Author: c.a.s.1404 PM
ISABELLE MERCER WAS 12 WHEN HER LIFE TOOK AN UNEXPECTED TURN.NOW SHE IS A ASSASSIN WHO KILLS NOT BECAUSE ITS HER JOB BUT BECAUSE SHE FEELS COMPELLED TO.WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SHE FINDS OUT HER LITTLE WORLD IS MORE COMPLICATED THEN SHE THOUGHT?WHAT HAPPENS NEXTRated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Supernatural - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,842 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 04-11-10 - Published: 03-21-09 - id: 4938603
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
HEY,...I THINK IVE TOLD EVERYONE THAT I WAS WORKING ON A NEW STORY AND HERE IT IS...I LIKE IT ..BUT IM SORTA TESTING IT OUT RIGHT NOW, SO NO SURE SAY SO IF ITS TO STAY OR NOT.....GIVE ME YOUR OVERAL OPINION...THANK YOU!
COPYRIGHT © c.a.s.1404
When I was a little girl, I'd always dream that when I grew up I would be a successful lawyer, and that I would marry the man I loved and have two children. Growing up was the problem.
I quit wanting to be a lawyer when both my parents were sentenced to death in court, and their lawyer made no move to oppose the sentence. My parents were innocent. I knew this for a fact, because I was there with them when the man was shot and killed, I saw with my own eyes, the man who committed the crime shoot and kill a man, and then frame my parents.
The only reason my word wasn't taken into consideration was because I was only twelve years old, and was believed to be mentally insane.
I'd never acted my age. When I was five, I acted like I was twenty. When I turned twelve I acted like an adult, and have since I could ever remember. I decided, that same day I watched my parents be condemned to a death they didn't deserve, that I would kill the man that did this to them. And I did.
I was taken in by a government funded orphanage where they provided all the essentials I needed for a successful future. When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I told them that I wanted to be a detective, and they provided all the schooling required for it. At age fifteen, I killed the man that framed my parents. His name had been Benjamin Carpenter, he had two children, and a wife. He'd worked for the government, and lived in a two story home in Washington D.C. I followed him out of town, when I was supposed to be going to the park for the day.
I shot him in both legs so he couldn't run, and I cut him up, slicing thin ribbons out of his skin, avoiding the major arteries. Then I broke his fingers one by one, then his wrists, and then his arms, his legs, his knees…While he was begging me to stop, I laughed, and I laughed, I told him who I was and what he did, and I told him what I was going to do to him, so he knew exactly what was happening. When his hurts began to fade, I smashed his bones with a hammer until his body couldn't be discernable. Then I lit him on fire when he was barely alive and I watched him die as he screamed and withered in agony. Afterwards, I simply drove his car over to the spot he burned to death and set that on fire too. Then I walked away.
His body was reported ten days later when he was expected to of have been home, they found his car, and concluded his death an accident…
When I graduated, the owner of the orphanage and his wife were there to play mom and dad. I moved out only after three days, to "look for my place in the world", and I found it.
I became an assassin at age eighteen, working for a secret organization that took care of the governments dirty work. I both loved and hated it. I was the best they had, and they had no idea who the hell I was. I had a nickname too. They called me 'Morté', which means death. I had other nicknames too, like the 'executioner', or the 'avenger'. all my nicknames seemed to revolve around death, but it was fine with me. They knew me as Rose Evelyn, the name I created for myself, through my birth name was really Isabelle Even Mercer.
In the organization, I was actually one of the only five girls that worked there . Out of them five, only three actually killed. The rest were men, and so all five of us had our share of harassment, through most of the men knew not to mess with me. Occasionally through, some of the men couldn't help themselves, and I, in turn would have to make my opinion known, which usually ended in the man having a new wound to tend to. I also made it appoint not to simply kick the men in the balls because that didn't prove anything, but sometimes if I'm really mad, I'll first take them down, then kick them in the nuts.
At headquarters, I usually couldn't walk though the room without it quieting down a little. All the old workers knew by now not to gawk at me so they would simply acknowledge me with a nod of their head or whatever. Here, testosterone was always at a high level, with all the male workers trying to show off. Me, I never showed off, I just kept to myself and minded my own business, but my presence only managed to increase it anytime I was in the room. I'd made it clear that I had no interest in settling down, but not one of the men listened.
The other women that I worked with and I, kind of formed a group, and we stuck to it. Training and working together. My closest friend was one of these girls, but she also happened to be the wife of the man that taught me most of what I knew now.
Her name was Claudia. She was a slim tan skinned woman with blue eyes, straight, blonde hair that was cut a little before the shoulder. She was taller than me by 5 inches, making her about 5"8'. Her husband, like her was 5'8, but he was more muscular, with naturally dark skin, brown, army cropped hair and soft brown eyes. His name was Clark….
Pulling my attention back to the present, my gaze traveled across the street to focus on a car that pulled over. When ever I was on a mission, there was this familiar felling of nothingness that settled into my bloodstream when I knew I was about to kill, and seeing the men that flocked into the house from the car, I concluded that I was going to kill. I was going to kill them all before the men in the scene in front of me could touch another innocent life again. Little did the men below me know that Morté was coming for a little visit.
Springing out of my crouching position, prepared for blood to be spilt, I drew my choice of weapon. A Xiphos, which was a double-edged sword that was used by ancient Greeks in battle. I could use the sword one handed, and it would piece most everything.
I made my way down the hill without detection, moving with ease. When I had the chance, I would slice the tires on the car and pick the men out, one by one.
With the last man having entered the home, I did just that. And then I walked straight to the front door and knocked. It was only polite.
The man that came to the door was armed, but he couldn't see my sword, that I had behind my back. When he saw my face, his automatic reaction was to put the gun away. I was after all, female, 5"3', pale skinned, innocent looking and young.
The door opened and the man grinned at me.
"You the stripper?" He asked, his eyes traveling down the length of me, taking in the pitch black jeans, skin tight shirt, and combat boots.
The black contrasted heavily against the paleness of my almost translucent skin, and brought out the color of my hair and eyes. I looked startling, and bad ass, like I was ready for a combat drill. I had tapped their phones and I knew what they wanted. They had asked for two girls, both clad in bad ass attire. They wanted bad girls.
Fortunately for them, I only brought myself, but in many ways that was worse than having me and someone else. I stared up at the man and smiled.
He grinned back and took a step forward, his eyes betraying the anticipation, not for the stripping that a stripper would do, but for the afterwards, when they would start cutting up the girls. They had been doing this for a month, calling in people so that they could get a show, and then killing them. They were rapist cereal killers. Their last victims had been three high school girls in California, that had went home with these men, after getting drunk at a party. These men had raped them, and then started cutting them up while they raped them. And it wasn't only one on one, it was a seven-some. People like him disgusted me.
I pulled the sword out from behind my back and I looped his head off, stepping out of the way so he could fall forward into the soft grass in front of the door. No steps. Just grass. The house I was standing in front of was a one story house that was obviously not inhabited long. I stared down at the mans motionless body, it had flopped once, but was now laying still, blood squirting out onto the lawn. His head had drooped besides the body, face up. His eyes were wide and shocked, his mouth slack. I didn't feel bad at all, only sad that I couldn't make him suffer like their victims had. I was without remorse.
Without so much as a glance back, I walked into the house, covered in blood, into a room full of unsuspecting men with guns.
There was going to be a massacre in Montana tonight.
sooo..what do you think?....idk if im going into a depression or something but it seems to me that all my characters are bitter and jaded?....what do you think?...anyways...please review!