(no subject)
Title: Eye for an Eye
Rating: PG
Characters: The Masked Assassin, #216
Summary: The Masked Assassin makes a vow.
They had recovered his body from the pyre even before the flames had a chance to lick at his clothes. Gen. Crozier explained that the last thing they needed was their agent revealing their existence even in death, and had described the extraction in dry detail that the Assassin did not hear, nor did he care about.
He had only asked where they put him. Crozier, something like an apology on that craggy face of his had handed him a file of his brother's mission. A sticky note on the front gave the coordinates of the unmarked grave they had buried him in.
The Assassin found him with little difficulty. Even in his sixties, he was an uncommonly strong and agile man, and now with a rectangle six feet deep before him, he could see moisture-dark unvarnished wood planks beneath him.
He stooped, yanking the lid of the pine coffin up, the nails squealing as they were wrenched free from the wood.
The smell of bloat and rot swelled up from the container, caught on the frigid December air. He barely smelled them.
The sight of the man, who had been more child than brother to the Assassin, stirred something deep within him he hadn't felt for decades.
He was the man who acted, not thought. His natural mental process was mostly a smooth, uninterrupted processing of his environment and its potential threats. He rarely felt any kind of strong emotion, and hadn't for over a dozen years.
Now, standing within the coffin of his brother, something dark and ugly coiled inside the scarred man's stomach. Something that crackled down the damaged nerves in his body and left an oddly hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach.
He crouched, something beginning to bubble up and compel him, and gently lifted the corpse's upper body. The Assassin studied his younger brother for an eternity, and he finally lifted a hand, and slipped the chipped mask back to crown his balding head, bareing his face before the last man on the planet who could have recalled his features.
The Assassin was old enough to be his father, clocking in at 18 years older than his brother. His brother, who had killed his mother on the delivery table, and his father from drink shortly thereafter. It was several lifetimes ago; it had happened to another person, not to the scarred, stoic monstrosity that hunkered in his brother's coffin like some ghoul.
He had been in service when his brother was born. The child went to foster care. And yet, he had provided for him, visiting when he could, sending money and tried to be the last piece of family left to the boy. Back when he had a soul.
And now, some kind of phantom pain coursed through him, a sort of spasm that clenched his stomach and drew his mouth in a grimace.
Carefully, gently, he pulled the man to him, and pressed a kiss next to the ruined temple, his scarred lips barely registering the waxy, thick texture of the dead man's skin. He smelled pungently of dead flesh and congealed blood. The brisk air pushed into the hollow, and the man's arms tightened, pressing his brother's body close to his. Finally, the only words of that strange reunion escaped him with the last shreds of his humanity that clung to him like a shroud.
"They will pay.
I promise."
Rating: PG
Characters: The Masked Assassin, #216
Summary: The Masked Assassin makes a vow.
They had recovered his body from the pyre even before the flames had a chance to lick at his clothes. Gen. Crozier explained that the last thing they needed was their agent revealing their existence even in death, and had described the extraction in dry detail that the Assassin did not hear, nor did he care about.
He had only asked where they put him. Crozier, something like an apology on that craggy face of his had handed him a file of his brother's mission. A sticky note on the front gave the coordinates of the unmarked grave they had buried him in.
The Assassin found him with little difficulty. Even in his sixties, he was an uncommonly strong and agile man, and now with a rectangle six feet deep before him, he could see moisture-dark unvarnished wood planks beneath him.
He stooped, yanking the lid of the pine coffin up, the nails squealing as they were wrenched free from the wood.
The smell of bloat and rot swelled up from the container, caught on the frigid December air. He barely smelled them.
The sight of the man, who had been more child than brother to the Assassin, stirred something deep within him he hadn't felt for decades.
He was the man who acted, not thought. His natural mental process was mostly a smooth, uninterrupted processing of his environment and its potential threats. He rarely felt any kind of strong emotion, and hadn't for over a dozen years.
Now, standing within the coffin of his brother, something dark and ugly coiled inside the scarred man's stomach. Something that crackled down the damaged nerves in his body and left an oddly hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach.
He crouched, something beginning to bubble up and compel him, and gently lifted the corpse's upper body. The Assassin studied his younger brother for an eternity, and he finally lifted a hand, and slipped the chipped mask back to crown his balding head, bareing his face before the last man on the planet who could have recalled his features.
The Assassin was old enough to be his father, clocking in at 18 years older than his brother. His brother, who had killed his mother on the delivery table, and his father from drink shortly thereafter. It was several lifetimes ago; it had happened to another person, not to the scarred, stoic monstrosity that hunkered in his brother's coffin like some ghoul.
He had been in service when his brother was born. The child went to foster care. And yet, he had provided for him, visiting when he could, sending money and tried to be the last piece of family left to the boy. Back when he had a soul.
And now, some kind of phantom pain coursed through him, a sort of spasm that clenched his stomach and drew his mouth in a grimace.
Carefully, gently, he pulled the man to him, and pressed a kiss next to the ruined temple, his scarred lips barely registering the waxy, thick texture of the dead man's skin. He smelled pungently of dead flesh and congealed blood. The brisk air pushed into the hollow, and the man's arms tightened, pressing his brother's body close to his. Finally, the only words of that strange reunion escaped him with the last shreds of his humanity that clung to him like a shroud.
"They will pay.
I promise."