The Marked

There is no greater hell than wanting to die but not being able to. Gideon Anderson is my name, and killing others is my game. I am a marked one, those damned for all eternity for something, they don't tell us what we did, only what they want from us.
NOTE: This movella contains graphic material, scens of violence and profuse language use. Not suggested for those opposed to such material; read with caution.


8. The Unwilling Messenger

   "Perhaps if he has a girl to look after maybe he'll be more focused," Lucian thought to himself as he wandered down the steps leading into the subterranean world he usually inhabited. The sound of the steel pinging with every step from his hard soled Docker shoes felt calming to him as he knew he was walking into a world where few people traversed; the maintenance tunnels of the city's subway system. Lucian's adverse habit of analyzing people was something he always had, even as a child he tended to analyse those around him, searching for traits whether physical or mental he always looked for those he deemed would be best to fit his needs. This got him in trouble as a kid, infact it was just such an occasion that he met Gideon. 

   "S'cuse me sir," came the voice of an unknown man. This voice stopped Lucian, not because he was afraid that it could be a municipal member of the city, but instead because it had a hidden touch of deception in it.

   "With an undertone of malicious intent," Lucian finished his analysis out loud in a quiet mutter. Looking up from the ground he peered into the eyes of a man about five, two and weighing no more than perhaps 132 pounds, average human male, probably somewhere in either his mid to late twenties by the looks of him. 

   "S'cuse me, but are you known within the Organization as Lucian?" the unknown man asked with that same tone. He shifted one of the pockets in his jeans ever so slightly as he asked the question. To a normal person this would easily be dismissed as a normal bodily function someone might perform while conversing with someone, but to Lucian it was a possible gesture of bad events to come. 

   "And just who are you?" Lucian asked in his normal cool tone. The other man shifted his stance slightly as he lit a cigarette, a smiled a Cheshire grin.

   "Me? I'm just a... messenger of sorts," he replied to Lucian's question. Puffing the clouds of smoke that built up in his lungs into wispy rings he looked Lucian in the eyes. "And I have a message for you."

   "A message, where from?" Lucian continued to coolly ask as not to trigger this stranger to do anything rash. "A messenger my ass," he thought to himself, "He's probably just another thug from the city's pathetic gang circuit that probably signed onto yet another hit that's been placed on me." Recently, Lucian's personal errands for the Organization have been to organize systematic exterminations of the gang's hideouts in the Lower East Half of the city above. This ofcourse, lead to his identity slowly being leaked to the gang leaders and soon after the hits started.  

   "The message is simple Mr. Lucian," the man began to chuckle as dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. "I'll kill you!" He yelled out as he withdrew a dagger and threw himself headlong at Lucian. Skillfully Lucian jumped off to the side and, using the tunnel wall as a platform lept off it and landed effortlessly a few feet from his attacker.

   "Another hit huh? Pathetic," he replied as he put down his suitcase and removed the gloves from his hands. With that done he lunged at his attacker with inhuman speed.

   "How dare you call me.." he left off for he suddenly felt cold and immobilized. To his horror he figured out quick why he felt this way; there was a dagger impaled firmly in his gut which was now pouring cups of his crimson life force onto the cold, hard cement floor. He couldn't even scream because a second hand and small blade was held firmly against his throat.

   "This is why you and all of those street rats are pathetic," Lucian growled, "You can't even take down one man as weak as me." He began to apply pressure to the small dagger when the attacker wailed out in despair.

   "Please don't kill me!" he wailed, "I was just... I was just-" but he was cut off as the blade as cold as death itself drew a deep red line across his throat. With blood pouring from his punctured gut and now his throat he blacked out quickly and slipped into the void of death. Retrieving his blades, he cleaned them thoroughly with a cloth, packed them away and picked up his suitcase and moved away from the body.

   "I know who you were," Lucian spoke in his cool tone into the darkness as he traveled on, "You were like many others before you, and like many more to come after you. You were the unwilling messenger..."

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