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"Weak!" the superior yells at me for not being able to shoot the innocent man across the street. The Japanese Assassin Program never shied away from using unsuspecting bystanders for target practice. It didn't matter if it was a small child to teach us precision, or someone going on their morning run to teach us how to deal with a moving target.
"She's a mother," I argue with the superior who doesn't hesitate to smack me across the face.
"Maybe you have forgotten the rules but you are not allowed to speak until you have been given permission," the superior reiterates, and tears cloud my vision. The smack makes my skin sting and I feel the side of my face heat up.
"I apologize for the disrespect towards my superior," I recite the phrase we've all been taught to ask for forgiveness when we disobey.
"You'll be forgiven, when your target," the superior grabs the gun and helps me aim it before continuing, " is a pile of flesh and bones on the concrete."
I have never killed anyone before.
My hands start to sweat and my chest vibrates in fear. I know what will happen if I don't do what I'm told and I don't want to spend another night in the meat locker this week.
"Y-Yes sir," I stutter before placing my chin on the rifle and looking through the scope. My finger trembles as it hovers over the trigger, waiting to commit a sun I will never be able to come back from.
The next person to enter my view is a middle-aged man. He's wearing a black hoodie, and he seems to be alone. "Go ahead Izanagi. Take the shot. Earn the name 'Blade'," my superior instructs me. Before getting deeper in my training, I have to kill someone to earn my assassin name, then get branded. I'm not looking forward to either of those things.
The man bends down to tie his shoelaces and I close my eyes before pulling the trigger. When I slowly open them, the man is on the ground and I shudder with self-hatred. I didn't want to know that I was capable of something this gruesome.
A woman comes into view, following in the same direction as my now dead victim. She abruptly stops and her hand flies over her heaving chest. The scream she lets out as she drops down to her knees pierces my ears and a tear rolls down my face.
"No, no, no," she yells, loud enough for her cries to echo and for me to hear even though I'm on the roof of the building across from her. "Stay with me, please, just open your eyes," she sobs but the man doesn't even move. With the amount of blood he's lost and the bullet that's in his chest, there's no doubt that she's dead.
The woman brings the dead man closer to her body and hugs him tight. So tight as if she's trying to breathe life into him again.
Her mouth opens as she screams, except the voice I'm hearing isn't hers, it's my own.
