The Puppet Assassin [TTR sequel]

The Puppet Assassin - Ch 1 [the assistant -|- dizelde]

"Two minutes, kid. Seriously, do you want Scythe to know that you haven't yet completed one hit successfully?" Morse knew how afraid of Scythe I was. He may have been my foster father but he was also my embodiment of the devil.

It had started on my tenth birthday. Fierce and ruthless training. Kill or be killed was the group's motto. The weaker children were sent away, if they were ignorant. Others that had learned too much were set to work at the centre. For life. I had not expected Scythe to go easy on me, he had always been a fair father. But I had not expected him to torture me, to put me through painful and humiliating exercises to build my barrier to pain and to give me an unemotional shell that was difficult to penetrate. If anyone saw me now, creeping through the building, they would see a cool and calm sixteen year old. They wouldn't know that inside my stomach was clenching, the blisters on my hands were pulsing with pain or that I felt the urge to run. To get away from all this hunting and killing. It didn't sit well with me, no matter how much training I had been given.

I heard the rustle of cloth, someone tapping their foot. The guard. He would be around the corner. I got low and peeked around the wall. He was sitting at his desk, his back to me. Perfect. I snuck in, making no sound whatsoever, I knocked him sharply in the temple. He flopped forward, immediately unconscious and dropped off his chair onto the floor. I dragged him over to the metal desk that was riveted into the floor and pulled out the length of rope attached to my leg. I leant over him, my hands raised over his chest.

I pulled my wet hands upwards. They were smaller than usual. I was no longer in the building with the guard. I was somewhere else. Somewhere familiar. The hands were slimy and red but the icky sticky wetness was warm, like the heat under my blanket. The blanket I'd had as a child. I hadn't even thought of it until now. I looked over to my daddy, his big golden eyes watching me with a mixture of happiness and pride. This wasn't Scythe, this was my REAL dad. I knew instinctually. The little girl with the little hands knew. The girl I was within, watching through her eyes. She was me. This was part of the memory I'd lost. I looked down and saw the prone body. And screamed.

My scream came out silent, scraping through my throat. I waved my hands in front of my face and saw that they were back to normal, and clean. The rope had fallen from their grip and was resting over the guard's chest. I stood up and backed away. What had that memory been? Had it been real? My father... what was my father? Had he been one of Scythe's assassins? I looked down at the guard. I hadn't been sent to kill him but now that I thought about it, even if I had been ordered to finish his life, I couldn't. I couldn't even bring myself to touch him again.

"Dizelde! What the hell! Your part of the job is done. Get out of there!" Morse could see me through the link to surveillance but I wondered if he had seen me scream. I was lucky that i hadn't screamed properly, the target would have heard and I would have ruined the mission. I breathed deeply to calm myself, concentrating on irrational things to distract my frantic mind. Morse with wings... yeah, then pigs would really fly. I picked up the rope again and walked slowly from the room. It was then that I heard the soft sound of a silenced gun being shot. Just a small hissing sound and then a thud of a heavy object falling. Idiot Kieran hadn't made sure that his victim was propped against something so that he didn't make any sound when he died. No matter, the guard was out cold. My hands were trembling.

I tiptoed out of the office, not caring that there was no one awake to hear me anyway. It was only when I was outside that I realised what had happened, my mind finally letting it sink in. A man had died in there, a life lost. And a boy, a guy I'd known for so many years, the one who had always had a grin on his face, even after the more hasher trainings... he had taken that life. Would he change now? Or would I meet him at the rendezvous, his smile still intact?

I prayed that I would never receive the orders to kill. There was no way I'd be able to go through with it.

** **

I looked up at Morse. He stood at about six feet, at least five inches taller than me. His arms were folded, his mouth set in a straight, firm line and his murky green eyes were staring at me coldly.

"You must have enjoyed pushing right to the end of your time limit."

"No Sir."

"That said, congratulations on your first successful assist. I hope you are faster in the future."

"Aye Sir."

I felt sick. I never wanted to do that again. To think that Scythe expected me to one day actually take someone's life. My stomach curled and I swallowed hard to keep the miniscule amount of food I had in there, down. But I would have to kill, if he requested it. If I refused he would punish me in the worst possible way as he would see it as a betrayal from me, after all he'd done for me. I wish he hadn't. I wish that he'd left me and my innocence at the orphan centre.

I recognised the footsteps of Kieran approaching. Kieran who had actually chosen to do this kind of work. I turned to get a glimpse of him and saw that his usually rosy face had a grey tinge and his smile was nonexistent. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but we weren't friends. Friends were unnecessary for a travelling assassin and even more of a rarity for me, the foster-daughter of the boss. So I stood stiffly as he staggered into the van. Morse turned his back to me and began to speak in low tones, no doubt questioning Kieran about his first kill.

No way. I would never go through what he had. I would never kill. As soon as I had the chance I would run away.

** **

I slept on the bench in the back of the van as we travelled back to base. It had taken me a while, with the jerky movement of the vehicle, Morse's pulsing dance tracks, Kieran's whimpers in his sleep and my reluctance to return to the base. When I did sleep though, I wish I hadn't.

My nightmare began with me going through basic knife training movements. I had these dreams before, doing the exercises so many times that they wouldn't leave my head, even in sleep. But suddenly the dummy became a real man. Dark, curly hair, sweaty face, his eyes wide and fearful. The knife I was holding in my hand seemed much bigger, or rather my hand was smaller. And it was shaking. Shaking so much that the knife kept slipping down and I had to grab onto it with two hands.

-flash-

I could see two faces. One was in black and white, the man from before, though his mouth seemed to be open in a silent scream. Tears were streaming down his face, creating tracks through the dirt. I'd never seen a grown man cry before. The other face was the same as the one in my vision earlier. My real father. Then I supposed that this was another of my lost memories. I didn't want it back. Eyes similar to my own were hard and cold, staring at me without emotion. He nodded towards the crying man impatiently and I looked back down to see the man saying something. I couldn't hear him but I knew he was begging. My little hands dropped the knife.

Daddy's hand whipped out and backhanded me across the face.

I shot awake, my cheek throbbing with a pain that was long gone, and my face was wet with tears. My throat hurt and I wondered if I'd been screaming, and if the other two had been bothered by it. I felt a cool hand brush over my forehead, pushing my sweat-soaked fringe back.

"It's alright, Zelde." Only one person called me Zelde. The hand moved down to wipe away the tears, the touch gentle, though it sickened me to feel it. "You sleep it off. It was only a dream."

We must have arrived home as I felt the comfortable familiarity of my bed. I wonder who had carried me back from the van. The hand patted my shoulder and the weight of a body lifted from the side of my bed, though no sound was made. I couldn't even tell if I was alone in the room and peeked out of one eye to check. It was empty and I hadn't even heard the creaky door being opened or closed.

Scythe never did make unnecessary noise.