Unknown
Unknown
The knife plunged in and out of his gut so fast he barely had time to blink. It was only a warning stab, a quick jab to grab his attention before her final blow. Before he could even scream, she had slit his throat, watching the body of her newest target fall to the ground. He had to be at least her thirtieth victim in the last year. She killed for The Syndicate. She killed to show the world just how powerful this tiny group could be. She was a trained killer at the age of seventeen. That’s all she was and ever would be.
Wiping the blood from her weapon, she stared at the cold eyes of the corpse that lay before her. “You have the same eyes as me," she muttered in a monotone. “Cold and dead…”
She was a child sold to a group of killers. It was a fairly common practice. If parents were in debt, they need only sell their child to The Syndicate to clear themselves of what they owed. It was well-known that the child would be nothing more than an object to The Syndicate, but the consequences of being in a large amount of debt were large, and the parents were usually willing to accept the fate that would become their child if it could mean avoiding their own.
What horrible fate would await a debtor? Simple, really. They were killed. The government of modern Germany did not take kindly to those who could not take care of themselves efficiently.
This Germany was slightly different than what would have befallen them if Hitler had lost during World War II. However, that was not the case. He won and greatly at that. Once his victory over the Allied forces was final, he quickly betrayed his allies. It was not likely anyone was that surprised. He had done it before. However, the results were different this time. The world was under German control and everyone was well aware of who their leaders were. If someone was not aware of the rules, they were killed. Obviously, someone who was foolish enough to gamble away their money had not comprehended the rules.
The Syndicate was the leaders, though not in an official capacity. They were the hit men, the ones that the government used to kill off the rule breakers. They were the S.S. of the new generation. They could not be stopped.
Of course, one would ask why The Syndicate would use children as assassins. It was simple strategy. No one would suspect that a child would kill anyone. Not only that, but they were a blank slate to work with. They could be trained quite easily. They were the perfect assassins.
However, not every child could be used this way. Only certain ones were physically able to be used as killers. Some were simply too young or too weak to be assassins. They were simply used as slaves or for sex until they died. Which they were used for depended fully on the person in charge of their care.
Becoming an assassin was a saving grace. You were lucky enough to be treated well by The Syndicate. They found you important enough to truly keep around. They found you worthy of their time and effort. If you became an assassin, you stood a good chance of staying alive. Ironic as that sounded, it was true. Assassins of The Syndicate were the best of the best. The elite killing machines. No one wanted their head on The Syndicate’s list simply for that reason. No one crossed The Syndicate.
“I guess no one taught you that,” the girl said, slowly walking from the murder site.
It hadn’t been that long since the girl lost her name. Six or seven years ago maybe. She couldn’t really remember any more. Time seemed to stop the day she was sold. She couldn’t have been older than eleven. Her parents had a nice little gambling debt racked up and the only ones that could fix it were The Syndicate. So, the deal was made and her parents were sent off to some city where no one knew them.
And their daughter became the plaything of one of the crueler members of The Syndicate. His name was rarely spoken among the children, merely for fear that he would hear them and come running. She knew her parent’s debt was large, but she had no idea how much she was expected to pay.
While becoming an assassin was a wonderful thing, the road to becoming an assassin was not an easy thing. The training ranged in difficulty and cruelness, since each trainer was different. Unfortunately for this young girl, he trainer was sadistic.
He used her as his sexual plaything. Rape was a daily occurrence for her. She accepted her fate, but could not stop the pain. She became accustomed to the daily training, but could not rid herself of those useless emotions. This only angered her trainer.
“Assassins can’t have emotions,” he would say, watching his knife slowly cut along her arm. “They make you weak.”
She couldn’t scream or cry during the training sessions. To do so, was to prove that her emotions were still intact. She had to lie to him. She had to lie to herself.
A swift slap across the face knocked the girl to the floor. Her trainer stood over her, his angry eyes staring her down.
“Get up,” he growled.
The girl slowly pushed herself off the floor, only to have a foot push her back down.
“I said get up!”
As much as the girl wanted to yell at her trainer, she knew that would only lead to the punishment. She didn’t want to feel that pain today. The training was horrible enough. She pushed harder against the weight of his leg, lifting herself up from the floor. She pushed up, forcing herself into a sitting position.
“Stand up.”
She stood up quickly, tilting her head up to stare at her trainer.
“Good,” he muttered, walking away from the girl. “Now…” He grabbed a knife that sat on a table across the room. He threw the knife, watching the handle spin as it sped towards the girl’s forehead. The girl jumped to the side, the knife scraping past her arm as she fell to the ground.
“Not good enough,” the trainer groaned, picking up another knife. “You can’t get injured. That scrape could be your greatest mistake in a fight. You have to get better.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” the girl promised, straightening herself out.
“You better. I won’t have a weakling as my student much longer.”
She knew he was right. If she didn’t get better quickly, she would be made a slave and nothing good came of girls being slaves. She couldn’t let that happen. There had to be a way to become stronger. She had to prove herself or she would be useless to The Syndicate. Children that failed to be assassins after a few months were treated much harsher than children that never stood a chance to become assassins in the first place. They had failed and that was something The Syndicate would not allow.
“I’ll try harder, sir. I promise,” the girl said, her breath shaking with every word.
“I’m sure you will…” The trainer could only grin at what he was turning her into. She was someone who could be so easily molded it was almost an insult to his skills. He had turned children with a much stronger will than hers into cold-blooded killers. She was an easy task. She would be broken soon enough. It was only a matter of time.
The knife plunged into her scar-ridden skin, cutting deeply into her leg. She bit her lip, watching as her trainer slowly etched a line into her thigh.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “You can’t cry.”
“I know,” the girl replied, almost growling.
“Emotions make you weak. You need to remember that.”
“I will.”
“Are you getting an attitude with me?”
“No, sir.”
“You better not be. You know what the punishment for that would be.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll act better from now on, sir.”
“Good girl.” He slipped the knife out of her, licking the blood off the blade. “I knew you were learning.”
The sliver of glass across his throat was all it took to take him down. He shouldn’t have thrown her against that fragile table. That was the fatal flaw.
“Rule 1. An assassin must use anything and everything as a weapon.”
The blood gushed from his throat, small droplets getting on the young girl.
“Rule 2. An assassin must be emotionless.”
His body toppled over, the young girl’s cold eyes following his movement.
“Rule 3.An assassin must train their senses.”
The body crashed on the floor. The girl could hear the noise as she walked from the bedroom.
“Final rule. An assassin can never look into the eyes of their victims.”
She crotched down, staring into her trainer’s dying eyes. This was the only rule that she could not follow. She had to look into their eyes. She had to watch them die. It made her a weaker assassin, of course, because it meant she still retained some semblance of humanity, but she could not break the habit. Luckily, it was a habit that almost no one would see.
She stood up, throwing the piece of class she had held tightly in her grip to the floor, hearing it shatter upon contact with the ground. She threw her head back, her mouth opening wide to let out a scream.
“I passed your test!” she yelled, knowing that The Syndicate was watching her. “Let me go! Let me be an assassin! Let me have some small amount of freedom from this horrible life!”
Clapping echoed around her, causing her to glance around the room quickly.
“We knew you could do it,” a man said, walking into the room. “Now, please come this way to become inducted into The Syndicate.”
The girl followed him, knowing that no matter what fate would come from this, it could not be worse than what she had already been through.
The knife plunged in and out of his gut so fast he barely had time to blink. It was only a warning stab, a quick jab to grab his attention before her final blow. Before he could even scream, she had slit his throat, watching the body of her newest target fall to the ground. He had to be at least her thirtieth victim in the last year. She killed for The Syndicate. She killed to show the world just how powerful this tiny group could be. She was a trained killer at the age of seventeen. That’s all she was and ever would be.
Wiping the blood from her weapon, she stared at the cold eyes of the corpse that lay before her. “You have the same eyes as me," she muttered in a monotone. “Cold and dead…”
She was a child sold to a group of killers. It was a fairly common practice. If parents were in debt, they need only sell their child to The Syndicate to clear themselves of what they owed. It was well-known that the child would be nothing more than an object to The Syndicate, but the consequences of being in a large amount of debt were large, and the parents were usually willing to accept the fate that would become their child if it could mean avoiding their own.
What horrible fate would await a debtor? Simple, really. They were killed. The government of modern Germany did not take kindly to those who could not take care of themselves efficiently.
This Germany was slightly different than what would have befallen them if Hitler had lost during World War II. However, that was not the case. He won and greatly at that. Once his victory over the Allied forces was final, he quickly betrayed his allies. It was not likely anyone was that surprised. He had done it before. However, the results were different this time. The world was under German control and everyone was well aware of who their leaders were. If someone was not aware of the rules, they were killed. Obviously, someone who was foolish enough to gamble away their money had not comprehended the rules.
The Syndicate was the leaders, though not in an official capacity. They were the hit men, the ones that the government used to kill off the rule breakers. They were the S.S. of the new generation. They could not be stopped.
Of course, one would ask why The Syndicate would use children as assassins. It was simple strategy. No one would suspect that a child would kill anyone. Not only that, but they were a blank slate to work with. They could be trained quite easily. They were the perfect assassins.
However, not every child could be used this way. Only certain ones were physically able to be used as killers. Some were simply too young or too weak to be assassins. They were simply used as slaves or for sex until they died. Which they were used for depended fully on the person in charge of their care.
Becoming an assassin was a saving grace. You were lucky enough to be treated well by The Syndicate. They found you important enough to truly keep around. They found you worthy of their time and effort. If you became an assassin, you stood a good chance of staying alive. Ironic as that sounded, it was true. Assassins of The Syndicate were the best of the best. The elite killing machines. No one wanted their head on The Syndicate’s list simply for that reason. No one crossed The Syndicate.
“I guess no one taught you that,” the girl said, slowly walking from the murder site.
It hadn’t been that long since the girl lost her name. Six or seven years ago maybe. She couldn’t really remember any more. Time seemed to stop the day she was sold. She couldn’t have been older than eleven. Her parents had a nice little gambling debt racked up and the only ones that could fix it were The Syndicate. So, the deal was made and her parents were sent off to some city where no one knew them.
And their daughter became the plaything of one of the crueler members of The Syndicate. His name was rarely spoken among the children, merely for fear that he would hear them and come running. She knew her parent’s debt was large, but she had no idea how much she was expected to pay.
While becoming an assassin was a wonderful thing, the road to becoming an assassin was not an easy thing. The training ranged in difficulty and cruelness, since each trainer was different. Unfortunately for this young girl, he trainer was sadistic.
He used her as his sexual plaything. Rape was a daily occurrence for her. She accepted her fate, but could not stop the pain. She became accustomed to the daily training, but could not rid herself of those useless emotions. This only angered her trainer.
“Assassins can’t have emotions,” he would say, watching his knife slowly cut along her arm. “They make you weak.”
She couldn’t scream or cry during the training sessions. To do so, was to prove that her emotions were still intact. She had to lie to him. She had to lie to herself.
A swift slap across the face knocked the girl to the floor. Her trainer stood over her, his angry eyes staring her down.
“Get up,” he growled.
The girl slowly pushed herself off the floor, only to have a foot push her back down.
“I said get up!”
As much as the girl wanted to yell at her trainer, she knew that would only lead to the punishment. She didn’t want to feel that pain today. The training was horrible enough. She pushed harder against the weight of his leg, lifting herself up from the floor. She pushed up, forcing herself into a sitting position.
“Stand up.”
She stood up quickly, tilting her head up to stare at her trainer.
“Good,” he muttered, walking away from the girl. “Now…” He grabbed a knife that sat on a table across the room. He threw the knife, watching the handle spin as it sped towards the girl’s forehead. The girl jumped to the side, the knife scraping past her arm as she fell to the ground.
“Not good enough,” the trainer groaned, picking up another knife. “You can’t get injured. That scrape could be your greatest mistake in a fight. You have to get better.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” the girl promised, straightening herself out.
“You better. I won’t have a weakling as my student much longer.”
She knew he was right. If she didn’t get better quickly, she would be made a slave and nothing good came of girls being slaves. She couldn’t let that happen. There had to be a way to become stronger. She had to prove herself or she would be useless to The Syndicate. Children that failed to be assassins after a few months were treated much harsher than children that never stood a chance to become assassins in the first place. They had failed and that was something The Syndicate would not allow.
“I’ll try harder, sir. I promise,” the girl said, her breath shaking with every word.
“I’m sure you will…” The trainer could only grin at what he was turning her into. She was someone who could be so easily molded it was almost an insult to his skills. He had turned children with a much stronger will than hers into cold-blooded killers. She was an easy task. She would be broken soon enough. It was only a matter of time.
The knife plunged into her scar-ridden skin, cutting deeply into her leg. She bit her lip, watching as her trainer slowly etched a line into her thigh.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “You can’t cry.”
“I know,” the girl replied, almost growling.
“Emotions make you weak. You need to remember that.”
“I will.”
“Are you getting an attitude with me?”
“No, sir.”
“You better not be. You know what the punishment for that would be.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll act better from now on, sir.”
“Good girl.” He slipped the knife out of her, licking the blood off the blade. “I knew you were learning.”
The sliver of glass across his throat was all it took to take him down. He shouldn’t have thrown her against that fragile table. That was the fatal flaw.
“Rule 1. An assassin must use anything and everything as a weapon.”
The blood gushed from his throat, small droplets getting on the young girl.
“Rule 2. An assassin must be emotionless.”
His body toppled over, the young girl’s cold eyes following his movement.
“Rule 3.An assassin must train their senses.”
The body crashed on the floor. The girl could hear the noise as she walked from the bedroom.
“Final rule. An assassin can never look into the eyes of their victims.”
She crotched down, staring into her trainer’s dying eyes. This was the only rule that she could not follow. She had to look into their eyes. She had to watch them die. It made her a weaker assassin, of course, because it meant she still retained some semblance of humanity, but she could not break the habit. Luckily, it was a habit that almost no one would see.
She stood up, throwing the piece of class she had held tightly in her grip to the floor, hearing it shatter upon contact with the ground. She threw her head back, her mouth opening wide to let out a scream.
“I passed your test!” she yelled, knowing that The Syndicate was watching her. “Let me go! Let me be an assassin! Let me have some small amount of freedom from this horrible life!”
Clapping echoed around her, causing her to glance around the room quickly.
“We knew you could do it,” a man said, walking into the room. “Now, please come this way to become inducted into The Syndicate.”
The girl followed him, knowing that no matter what fate would come from this, it could not be worse than what she had already been through.
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About the artwork
tsukihanyou
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(That title is on purpose. Just to let everyone know.)
This is a bit of a prelude to The Freaks. It's about Sarah's training before she became a member of The Syndicate. It's something I wrote for Fiction Writing and I liked it enough to post it on here.
© 2008 - 2010 tsukihanyou
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