without worrying about the consequences.”
The young man looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“As in – you aren’t gonna be here to tell others about what really happened. I spent a lot of time coming up with tactics and ways to cover up the crime, and I’m not gonna risk wasting all that hard work.” He pulled the knife out of his belt, the sheath staying at its place by his side. The metal glimmered like waves in the moonlight. “However, I’m willing to go through all that again.”
By the time the young man had time to process what he had just been told, Sarrol was already ten inches from reaching his victim. The young man knew that talking him out of it wouldn’t work, so he began to run.
Sarrol swiftly grabbed the collar of his pajamas and yanked him on the ground, landing on his back with a thud. Sarrol didn’t have enough time to aim so, almost immediately, he drove down with his knife. It made contact with the young man’s stomach. Before he could even scream, Sarrol had already pierced his neck, blood spurting out like a dying sprinkler.
Luckily, Sarrol realized, it had pierced his victim’s vocal chords. Therefore, he died without even having the chance to call out for help.
Sarrol leaned down to his victim’s ear with a smug satisfaction. “Thanks for ridding me of my patroller status, Recaro.”
He waited until Recaro’s eyes had long since glazed over to begin creating a false scenario that he knew the other patrollers would believe. After entering Recaro’s house, Sarrol felt through the dark halls whist carrying the dead body over his shoulder. He picked the living room – an area filled with dazzling modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. He didn’t dare turn on the lights. One thing he knew about being a murderer was to be as concealed as possible, even when he was sure no one was around.
Nearly flinging Recaro’s body onto the couch, Sarrol heaved out a sigh. After finding a knife from the kitchen, he coated it in Recaro’s blood and placed the weapon in the corpse’s hand.
Sarrol found that he was coated in a cold sweat, his body shaking from the adrenaline. The fact that someone could be watching his every move was unbearable.
On second thought, he realized, I’m practically untouchable.
He left the scene as soon as he could, not even bothering to look back at what was the body of his formal leader.
Now you know what it’s like . . . to be stripped of your patroller status.
