“Wake up fuckwad.” was the first thing he heard that morning. Could it even be called morning if it was three in the morning? Groggily, a twelve-year-old Edward Jackson crawled out of his sleeping bag, already in the day’s clothes. When you’re in leagues with Argona and her minions, you come prepared to be woken up at any time in the night. Most nights he went sleepless anyway because apparently Argona hated sleeping. Stumbling his way out of the tent, the young speedster looked up at one of his superiors. The superior was an older man, with slightly graying hair around his temples, but he was built like an ox. Every inch of his body looked as if it were carved from stone. He spoke up with a voice that sounded as if he gargled nails for breakfast. “You know what to do.” No he didn’t. Nobody had told him anything.
“No I don’t.” he retorted, which caused a backhand to come flying out of nowhere, smacking him across the side of the head. It would’ve been an easy dodge for the speedster, but the last time he had tried that had resulted in a month of “training.” The “training” consisted of being chained up and beaten day in and day out. “That was for back talking me, you shit.” the older man slurred. It was obvious that he was drunk. “Doesn’t anyone tell you anything?”
“No, no they don’t.” Edward replied simply and tonelessly. The man shook his head, sighing. “Well, what you’re supposed to do is take out the gifted village a mile or so down the road.” Nodding curtly, Edward took off towards the village, not caring if his superior had anything else to say. It didn’t take long for Ed to get to the town, he ran the entire way. He stopped a few hundred feet from the small town to avoid alerting anyone that might be out and about at this time. Walking slowly, hands in pocket, he trudged along, careful not to be seen. He was wearing green and gray mottled clothing, something his oldest superior had gotten out of an old book series. It was apparently better camouflage, day or night, than just plain black. It was supposed to blend in with the scenery in the background. He had also been taught to move with the movement of anything behind him, to trick anyone’s eyes if they were looking for anyone, but the time of night made Edward not care how he was walking.
Edward eventually made it into the town by landing softly on top of a rooftop from a tall tree that was nearby. Pulling up the hood on his hoodie, he slunk his way across the rooftop, looking for the best place to get down. Unsatisfied with what he found, he leapt across to a different rooftop that was much shorter and could be easily slid off of without major injury. He took the leap with a soft grunt of exertion, and landed with hardly a sound. He took a moment to get his bearings and slid down the sloped shingled rooftop to the soft, grassy ground below. He tucked himself into a roll as he landed, but landed on his back instead of his feet. ‘Fuck. That was sloppy.’ he thought.’Thankfully this isn’t training. I don’t want another month of “training.”’
He waited to be sure no one was around before slowly getting back to his feet. Brushing himself off, he went back to creeping along the side of a building. The lights were off, which was a good sign. But something was stopping him. He didn’t want to kill. It was the one shred of humanity he still had left. Torture was one thing but physically stealing the life from someone was another. But if he didn’t do this, it would mean certain death for him.
His mouth became dry and he licked his lips, trying to moisten them. His whole body tensed up, right then and there on the side of a building. He didn’t know if he could do this. Panic began rising up in his chest. What could he do? If he ran, they would find him and almost certainly kill him, but only after months of unending torture. If he stayed in the village and did nothing, they’d pull him out and submit him to “training” for at least a year.
Edward tried breathing deeply to calm himself. After a few moments, the panic lessened, and he could focus again. He focused on the window that was near him, a window he could easily sneak into. Taking a shaky breath, he moved closer to the window and peaked inside quickly. The room was empty from what he could tell. It seemed to be the living area for whoever lived there. There was a large couch, so he concluded that a family lived there. His face paled when he realized that there might be children in that house.
Still, he persisted. Using a piece of wire he brought with him, he unlocked the window from the outside and carefully opened it. He hopped up onto the sill and easily slid inside, landing on the hardwood floor without a sound. Looking around, he got a sense of where everything was located. There were small tables on either side of the couch and a long coffee table sitting a foot or so in front of the couch. There were also lamps sitting around the room seemingly without any pattern in their placement, when in reality they were placed anywhere where an outlet was available.
He crept through the room, careful to avoid running into any of the furniture. The only doorway he could see lead to the kitchen, so he followed it. It was a small kitchen, thankfully, but the moment he stepped into the area the floor creaked below him and he froze instantly, panic fluttering in his chest. He remained frozen for what seemed like ages before he dared to move again. He listened for any sort of noise. Satisfied that he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, he moved again, this time more careful of where he stepped. As he approached the bedrooms in the back of the house, he pulled a 9mm gun out of the waistband of his jeans. He had a powerful silencer attached to the end of the small gun.
His hands were shaky as he held up the small gun. He took a steadying breath and kept moving forward. He reached the first door, a door on the right, and turned the knob carefully and painfully slow. The door finally cracked open and he got a good look inside. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. It was brightly colored he could see, with a dresser in one corner of the room. The floor was carpeted, and scattered on the carpet were various toys. And across the room from the dresser was a small bed. Small enough for a toddler. His heart leapt to his throat. Everything suddenly became very real. His mission was to “take care of” every living gifted in the town. Which, being a gift-dominated town, meant everyone.
