Vindict (ONC 2024)

1. A New Task

The art of killing was a course burnt down the cells of my brain, the blood in my veins, the marrows of my bones, and into every fiber of my being—and I had no choice but to shine at it, given I was being home schooled by my strict sperm donor.

I was trained to be a ruthless bounty hunter with an ever increasing thirst for blood, and the agonizing cry of each of my victims, after all, my family's legacy and business dictates that every task must be completed with pleasure.

At the age of two, I was taught how to hold a knife, the course didn't first start with humans, but with animals and as I grew older—I moved up the killing leva.

At the age of ten, I had taken my  first human life under the surveillance of my father. Deep down I hated it, but I had to end the task with pleasure—so I pretended to enjoy it.

And ever since that day, I've been subjected to killing without hesitation, and getting punished whenever I made the slightest mistake. As my dad would always say, 'in this line of work, it's either kill or be killed and no child of mine will die a pitiful death of dying during a hunt. So I must train you to survive.'

"Get out of your head day dreamer," my immediate younger sister said, smacking me hard behind the head and was run-walking away.

Frowning, I reached for the knife in front of me and threw it towards her with just enough force to push it through the air, directly into her thigh—causing her to fall to the ground.

My other siblings laughed in excitement, while she fumed with anger and drew the knife out of her being, and threw it straight for my left eye. But before it could reach me, I tilted my head to the side and it flew passed me—only drawing drops of blood from the side of my face and going to marry the wall behind me.

With anger she shouted, "psychopath!"

"Bully," I retorted with my tongue out.

Looking around the dinning table, I count my siblings, only to find out that we were complete—meaning that a mission was about to be assigned.

Sighing I asked. "Who was the last person given a task?"

My ten year old brother responded from beside me, swelling with pride. He had been induced into the family business a few weeks ago and has hunted down more than three victims already.

Tasks are shared in order of seniority within the five children of the family, so if my youngest brother has completed his task, I was the next to be assigned a mission.

Frowning, I watched as my younger siblings squabbled about random things, and threw sharp objects at each other while laughing gleefully.

We were all gathered around our dinning table, waiting for our parents to arrive so we could wait. I was seated next to the head of the table at the left, while my younger sister which I had injured earlier sat at the right seat at the tale of the table. While my youngest sister and two other brother sat wherever they wished.

They were still making a noise when my father stepped into the room and the cheerfulness in the air died out, and was replaced by that of fright and submission.

We all rose to our feet with heads bowed, and hands tied behind our backs. "You insolent rats, why the chaos?" He barked and I couldn't help the shiver that ran down my spine when his voice reverberated in my ears—causing my blood to freeze.

When we were kids, we were trained to fear our parents and we couldn't stop fearing them even as adults.

The rules of bounty hunting were simple, 1. Never get attached to your victims, 2. Don't hesitate in taking your victim's life, 3. All task must be completed with pleasure, 4. Never procreate like a normal human, because we're superior beings.

So in order to keep to this rule, our parents had never showed an ounce of emotion to us, except anger and pride. And as killers, we were taught to feel just four things; pain, anger, pride, and the pleasure from seeing someone suffer.

My father strolled down the room and came to seat at the head of the table. Seconds later, my mother waltzed in, in a tight knitted dress and sat at the tale of the table.

"You disrespectful lots never learn to keep quite while you wait for your superiors to join you at the table. For that...," she paused to look at all our faces then barked, "act one!"

At the sound of her voice, my siblings and I knew what needed to be done. We picked up the knives in front of us and stabbed the closest part of our body our hands could reach, we didn't dare flinch at the pain that sipped through our beings, given that it'll only attract an even deadlier act.

With an unwavering frown, she sank to her chair and my dad followed. When they were settled, they motioned for us to sit.

Dragging out the knife I had inserted into my arm, I tore a piece out of my shirt and tied it round my profusely bleeding arm.

My other siblings did the same in silence, and the maid walked in the room with trays of food. When all the food had been arranged, my dad spoke, "Michael? How was your hunt?" He asked, referring to my youngest brother who had just completed a task.

That was the tradition of our household, we would always speak of our hunts before dinner and no one dared to lose an appetite.

Grinning, he stood up and with his head bowed he narrated the details of his task, giving pleasure to the ears of my barbaric parents.

When he was done, he sat back down and my mother called out. "Robert?"

Without hesitation, I rose up to my feet, knowing exactly what was to come. "Your task has been arranged, meet me up in the drawing room for details," she said and with that, dinner began.

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