Once Upon A Time

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

"We're in this together." a voice whispered, sullen. It was abstract, distorted, like a crunch of gravel upon a hard-surfaced driveway.

"I'm sorry. I'm too old. I can't..." another voice rasped in reply, weakly. This voice had been distorted in the same fashion - anonymous.

"I don't know if I can do this without you, it's so much."

The figure's hand brushed the sweat away from the other's temple and rested against the cheek. Tears rolled and fell downwards, hitting the other's face.

"You're going to have to do this without me. You know how important this is."

The one who lay slumped on the floor attempted to raise a hand but had been too weakened from loss of blood. The hand struggled to be met mid-air by the other's, whom clasped it tight. The warmth of one met the cold of the other. A dozen sets of heavy-set steps could be heard converging along the ends of each side of the long, winding corridoor. An undiscernable mixture of shouts, orders and confusion could be heard echoing not too far away. The once white had been washed crimson, other parts rusty and dry.

"You have to do this. I'm sorry..."

The slumped figure wheezed for breath.

"I'm so sorry..."

The figure closed its eyes, for what would be the last time. The stomping of boots against the floor drew themselves all around them both. "Drop the weapon!", one chanted harshly. A hand instinctively raised itself and dropped the weapon to the ground. The other clung on to its dead companions' fingers.

Looking around, they all seemed so generic, undistinguishable. Just faces in an angry lynch mob. Yet they'd both known each one of them, either personally or from the extensive dossiers they'd collected throughout the years. The feelings inside arose. Seethed. A blend of rage, weariness, anguish and self-disgust boiled the veins and erupted outward with the ferocity of a volcano.

-

Blood dripped from every facet, every nook and cranny, from the creases in unironed clothes to the walls which had been freshly painted with a human emulsion. Twelve bodies lay collectively strung at awkward and mis-shapen positions all over the confines of the long and thin room, the only living being bursting into a shrill and mad laughter. The stained figure's hands tremored with a vigour, and placed a clammy and surreal hand into the left trouser pocket, pulling out a paper-thin tablet.

The same hand that had just dealt the death of many lives.

That same hand that had killed, over and over again because it had to. Was told to. The only way.

This had given a morbid comfort to the survivor, enough to push onward for the next few minutes that had been needed. Fingers danced across the jelly-like paper tablet, crossing off names and adding notes in nimbe, yet autonomous and mechanical movements.

Too dangerous to run, the only valid thought raced across the mind.

The lone figure did what it had to do. More footsteps were approaching, more people from both directions. The figure winced and closed its eyes whilst it stripped the fellow assassin of any possible identification.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" the survivor wallowed as a palm pressed down onto the front of the throat, the voice changing from the scratched-out, anonymous pitch to that which resembled something lighter and softer - human. The figure's face contorted, faking itself into the dab expression of shock and horror. Took a small flick-knife from the confines of a pocket, breathed in and stabbed at itself, lodging the knife in one swift motion deep into the gut.  A sharp shock bored itself into the nerves, and the assassin clenched its teeth air-tight, balled a hand into a fist and with the spare, tore at handfuls of clothes to make the illusion complete.

"Help me! Help!" the figure convincingly and meekly pleaded as audibly as possible. The footsteps stopped to reaffirm the cries, then hurried.

The crocodile tears mingled with those that mourned for the dead companion.