Random writing snippets

Day Two - A new target

Character(s) used: Silvain Valor

AU: Assassin AU

TW: Angst(?), violence, death, mentions of depression, self harm, and suicide

Yay time to practice my nonexistent skill with angst! Bear with me as I die inside every time I read this!

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Silvain was an assassin.

She has been for years, and she had no means to stop now. Even if she did, she killed too many to ever live a normal life. Not to mention the agency she worked at would send someone to kill her within the first ten minutes after running.

Countless blood had already spilled on her hands, and the guilt of taking lives would follow her to the grave. She knew she would never rest. But, over time, she'd learned to block out the guilt and the uncertainty, convincing herself that they were just another meaningless life, and that she was doing everyone a favor by killing. She was doing a good thing. The people she killed, they were all bad.

It worked most the time, but the times they didn't, she had drunk wine until she could no longer form a coherent thought, until she could no longer process the emotions. She did so until she passed out on the floor, white wine spilling across the floor. Some nights, she'd held up a sharp shard of glass and debated slitting her own neck. Maybe feel how all of her countless targets felt, moments before death.

The next day, she would pick herself up again, throw out the shards of glass and clean her room. She would put on her uniform and fix her hair. She would put on concealer to hide the dark circles, and bandage the countless cuts on her arms until any traces of the previous night no longer showed.

Working in a secret agency as an assassin, she had no business showing weakness or emotions. She had learned that the hard way within the first few days of entering. No one trusted each other, no one talked about anything other than mission, files, or work.

Silvain had gotten used to it. She had adapted, until she was the same as them. Cold, vicious, strong, and just another nameless agent.

She had rose up through the ranks within the first year. She had assassinated hundreds, even thousands, of people. So much, that she earned a reputation. Just by walking through the pristinely clean halls of the agency, whispers followed her. Whispers of fear, jealousy, or even admiration.

She was named the Silent Hunter of Slicieux. She had been called that so many times over the years, and never her name. Silvain.

It was a struggle to even remember who she was on some nights, since the agency never allowed any personal items. Every night, staring at the sterile white walls and plain desk, she'd wanted to smash them and destroy the agency, and run, never looking back.

But she never did it.

Usually, whenever she got a new target, she'd look at it emotionlessly and say, "Ready to comply." And take the files, and plan out her mission and weapons.

But not today.

Today, she left the agency to head to Alaska, where the target would be. A FBI agent, from what was said in the files. She was supposed to bring them back alive, which offered a tiny bit of relief since she didn't have to be the one to kill him. It was soon replaced, however, by disgust with herself. Bringing him in alive meant that he was to be tortured, probably.

She's done this so many times that her brain no longer cared about words like "torture", or "killing". She's grown numb to it, and had learned ignore what those words meant after the first time she'd watched someone get their fingers cut off bullets shot through their shoulders.

She had turned away and ran to the nearest bathroom, spending the next thirty minutes throwing up at the clean toilet bowl, heaving until nothing came up except bitter bile, until it felt like her stomach was about to come up

Silvain pushed these intrusive thoughts away. This man was her target. She'd been taught that the government were corrupting the world, and needed to be taken down. These people were bad people, and she was helping the world by killing them. Even then, she always tried to kill them as cleanly and painfully as she could.

She watched the man stand stock-still, staring at her in the eyes. He didn't make a move to run, or to draw out a weapon. He just stood there, awaiting her move.

Is this a trap? Silvain wondered hesitantly. She wasn't used to her targets waiting for her.

She shook her head violently, clearing the thoughts and returning to her previous blank stare.

Silvain plowed on, making her way to the man. He still didn't move, still staring at her in an unsettled way.

She glared at him, to at least show that he didn't scare her with his silent stares and put the blade of her knife underneath his chin, hovering above his artery. She pressed the knife against his neck hard enough so he would feel pain, but not enough to draw blood. A silent threat.

He remained the same, unmoving and looking at her with those lifeless eyes. He stood so still he resembled a statue.

"Do you feel guilty?" He asked calmly. As casually as if they were discussing over their favorite books. Silvain froze. She wasn't used to talking about anything other than missions. Almost every target had begged her on their knees, pleading to let them live because they had something to live for.

She tightened her grip on the man's arm, twisting until it was at an angle that would cause enough pain. The man grunted, but didn't waver.

"Do you?"

Silvain glared at the back of his head, holding the knife closer to his neck.

"I don't." Silvain made out. Even to her ears that sounded like a lie. The man hummed.

"I won't let you go either," Silvain said sharply.

"I know you won't." The man said. "But tell me. Is glory for a family that abandoned you worth it?"

(1000 words)

The ending was so rushed god help me