Elijah
I became a monster, and in all honesty, I'm more than proud of it. I take genuine and pure pleasure in watching life drain out of their eyes. It's even better if they cry, when their pleas escape their eyes, dripping, spilling onto their cheeks. I prefer it.
It's a trophy. It's like a crowd applauding for me.
Some might say, I'm a conniving, monstrous, and waste of living flesh. But I know what I do, and no matter who doesn't understand my mind, who doesn't understand exactly how I feel. I will always finish what they started.
No matter the family they have. No matter who loves them, I will be a vicious human, I will serve the justice I see fit.
They destroy lives, they torture whoever they please, and they are respected. It's hilarious, the irony of it all.
"Elijah, on your left," Dal mumbles.
I quickly turn, firing into the moving practice target, a fiery bullet hole sits straight into the fake head. "The point is to injure them, not kill them," Dal sighs.
"It's all or nothing," I reply, grinning.
"Are you sure you should still be pining after them?" he asks. "Would you?" I reply with a question.
He stares at me, "It isn't healthy, seriously dude you look psychotic." I roll my eyes, "Again, answer my question."
"No. Everyday you make me question why I'm friends with you."
"I ask myself why you think we're friends," I admit.
"Dick," he scoffs.
I grab my training gear, and walk out of the training room. Sweat drips down my back, coldly.
"Wait up, shit," he breathes.
"I don't wait for anybody," I inform. "No shit, that's always been clear."
"Oh yeah, what happened to that poor girl, the one you almost killed?" He asks. "Nothing, and she's not poor, she's fine," I sharply reply.
"Ohh, I struck a nerve."
"I'm perfectly fine, Dal, enough."
"Bro, trying to make you feel any emotions at all, is like that one last piece of shit stuck between your ass cheeks. No matter how many times you clench or unclench, it doesn't budge," he compares. I gape at him, filled with disgust. "Don't give me that look, everyone's been through it, and if you haven't, you're lying."
"You are remarkably dense and disheveled," I shake my head, deeply disturbed.
Dal shrugs, walking off toward the weapon room, "And you're a shellfish."
Dal has known me since we were five years old. We lived at an orphanage together, and were immediately attached to each other. When we were seven, we were kidnapped, and forced to train into soldiers. We go around and 'injure' whoever needs to be injured.
Well, that's the other recruits orders, personally, I crave to finish off what I start.
The first eight years, I hated the system, I hated the people around me, I hated what they made us do. But as I got older, I went through experiences, situations that changed me, mentally messed with me.
And now? I look forward to waking up, and wondering who's next, because I know exactly who they are, and what they do. I witnessed it first hand.
___
When I make it back to my small house, I unlock the door, opening it to be greeted by Nala, my black labrador retriever. She wags her tail, making circles, with her mouth open. "Hi, Nala, is it time for dinner?" I ask, smiling.
She quickly sits down, still wagging her tail. I set down my gym bag, and walk over to my kitchen.
I bend down to grab the dog food scoop, scooping into the container of dog food. I proceed to walk to Nala's bowls, pour the food into one of the bowls, grab the other bowl, and fill it up with water.
After I set down her water bowl, I walk over to my bedroom, undressing myself, pulling a towel over my lower half, and walk into my bathroom across from my bedroom.
I shut the door and turn on the shower. I then get into the shower, wetting my hair and body. My back stings from old scars, as the hot water slides down my back. I put shampoo in my hair, scrubbing with my fingers. I let it soak in, while I wash my body with body wash.
After a few more products, I finish my shower, and brush my teeth.
I walk out of the steam filled room, feeling the cold air hit my body.
After I get dressed, I let Nala out in my small backyard.
I walk behind my kitchen counter, and go through my fridge for ingredients. I decided to make chicken alfredo for dinner this morning, grabbing a premade sauce jar, fettuccine noodles, and pulling my thawed chicken breast from the water filled sink.
I start preparing my chicken and pan, putting olive oil inside the pan, and seasoning the chicken. While I'm grabbing a pot for the noodles, I hear a knock on my entrance door.
I set the pot down on the counter, and make my way to the door, checking who it is through the side window.
I open the door, "What do you want?" I sigh, annoyed.
"Hey Dal, How's it going? How was your day? I've missed you since I last saw you." Dal replies, sarcastically. I leave the door open, walking away from him, and focus back on my food. Dal comes inside, and shuts my door, locking it.
"What's for dinner?" He asks.
"You're not eating my dinner." I replied sharply. "Oh come on, I came all the way out here."
"I didn't invite you," I grumbled, pouring all the dry noodles into the now water filled pot. I walk around the counter and down the hallway, opening my back door, and call out to Nala. She runs in, wagging her tail, immediately running to Dal.
"Oh, hi princess," Dal beams, bending down to hug Nala.
"Traitor," I mutter to Nala. In return, Nala opens her mouth, in a slight smile.
I walk over to the noodles, stirring them, and press down on the chicken.
"Why are you here?" I ask. "What? I can't just come over?" Dal questions, petting Nala's ears. "Dal."
"Fine, you're in trouble," he replies. I laugh, "Oh, right, is mommy and daddy going to walk in the door, and put me in time out?" I pause, becoming serious, "Seriously, why are you here?"
Dal rolls his eyes, "Boss is pissed, one, you killed your targets, and two, you killed not just your targets, but extra people. What was it? Candyland for you?"
"Why isn't he here, telling me this himself?"
"Because, I asked if I could tell you instead, lighten the blow, you're lucky he's in a good mood. Your ass would've had welts."
Dal sits down on my couch, patting the fabric, telling Nala to jump up.
"No, don't let her up there, she sheds like a horse," I command, in frustration.
"You're an asshole, poor princess, she doesn't get any love."
"I give her plenty of love, but she knows she isn't allowed up there."
Dal ignores me, petting Nala, "It's okay, your dad is just mean, he's probably woman deprived, don't take it personal."
"Get the fuck out, now," I scold.
"See that? I was right," he whispers to Nala.
I decide to ignore him.
"So, why'd you do it?" He asks. "Do what?"
"Kill more people than your targets?" He insists. "That doesn't concern you," I reply, pouring the sauce into the noodles.
"It does, boss was yelling at everybody about your problems, everyone just wanted to go home, and instead we all had to sit there, and listen to his demands, yet where were you? At home."
"He's a child, what do you expect?"
Dal sighs, "You really don't give a shit about anyone."
"And it's amazing," I agreed.
__________
Unfortunately, Dal ended up staying, eating my food, got drunk, claimed he had karaoke skills, and proceeded to sing all night long about his emotions. Now, I'm late and in front of my boss, I woke up later than I usually do, which fucked my schedule.
"Yes sir, I understand, however, I don't feel like I need to underplay my skills. If I can kill, I will," I say smirking. "Anton, get your shit together, I do NOT give a fuck about your trauma, your past, your life, none of it. I've given you scars, and I will happily cover you in more. Stop killing your targets, we need information from them, and you can't get any from a grave," Mr. Miller shouts.
"They'll lie anyways, it's a waste of time," I calmly reply. "Disobey my orders again, and your life will be a waste," he lowers his voice. "Don't threaten your only assassin here, you'll quickly be zipped up in a body bag," I warned sternly.
"And who would clean up your mess? I'm the only one who covers up the deaths, YOU cause."
I chuckle coldly, "Don't be a fool, I intentionally leave that for you to fix. Your ass doesn't do shit around here except yelp orders like a puppy behind a cage. Be glad I make it seem like you're actually involved in any of this business."
I snatch the file of my next target, and leave his office.
I open the file, analyzing the information.
Target:
Name: Henry Carter
Sex: Male
Birthdate: 10/3/1991
Age: 32
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Race: White
Height: 5'9
Weight: 210 lbs
Intermediate Family:
Wife-
Name: Abigail Carter
Sex: Female
Birthdate: 1/20/1993
Age: 30
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Race: White
Height: 5'6
Weight: 190 lbs
Bruises: Neck, arms, wrists, ankles, hips, forehead, back.
Scars: left shoulder, right ear, right leg.
Son-
Name: Sam Carter
Sex: Male
Birthdate: 4/7/2015
Age: 8
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Race: White
Height: 4'5
Weight: 55 lbs
Bruises: Neck, arms, wrists, back, right cheek, right eye.
Violent Offenses:
Assault against Abigail Carter
Aggravated Assault against Abigail Carter
Assault against Sam Carter
M.A. Id badge #: 80675
There are photos with each person, I smile, staring at the bastard.
Dressed in full black, shirt tucked in, I make my way to the M.A. building, sneaking in through the back, which has five big vans. I walk in through the exit door, hearing a click and beep from a sensor using an old badge from the last person I disposed of here.
I've studied this building ridiculously, I memorize the rooms, hallways, stairs, walls, the ins, the outs, the roof, the tunnels, all the hidden cameras, every part they've built of this building, I know about it, more than the actual members.
I make my way down the familiar hallway. I make a sharp left, avoiding the camera's vision range. 80675, he'd be in the basement, in command of the torture recruits, considering the single digit 7.
I make a series of calculated lefts and rights, directly out of the camera's viewpoints.
Today is Friday, meaning they'd have changed the painting hiding the stairs at around eight in the morning. They have a routine of the paintings in this building. Changing and switching them, to make sure if anyone finds their way in here or escapes, they'd get lost.
I spot a new painting in a familiar area, using muscle memory, I immediately get the wall cracked. Shutting the door behind me, and quickly making my way down the stairs.
Thankfully I don't have Rhea with me. I don't need to worry about how fast I make it in, or make a calculated plan including another person. 80675, Section 806, far east side of these tunnels, commander of shift 7, room 5.
I pass the subtle black marking 806, on the bottom wall trim. Smiling, I finally stand in front of room 5. I open the door, clumsily, perfectly executed.
"Number?" Henry asks me.
"806595" I reply, nervously. Perfect.
"You're an extremely late jackass," he declared. The other members laugh.
"Sorry sir," I tremble. Sorry my ass.
He turns around barking orders at the M.A. members, while I stand beside them in a straight file line. Henry clears his throat. "Right, so what information do we have on this girl? How'd she even escape?"
"Sir if I may?" A blonde-haired woman speaks up. He stares at her, slightly smirking, lifting his hand, gesturing to her to continue.
Disgusting.
"Queen Rhea Windsor of Ovantasa, nineteen years old, currently residing in Arten Motel model 2, room 104, with her Royal Guard Allen Henderson, twenty-one years old. Both escaped north exit four, reported with a man, but no identification on him, except he was roughly 6'0 ft, weighing roughly 225 lbs."
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Wait.
Queen? Her? Absolutely not.
I physically stop myself from abandoning my poker face.
"Why exactly was there no identification on him?"
"It was too dark."
Henry slams his palms down on the table in front of him, "You're all useless pieces of shits."
The rookie M.A. members flinch.
"You. 806595," he nods at me. "Yes?" I reply.
"You're obviously a rookie, so make yourself useful, go to the motel, get the girl, get the boy, torture them, do whatever you want to them," he smirks, "just make sure you get the girl to me by the end of the night, and make sure the boy is dead, got it?"
You sick filthy imbecile. Your blood is going to look beautiful dripping from my hands.
Taking all my willpower to stop myself from tackling him right now, I nod, adding a smile for trust, "Yes sir."
The weasel smiles.
"Great, now, 806245 and 806425 will be accompanying you to make sure you do it correctly."
I nod. In the corner of my eye, I see the blonde woman, and a black hair man pout like children. I roll my eyes.
"Well, that concludes this meeting, 806245, before you leave with 806595, make sure to finish your session with 746." "Yes sir."
Go torture or kill them is what he means.
Everybody except Henry leaves the room, I walk to the door following them to the door, shutting and locking the door behind them. "Sir?" I call out, turning to face him.
"Yes?"
-TRIGGER WARNING-
"I was just wondering," I announced, walking closer to him, "What is your favorite torture method? I had a few in mind, but I thought someone as experienced as you could help me on my first mission."
Henry smiles, pure pleasure in his eyes, excitement.
"For who? The girl or the boy?" He asks, grinning.
"The woman."
"Ah, perfect choice. Now, you have to execute this perfectly, get the perfect level of fear in... Rhea was it? Enjoy it, and most importantly, give her scars, give her memories to remember. That, my son is the true torment to inflict," he explains proudly.
He is beyond dead.
"Thank you," I pause, he nods, grinning, "For volunteering your life," I grin, heartless.
His grimy smile disappears.
"Abigail, was it? Sam? God knows who else," I spit, pulling out my dagger. Henry, the fool with enough common sense to be afraid, backs away. "What's the matter? Are you powerless? Panicking? Scared?" I laugh, bitterly. "I'll kill you, you're incredibly stupid walking in here," he threatens.
I grin, purely psychotic I imagine.
"No, Henry. You," I point my dagger at him with each word, "are incredibly ludicrous. Living everyday, breathing, thinking you deserve to be anywhere except hell. You are what I despise. And do you know what I do to assholes like you?" I pause, "Well, I guess nobody knows," I grin, "Nobody really lives to tell," I whisper, throwing my dagger straight into the center of his chest.
He falls backward, slumped against the wall. I walk over to him, pulling it out. While blood spills out through his shirt, and mouth.
I draw lines of blood on his arms.
I grab him by the throat, squeezing long enough until he almost passes out. I let go of him, walking away, hearing him choke for air, I wait until I hear him finally inhale once. I turn around quickly, and swiftly throw my dagger in the perfect vertical alignment of his prior wound, straight into his forehead.
"Now that is art," I grin.
A name interrupts my thoughts.
Rhea.
Shit.
_______________
Rhea
I'm surprisingly excited for my date tomorrow. It gives me a chance to think about something, other than my parents death, revenge, being kidnapped, and Allen being tortured.
I miss this feeling. This happiness.
"Daydreaming again?" Allen asks, next to me, with his head resting on the wall.
I smile at him, "Shh, don't judge me." "I could never, I've been waiting for this for over a month. You're happy. Smiling. It's refreshing," he smiles back.
I sigh, filled with excitement, "I know, isn't it great?"
Allen nods.
"Hey! Do you remember that huge fort we built when we were kids?" I ask.
He takes a second to think, "Oh yeah, my grandparents were pissed, because we did it in the middle of your ballroom."
"Well, that was the best place, it had enough room for a bunch of chairs and blankets."
He chuckles, "Very true."
I nudge him with my elbow, "Let's make a smaller version, right now. We're bored, and we don't have to go to bed for another six hours. Plus, I miss us."
"Of course, Ms. Windsor, anything you'd like," he refrains from laughing. I throw my pillow at his face, "Be quiet, I'm just Rhea for now, Not queen, not Ms, not anything like that."
He nods, smiling, "Good."
We start grabbing our pillows, blankets, the nightstand, the chair, anything useful for our fort. We use the extra blankets Elijah got, to keep the germs of the motel floor off of us.
I use our pillows to hold the blankets in place.
After thirty minutes of struggling, remaking the parts that fell apart, we finally got a fort and crawled under it, laying down side by side vertically. "I miss being a kid," I blurt. Allen sighs, "Me too," he whispers, staring back at me with a sad smile. "Well, at least we always have each other, that'll never change," I smile back.
"Always," he says.
The sound of the hotel room door bursts open. Allen perks up immediately, I pull him back, clutching onto his sweatshirt. He looks back at me, uncertainty plain in his face. I shake my head. Footsteps clutter the floor, the pitter-patter of maybe three people.
I hold back my tears of anger. I'm not even scared, not for myself at least. I'm undeniably pissed. Why? Why ruin this break of happiness? Why was I born into Royalty? When will I get a break?
Dammit, leave me alone!
Let me breathe, just once.
"Check everywhere," I hear from a woman.
"Mhm," A man grumbles.
"Hurry up rookie, we don't have all day," a man says. I hear a sigh of frustration. Footsteps walk around the bed, past the fort and into the bathroom.
I hear two people walk toward the fort.
A man bends down. Allen and I hold each other's arms. He pulls me closer to him.
The man shoots through the blanket. I close my eyes, not wanting to see where the bullet went.
I hear rushed footsteps from the bathroom, next to the fort. I hear a rustle of fabric, the air becomes less stuffy. My eyes are squeezed shut.
I don't hear anyone's breathing, I don't hear words dripping off of tongues.
I just hear ringing. Loud ringing, delayed ringing. I open my eyes. My very blurry eyes.
Wet. My eyes are wet. Am I crying?
I see three faces in front of me, blurry faces. Someone's shouting, I think.
Allen.
I look over to him, crimson blood drips down his shirt. I follow the trail of blood up to a punctured hole through his sweatshirt into what I assume is his chest. His eyes are closed.
No.
I close my eyes. Breathe Rhea, this isn't real. None of it is real. Open your eyes.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Allen is fine, Allen is next to you, snoring, maybe he's even sleep talking like he always has since we were kids.
I open my eyes.
A dream.
Why isn't it a dream? Why am I still sleeping?
Someone wake me up. Please. Shake me awake. I don't want to stay here, wake me up.
My eyes are dripping.
Someone grabs me by the arms, pulling me up, I don't know who. Someone is whispering in my ear. Wet. Their hands are wet.
I feel a pull, they're taking me somewhere.
Are you waking me up?
Please tell me you're waking me up.
____________________
Hellooooo! How's it going? How do we feel about this chapter? How do we feel about Elijah's POV's? ;) Also not to mention this is our longest chapter yet! With 3,459 words! Sorry if it's a little long, I didn't want to cut the chapter in half, so I decided to give an extra long chapter! But hopefully, it's more to enjoy! <3
In case you want a reminder, I update every Friday. If you're all lucky, you'll get two chapters! ;)
I love you all! Thank you to anyone who reads this! Ofc if you have any ideas/advice for me, go ahead and comment them!
-hc