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The Stain

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“The stain will not come out…” for this stain runs deep through my veins. It is the stain of a killer, the stain that will never be erased or washed out for as long as my memory exists. I would not be so cowardly to die but I will be able to someday escape, to live life only faintly tainted. A triumph difficult to accomplish when I, myself, keep staining myself. With bloody hands, kneeling on the ground is not an option. Your only choice is to fight blood with blood, and for that I need to become a better of the wrong I am today.
A murderer.

I tried hard to assure myself that these harsh words are honest truth. I only scarcely believe them myself but a faint part of me advises me of the silent truth that rings through them. The rest of me doesn’t really know what to make of the crazy idealistic ideas I come up with. With the scared little girl of the past that was me, is somewhere locked in a basement crying while someone new takes her place. I hope the key to that basement remains lost for my second self is the only one who is ready to spread black tainted wings and soar even if it meant falling from 20 stories up in the air.

Although my words do sound like that of a psycho serial killer as I point a silent long distance rifle at the head of a not-so-innocent man . Perfecting my kill shot by the strength of the wind, the distance between point A. , me at the top of a roof with my gun, and point B. , the man’s head.

This habit comes to me as naturally as the basic operations of math. If anyone saw me on the street they wouldn’t think of me straight off as an assassin. What with my incredibly small frame, five foot nothing height, natural bleach blonde hair and baby blues, no one would ever guess I’m a highly trained monster. That’s what my slave drivers do. Create perfectly polished hidden weapons.
When I was 3 , a family that I belonged in and I can’t even remember was killed, I was kidnapped by the assassins that murdered them, and they whisked me off to they’re slave drivers.

Devon Corporation. a seemingly harmless tech company, and the Underground King of all technology stores. They were the ones who created your everyday technology like the I pad or the android you walk around with in your pocket every day. They sell the plans off to companies like apple in exchange for one thing extremely vital in their entire structure. Support and Secrecy.
Of course the only reason a supposedly harmless tech company would need this is to cover they’re true purpose. Training underground assassins to integrate them into everyday society. They let us roam free, or seemingly let us roam free, but really were all implanted with traceable GPS and a sort of internal shocker collar if we step outside of city boundaries. Today is my last job, after this kill I’m going to a rouge agent who figured out a way to remove both the GPS and the internal shocker collar by electric shock, the kind that insane people get in Asylums, it completely destroys all the technology inside of you. So just aim this one last time and I can spread my stained wings—“put the gun down on the floor right now!” behind me I heard the clomping of boots on concrete and the yells of several police officers. I heard the click of a gun behind me and froze, then slowly put my gun on the floor, there was nothing I could do against that many pair of feet , meaning that many officers, and all of them with guns. I can spread my stained wings… and drop.



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