When Reborn Was Nameless

Age: 18 years old, turning 19 in a few months.

* * * * * * * * * *

He was nothing but a well oiled fighting machine.

A soldier. A killer. An assassin. An infiltrator. A master of disguise.

He can be everything and then nothing. The shining star of a famous gala and then the darkness, blending in the night.

Orders are his everything.

There's no guidebook for his actions, always playing with his best cards.

He can play dirty like the Joker, act regal like the King, strike viciously like the Queen, and blow everything up like the picture perfect Ace weapon. A full house of everything the underworld needs.

Yes, not human...but a weapon.

There's also no other priority in his sight, only the mission his employers had given him and had garnered his services.

To finish the job with a 100% perfection is his goal.

No mistakes could happen.

No mishaps should occur.

Every map is checked and each escape route is planned to every possible end. Even if the succession of the mission means acquiring a new injury, he's fine with it as long as the payment suffices his demands.

He's also very patient.

Able to sit still for hours on end like a plastic mannequin. Able to organize in the middle of a crossfire to line a perfect shot. Able to stay calm and alert even when he's dying from the blood loss.

He cannot heal himself fully, the lingering yellow flames leaving silvery lines of scars, for his flames had not been tuned to heal himself nor others but to destroy and burn his foes.

Thus, his body became a canvas of every war trophy.

Bruises, slashes, gashes, bites, scrapes, incisions, bullet marks, heat seared skin, and even jagged lines from shrapnels from the shell of a bomb.

All of it were displayed in full glory. Never hiding his form. Never afraid of the scrutiny of the others.

His growing fame may only be the lick of their own salt and he's prouder of it everyday.

Yet despite all the demand for his loyalty in one major underground family, he never stayed.

He could never stay. Never get too close. Never get too attached. It's a risk he will never willingly take.

"Sometimes, to protect someone, you have to force yourself to stay away," a voice cracked somewhere in his hazy memory.

Someone he probably knows a long time ago but got lost in the passage of time. Only remembered when needed, which is rare at most.

It's actually weird...different...to lose something you've clearly been able to recall before.

Doctors who found him after collapsing in his last escape said he's suffering from a sort of memory loss.

Selective amnesia was it? He can't really remember.

They then tried asking his name but he merely gave them a confused look.

Why would they ask that? None of his clients had asked him. His caretakers never gave him one either. Should he just...name himself? It felt wrong though.

He always let others name him for the sake of fun and...curiosity perhaps. Like what would they name him? Another title? Another alias?

"I...don't know," he confessed.