How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 6: MY DAD PICKS ME UP FROM MY AFTER-SCHOOL PROJECT

The games ended with one black guy standing in a room covered with blood and fecal matter.

I know, it's gross, but it's the hazards of the business.

The guy was probably one of the few not in his late teens. He looked mid-twenties. He had a short afro with a couple of teeth planted inside like seeds. His knuckles were pretty torn up, as if he had fought a functioning fan. He labored with his breath like a lion after the chase.

See, when pushed to the edge, many people can become instant killers. This guy had no problem slaughtering a bunch of kids just so that he could stay alive.

It made my job to finish him much easier on the conscience.

"You've done a good job," I said walking towards him. His body was shaking as he looked around the room. He had finally seen what he had done. My voice had disrupted his auto-animal response.

I stopped him from dwelling too much on what he had done by stabbing my sword in his chest. "Too bad I'm the last one standing."

His eyes shut and just as I was about to withdraw my sword from his chest the doors behind me sprung open. The two armed guards stopped in their tracks. One of them vomited on the floor.

I yanked my sword from the man's chest, and he collapsed to the floor. The guard who had a stronger stomach wished he was a turtle and had a shell to hide in. "You—you monster. You killed them all."

"Not all of them," I corrected.

He reached for his gun, but my throwing knife got to him first. He joined the others on the floor.

I walked to the guy retching. He wiped his mouth, shaking as if he was battling a cold spell. "You're a demon. There's a special place in Hell for you."

I sighed, fearful that he was right. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't emerge from this life unscathed by eternal punishment. As much as I couldn't wait until I turned 18 to walk away from this existence, my greatest fear was that in the next six years, I would eventually fall in love with it.

Or at least find it like a drug withdrawal I couldn't defeat.

"I know," I said before ending his life.

After cleaning up the blood from my sword, I sheathed it and made my way upstairs. I was done with killing for the day, as far as I saw it. I did my job, now I had some math homework to finish up.

On my way past the curtain that divided the upstairs legitimate business from the downstairs initiation chamber, I murmured to the lady at the front desk who stared at me as if I was a ghost that had passed in front of her. "You might want to hire someone special to clean up the mess downstairs."

I pushed the door open and left her speechless.

I made my way down the block, my jeans covered in dried blood. A couple of drops also stained my hands and face. The goal was to wash myself off at a water fountain in the nearby park, but a black Mercedes stopped in front of me as I was about to cross the street.

It could've been members of the Locusts, called in to take me out. For some reason, my reaction timing to reach for my weapon was stunted. It was almost as if my body didn't want to defend itself.

Lucky for me, the back door to the car opened up and I saw the platinum suit and red tie shine from within, followed by a smile that could give a gremlin a run for its money.

"Za-Za get in," my father said.

I rolled my eyes. It was embarrassing to have my father pick me up like this after projects. I could wipe out hundreds of souls, but he still found the need from time to time to pick me up, especially during the daytime. Like vampires, it was during the day that assassins were most vulnerable.