How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 1: A LITTLE GUST OF WIND CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE

"How would you like to die?"

I usually gave my contracts three options. One was quick. A simple snap of the neck. A bullet to the brain. It varied from each kill. The smart ones chose the first option.

One prolonged death. Suffocation, drowning, dismemberment. You'd be surprised how many people cling onto their worthless lives, buying themselves an extra couple of minutes to try and negotiate their way out of death or even atone for some hidden sin with a harsh goodbye.

The last one offered hope. Many selected this fickle option. It sounded painless and it seemed like the best opportunity to escape with one's life.

But that optimism was seldom satisfied.

"Option one, a clean slice to the neck," I brandished my katana and made an arching motion across the room. The man in front of me shivered and squeaked as he backed away. I was in my Katana phase at the time. The noble sword's origins in a class within a feudal society where the rich never trusted those beneath them, resonated with my situation.

"Option two, I tie this rope to that ceiling fan and wrap the other end around your neck." I really hoped he wouldn't choose this option. People rarely died fast by hanging. Sometimes it could take hours, and I really wanted to go home and finish the first season of How to Get Away with Murder.

"Option three," I held up the same rope. "We head up to the roof, I tie this between this apartment and the one across the road. You tightrope across, and if you manage to make it to the other side alive, you'll get to keep your life."

My older sister, Laymow, tried this last week. Chances of a target being a tightrope champion were slim. The result was an easy death with little action on my part besides setting up the course.

Of course, this guy would choose the hope option.

We headed up to the roof and along the way he tried to appeal to my innocence that had long been shattered. "You're too young to be doing this." "Don't stain your soul with my blood." "I want my mommy."

None of that stuff worked on me anymore. Not since it got my brother killed.

I tried my best to tune out their pleas. I know it made me a monster. I hated it. I hated that I was doing this. But that's just the way I was raised.

I coped with it the best I could. I didn't do much research on the target. I didn't want to know if he had a family, or if his father died recently, or if he was even on the verge of curing a disease. The less I knew the easier it was to move on to the next contract.

But the images of those I kill stay with me. I had to verify their identity before I killed them. Mistakes could be very messy and were bad for business.

This one was barely 18. His face could've been sculpted from bronze. He had luscious brown hair, almond eyes, and eyelashes I would kill for (no pun intended). He was an athlete, possibly soccer; they always have the most toned bodies. But such a body attracted predators as much as it attracted prey; and with our services available, the criminals could do as they please...as long as they had the money to make their problems disappear, they were invincible.

When we got to the roof, I locked the door behind us. No way back down. I hated flight risks; it always ended up messy, and I didn't have time for messy.

"Stay here. Move and I'll choose your death for you," I said as I ran towards the edge and leaped.

The poor boy probably thought he was home free, that I was killing myself to atone for my sins.

Then the sound of the cable gun locked into place on the roof across from him.

I zipped up towards the top of the other building. I tied the rope across a massive satellite dish. I fired the cable gun across to the other side and had it pull me back to the original apartment where the boy already looked like he soiled his pants.

He pleaded some more. "Please, I'm sorry. I won't speak out against him. I swear, I'll keep it all a secret."

I ignored him and tied the other end of the rope. Once that was done, I unsheathed my katana and pointed it at the boy. "Walk."

He was crying. I looked away. I hated it when they cried. Why couldn't he just die with courage like a true man? Then again, he wouldn't have been in this situation if he was a true man after all, would he?

Okay, that was pretty mean. But still, if I learn anything from my line of work, it's this: never get into bed with a rich or powerful person.

By now, he was at the edge of the roof. He looked down twenty stories below. A couple of cars drove by, but no one would hear him from up here this late at night. He was at least smart enough to know that if he screamed it'd be the last thing he'd ever do. At least this way he has a chance of surviving.

I pressed the tip of my katana towards the center of his back. "On the rope," I ordered. He stumbled up the ledge, muttering prayers as he took his first step.

Now all I had to do was wait and make sure he didn't try to turn back around. He placed one foot in front of the other, arms out to keep balance. His head was constantly looking down at his feet, taking care with each step. One slight mishap and my mission was complete.

Except for one minor surprise: this kid could really keep his balance.

He was already halfway across to the other side. His speed increased as he saw the finish line. My heart started beating. No way this guy was a gymnast.

I looked towards my line of the rope. It was straining against the steel leg of a water tower. I looked back towards the boy. He was almost to the other side.

I didn't want to get punished for failing to seal a contract. It only happened to me once, but I was saved from trouble by my older brother.

But he ended up dying in the process.

I hovered my katana over the rope. I looked at the boy. He was practically there. I had to act now.

Another surprise happened. A brisk snap of air rushed between the two apartment buildings. The rope started to shake. The boy fell backwards. He twisted over and hung onto the rope for dear life.

Problem about soccer players, unless you're the goalie, you barely know how to use your hands.

He didn't last more than a minute in the sudden blast of wind. He lost his grip and eventually, my contract was completed.

Thank goodness I lived in the Windy City.