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Chapter 6: Kill All, Become God



The boy sat down by the river, legs crossed as his mentor watched. His normally alert eyes were closed, relaxed yet not asleep. His tense muscle visibly, although he still held his posture rigid. Snake Eyes nodded in approval. His protégé was everything he had hoped for and more. He was a quick learner and a fastidious worker. He had the natural instincts that reminded Snake Eyes of a beast.


He studied the boy. He certainly had grown, and not just in height. What little baby fat he had was replaced by powerful, sinewy muscles, hardened by months of training. His young face was covered by numerous scars, many of them delivered by the very man that fed him. His previous nervous demeanor which kept him alive through hard times had been replaced by a growing sense of confidence. Snake Eyes even suspected seeing the boy smile a few times.


"Breathe in, breathe out. If you can hear my voice, you have already failed this exercise." He instructed. The boy frowned slightly, his master's firm chiding obviously heard. He concentrated harder to shut out his environment and soon felt nothing.


But the state of nothingness never last in the vigour of youth. Soon, the boy couldn't resist a peek. He found himself staring straight into the cold, furious eyes of a snarling wolf. The boy reared back in panic and tried to scramble to his feet. With a deep rumbling growl that seemed like thunder to the terror-stricken boy, the wolf leaped towards him with a gaping mouth of steel knives.


In desperation, the boy raised his hands to shield himself from the incoming onslaught and immediately felt the paralyzing pain of teeth through flesh from his arm. He tried to pull back, only to realise that his arm was now limp and useless, stuck in the vice-like grip of the wolf. The wolf began to shake the helpless boy like an infant playing with a rag doll.


The boy screamed from the pain. He felt his wounds tear wider from the flailing and the pain was so intense that soon he felt nothing at all. His life began to fade as his pulse ceased.


NO! The boy cried to himself. He CANNOT die. Not like this. Not after all that he has been through. No. He will fight; he must fight.


He must live.


The boy thrashed frantically, and hit a hind leg by chance. The wolf, caught by the sudden surge of life in its victim, loosened its grip, which was all the boy needed. He tugged his arm free, as the pulling force ripped gashes into his arm, and without a hint of hesitation, smashed his other fist into the animal's surprised face.


The beast recovered quickly as it stood up. The boy did the same as man and beast squared each other off. The beast in particular was in no hurry to attack, as if possessing a new found respect for the strange two-legged figure. For the boy, it gave him time to study his assailant.


The boy widened his eyes in surprise. The wolf was extraordinary. It was huge, with a height of a fully grown man. Its fur was as blue as the ocean and seemed to glow from the light of the full moon. If he was not locked in a life-or-death struggle, the boy would be hesitant to harm such a magnificent creature.


They maintained eye contact.


Look away, become a coward.


Stare straight. Do not blink. Be strong.


With a loud roar from both parties, they charged at each other, as if on cue. With fists clenched and teeth gnashing, the boy and beast fought. Neither appeared to have the upper hand. Fortitude and resourcefulness held its own against primeval instincts and raw savagery.


It pounced on the boy, gunning for his neck. The boy lashed out; the wolf instinctively bit down on his already injured arm. The boy smiled despite the pain. The wolf widened its eyes, realising its mistake.


The boy, unfazed by the pain, used his injured arm to force the beast's head onto the ground. With his one good hand, he pummeled the wolf in its soft belly, again and again. The wolf released its grip, but the repeated pounding continued, until the great blue beast whimpered pitifully.


The boy stopped, his clothes soaked in blood. He stared at the wolf, as the wolf stared back. He could break its neck now, helpless as it is.


The wolf lifted itself up slowly, still staring, still observing, as if puzzled by the inaction. It started backing away from the boy gingerly, a few slow steps at first, then into a painful run as it bounded off.


The boy collapsed, ready now to accept death.


~


The sun set, a glowing pink ball, melancholic in its decent, resting gently behind the high-rise buildings of Yorkland. To Shark it was an utterly depressing sight, one which he relished as he watched from the rooftops. Yorkland itself was a dreary place, remnants of a flourishing time before the Nuclear War. It was during that time, structures soared to the sky in a glorified race of height. Now all that was left is the rusting metal and broken glass of skyscrapers that would not fall, yet never to ascend again.


Not that the place was abandoned. The towering constructions was home to the fierce Yorkland Gangs, commandeered by the Raider Assassins. For this reason, Shark did not feel safe here. The Yorkland Gangs were made up of idiots, who had no care for their own safety and came at you with reckless abandon in a fight, similar to the killing styles of the Raider Assassins. They would also come at you in huge numbers, like swarms of rats rushing for a piece of meat.


While he knew that the Raider Assassins were on the Blood Rain payroll, which made them colleagues, he could never rest easy in such a place.


"Enjoying the scenery, short fuck? Or maybe you are relishing the chance to look down on something for a change." A mocking voice rang through the quiet dusk. Shark cringed. Out of everything he hated, which was numerous, he despised being reminded of his height. He turned around, before realising that the insult was accentuated by the lanky frame of Vice. He spat, restraining his anger. He knew of Vice. Young, intelligent with deadly skills. Not one to make an enemy of yet.


"I'm glad yer tall, Vice, it gives me more to hate. What yer doing here?"


"Aren't you a short-tempered runt. I'm guessing you heard the news too, eh toadstool?" Shark ignored the obvious slight on his height.


"Yea. Appeared on the grid. Amazing timing. And here of all places."


"You wonder why? I'll keep it short and sweet for you, Stumpy. People make mistakes."


Shark reached down, touching the hilt of a dagger, one of many locked in a specially designed pocket. He could kill Vice here, and enjoy doing it. Now is not the time, and he had to remind himself repeatedly. Vice was purposely aggravating him, and one day, he would make the Raider Assassin pay for it dearly.


He looked down as sounds of footsteps echoed through the empty street below, interrupting his thoughts. There stood the most infamous assassin in recent memory. Right in the open in the middle of the street. Waiting. Shark shook his head.


"Mistakes? Not him." he whispered.


For once, Vice kept his mouth shut. His eyes followed the lone figure below, observing him, looking for weaknesses, motive and weapons. Shark did the same, noting two hand-held guns, a katana and some sort of wrist-strapped device under the sleeve of his long, black jacket. Probably a knife or two sheathed in the boots. He saw Vice lick his lips slowly, as if preparing for a feast.


"Aren't ya going down there to get him?" he asked, baiting Vice to dig his own grave.


"Me? Nah, I ain't that short-sighted, Squab. Besides, Blood Rain has many more gunning for the man. They'll make short work of the fucker." Shark nodded. No wonder it was so quiet here. Blood Rain must have commanded the Gangs to clear Yorkland for the operation; they definitely would not leave the capturing of the Ripper to the clumsy hands of the Yorkland Gangs. They would send assassins. A lot of them.


"Question of the night," Shark growled in his usual gruff voice, "How many assassins would it take to capture a Ripper?"



"I have visuals on the target, he is walking through the blocks K-62, his movement has been straight and consistent. Night vision working fine."


"Copy that. We strike the moment he walks into the street." The loud noises of radio communication and static rang noisily from Sieg's handheld transceiver. It was strapped on his chest, along with three concussion grenades. He had a cigar in the corner of his mouth, unlit, and was wearing a green beret which sat on his rectangular head.


Clair looked at Sieg, displeased. The commander was every bit the musclehead that the Elder had warned her about. Tanker Assassins. Stupid idiots that charge into the battlefield guns blazing, with no regard for subtlety. Armed to the teeth with grenades, automatic weapons and a large siege missile launcher, she hated these assassins the most.


Not that Tanker Assassins were the only assassins they sent. They and a large posse of Tanker Sniper, Raider, Stealth Assassins, all under the Blood Rain payroll were postitioned at the back of block K-62, awaiting ambush. She had never seen so many assassins in such close proximity before, all to capture one man; the moment the Ripper appeared on the grid, the contracts was drawn up hastily and Bloodrain sent any available assassin they could.


Clair was just one of the unfortunate few sent to the field to team up with buffoons. Standing beside the vulgar weapon-packed crew with her blond pinned up hair and white robe dress, they looked like complete contrary.


"Assuming he doesn't hear your noisy radio and your unorganised crew approaching, we might actually have a chance at this." She said condescendingly.


Sieg snorted as he wiped his nose on his sleeves. "Keep out of my way, woman, and I'll keep outsa of yours. Itsa time for us grown ups to work, why don't you go do your hair or something." He grunted back.


She almost voiced her retort when gun fire rang.


"A sniper got the Ripper, target hit and down! All units closing in now." The radio screamed. Clair widened her eyes. The fool! They were supposed to capture the Ripper, not to kill him. Now the idiot jeapordized the entire mission. Sieg ran to the open street, his crew already slowly surrounding the fallen figure of the Ripper.


"Thatsa how you get something done!" He laughed and gave a thumbs up to his crew. "Good shotsa, Eagle Eye."


He nudged past the team and kicked the Ripper. There was no response. The Ripper's physique was not even half as large as his own; now that he lay there face down, he was no more a legend than the nearest killer. Just dead as a doorknob.


As he approached the body, he drew his weapon, aiming at the Ripper's head and fired his gun. Emptied all his rounds too, just in case.


There was a stale silence in the air as Sieg kicked the body up, each pair of eyes stared in anticipation for the face of the infamous Ripper.


"Eh... Boss?" One of the assassins spoke, breaking the silence.


"What?"


"I think you killed Bill."


Clair was already searching the area, clenching her fists in anger. Who the hell do they think they are? Who do they think they are dealing with? A quick scream was heard from the top of the building nearby, and a figure was seen falling off.


"I think that was Eagle Eye too, boss!"


"Shut up. I can see that for myself, can't I?" Sieg shouted back as he drew his patented Siege missile launcher and fired at the building, before Clair could protest. The large missile whistled towards building, causing a large explosion that created a huge deafening explosion and a growing cloud of dust.


All the assassins scrambled for their weapons and primed the assortment of killing tools in the general direction of the smoke. They stared at the smoke with strained eyes silently, waiting. How could anyone survive that?


Tearing out of the billowing dust cloud, an object glimmered as it ascended into the night sky. Like a silver-winged swallow, it sailed through the sky in a high-flying arc as the stunned assassins watched below, mesmerized by the bizzare sight. The object paused in mid-air, as if undecided on its next action, before deciding to dive gracefully towards the gathered hitmen.


A soft thud was heard, before the assassins realised that the silver swallow was a blade which impaled the skull of a now-dead Raider Assassin, and anchoring the corpse into the ground. Angry red blood flowed down the sheer, slick blade.


Without warning, a shadow fell materialized from above. It landed onto the hilt of the upright sword, forcing the blade further into the ground. It crouched there on one foot, perfectly balanced. As the assassins reared back, the elevated Ripper looked up and smiled.


An intense feeling of dread filled Clair's heart as she lunged aside.


The Ripper spun in a swirl of silver. A fan of thin needles emanated from the whirling figure, as it struck flesh and shredded clothes.


The yelps and cries was quickly replaced by a puzzled silence as those struck by the needles plucked the needles from their flesh; the needles had not hit deep enough to cause any real damage. Many glanced at each other in relief, grinning.


Clair emerged from her cover and picked up a needle, scrutinizing. She gasped as traces of yellow liquid seeped onto her gloved finger. Venom! The Ripper seems to be a Poison Assassin. She glanced up, in time to witness bodies tumbling to the ground, gasping and flailing in a desperate dance of death. She turned to the Ripper as he extracted his katana from the ground and the corpse.


Clair closed her eyes, concentrating. Her focus gathered at her fingertips, gathering intensity, surging and swirling like superheated lava. Struggling to maintain control, she lifted her hand, and oozed the power out of her tingling fingertips, slowly entwining around the Ripper, seductively and firmly caressing him. The Ripper paused, puzzled at first, before succumbing to its enticing touch with a slight sigh. Clair smiled.


The Ripper was now hers.


Nearby, Sieg roared and launched his four hundred and fifty pound body at the Ripper, breaking Clair's concentration. The Ripper, still entranced, received the full onslaught of the attack. His body propelled through the air before slamming into a cracking concrete wall and flopping to the floor.


Sieg strolled towards the Ripper's limp body, arrogance brimming. Clair knew what he was thinking. He is The Man Who Took Down The Ripper, when all he did was zilch. Clair's eyes flared with distinct scorn.


Fervid anger rippled through her as she felt the power undulating towards her fingertips. This time, instead of letting the Power ooze out, she forced it out violently, striking Sieg with vehemence unparalleled. A deafening cry resonated through the streets as the Tanker Assassin fell to his knees hands grasping his crown.


Clair walked past nonchalantly, ignoring his desperate plea for relief. She glanced down, eyebrow raised.


"Migraine?" She asked with false concern in her voice.


"Hmm... Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?"


Clair looked up, finding herself looking at the Ripper standing up and dusting himself off, as if nothing happened.She narrowed her eyes, feeling the ebb and flow of the Power. She slowly nurtured the flow, when pangs of sharp pain began to spread rapidly from her thigh. Bewildered, she peered at her limb, considering the needle that was embedded into her shoulder before collapsing to the ground.


The Ripper knelt beside her, scratching his head. "You know, that's a pretty new trick you got there," he says as he drew a handgun, "So, it is true then. People like you do exist. Interesting."


Clair struggled to move her paralysed legs, to no avail. She looked into the cold, dark eyes of the Ripper. Would he shoot her point blank? Panic gripped her as she began to lose control of her neck and arms.


"Why are you here?" She sneered, ignoring her thoughts and the creeping paralysis.


"Why, to meet people like you, of course." He said simply, as he pulled back the slide barrel. "Now, if you will excuse me, there are some people who just cant get enough of me that I have to attend to."


Right on cue, Clair spotted a brief flitting image at the corner of her eye. Stealth Assassins! She turned back to find that the Ripper had vanished.


Seems like the real battle is about to start.


~


Jack ran with all his might, his footsteps echoing loudly through the quiet streets. His eyes looked ahead as he took quick mental notes of where the Stealth Assassins may be lying in ambush. He clutched his side and gritted his teeth, knowing full well that even in his present condition his speed was still faster than your average assassin.


Running away was not only the best option, it was his only option. An upfront battle, through stealth or otherwise, with that many Stealth Assassins is tantamount to suicide. Running will force the Stealth Assassins to give chase, eliminating their greatest weapon, the element of surprise. Even when chasing a target down, the typical Stealth Assassin would still maintain the concealment, slowing the assassin down. He was going to have to use his lead while it lasted.


His sprint lead him across Yorkland's ancient skyscrapers, and Jack sighted a familiar turn by one of them. Breathing evenly, he observed each structure as he passed each of them, like a connoiseur judging the best piece of art. Then he saw it. Its height was perfect; short enough to reach the roof in time, high enough to provide sufficient cover.


A small drop of water hit the ground, its soft sound rang distinctly to the Jack's sharp ears. It wasn't rain, or a leaking pipe from abandoned buildings. Sounded a lot like a drop of sweat. Seems like the Stealth Assassins are catching up quick. Without hesitation, he leaped onto the building, his hands instinctively finding handholds, his legs dangling underneath.


With the precision of an expert rock-wall climber, he swung himself up, his feet lodging onto the smallest cracks on the wall. His face tightened in concentration, yet a single drop of perspiration did not roll down his face. With unmatched agility, he swung, lifted and threw himself to the top.


~


From afar, unnoticed by the Ripper, Shark observed in silence. He had chased after the Ripper, foregoing any form of concealment that would slow him down in order to keep an eye on the Ripper. He was too far to be noticed anyway.


He was utterly fascinated. Never would he have thought the Ripper would think of escaping. It was not a bad, albeit useless, idea. Relying on his superior speed, he has created significant distance between himself and his pursuers. But to what purpose? Stealth Assassins are trained to track a target for months, even years, and even the Ripper is bound to tire sometime.


There he watched as the Ripper stopped at an odd V-shaped building, considering it, before scaling the building like a monkey on steroids. What was this man thinking? How would climbing a building prevent the eventual onslaught of Stealth Assassins in every direction?


As the Ripper reached the top, he whipped out an outlandish handgun. Shark tried his best to make out what sort. The handgun was bulky and longish, with an unusually large scope attached to the top. The way the Ripper gripped it suggested that the handgun was extraordinarily heavy, which was kind of contradictory to the basic premise of a handgun. Curiouser and curiouser.


Without warning, the Ripper fired. Shark widened his eyes in shock. The Ripper took a short breath before firing, repeatedly this time. Between each shot, he altered his aim slightly, one arm directing the tremendous recoil towards another target. Not a single movement was a wasted motion as the Ripper fired shot after shot.


The sound of each shot reverberated and echoed as the Ripper opened a catch to release the magazine and subsequently reloading the handgun. Shark turned his eyes towards the street, in time to notice multiple bodies, some shot in the chest and most, in the head, emerging from the shadows, and falling from height. Screams of pain punctuated the gruesome scene before it subsided into an uneasy silence.


Stealth Assassins, renown and feared. Many a target did not even know they had died when hunted by them. Silent as the night and unnoticed by the devil himself. Yet a singular man stood there, calmly picking them off as if they were target practice, by a handgun no less.


Shark smiled, amused, from the comfort of his hiding place. This Ripper seemed like a worthy foe indeed. He watched the Ripper stand there, still holding onto the strange handgun. Watching. Listening.


Satisfied, the Ripper shoved the handgun into the holster at his side. He grinned widely, as he turned to Shark and waved.


Shark's smile quickly disappeared.


~


Jack lowered his shoulders, panting. He used his sleeve to wipe some blood from his eyes. Was it his blood? Perhaps. As his vision cleared, he saw bodies of assassins strewn around. How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred?


His right hand clenched around the grip of his Hummingbird autopistol. It was a powerful firearm, too powerful for most. It fires a startling number of bullets in a short time, making this a difficult weapon to control. Jack smiled briefly, remembering the months he took to tame this wild beast.


His left hand gripped on to his trusty katana, its silvery red surface angled to the ground, a quiet but compelling warning to any who gets too close. A warning that most of the assassins that surrounded Jack took. They surrounded him, but none dared get too close, for fear of a quick death.


Jack laughed silently to himself. If only they knew, they would be rushing in like vultures on a carcass. His Hummingbird was low in ammo, and his SHLEP was empty. He had acquired two broken ribs, an elbow dislocation and creeping weariness. Even his years of training to push past pain would not be able to maintain his facade for long. Mentally, doubts had already creeped in for undertaking this fool's errand.


Then he heard clapping. Jacks eyes looked up searchingly, bewildered by the enthusiastic applause of one. Surely he had heard wrong, probably took too many hits to the head. Apparently, the other assassins also heard this delusion and started to draw away, forming a neat path to the source of the noise. Jack looked around, stunned.


They were afraid, no terrified, as the lone figure started to proceed closer. They backed away, and fled, leaving the street empty, except for Jack and the approaching figure. Jack squinted then gasped.


The figure was merely a boy, no older than thirteen years. He was clad in a simple T-shirt and white sweat pants and a piece of paper fluttered between his fingers. His mouth was upturned in a joyless smile as he clapped loudly, as if he was cheering for a favourite team that won.


"What an impressive performance. I didn't expect anything less from my hero. How many had you killed so far? A thousand? Ten thousand?" His voice was juvenile and high-pitched giving proof to his age.


Jack narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong with this child. The child was thin, yet the way he walked betrayed power. As he clapped, Jack noticed the muscles moving in the a different pattern each time, as if the boy's body could not decide where the muscles should move. Worse still, Jack saw madness in the boy's eyes.


"Nothing to say? I'm disappointed. I really did want to meet you. Say would you sign an autograph for me?" Without warning, the boy kicked the ground to close the distance between Jack and him in an instant.


"Pleeease?"


Jack nearly backed away at the sudden movement. He caught himself, and smiled a wary smile. Right here was a dangerous child, standing so close to him that Jack could smell him. Johnson's shampoo for children.


"Sure." He replied as he pressed a bloody thumb onto the outstretched piece of paper.


"You didn't run," the boy said excitedly, "As expected from the Ripper."


Jack saw the boy's foot twitch, and reacted, in time to avoid a punch from the boy. Jack's eyes widened at the near miss. The boy's punching hand immeadiately went to the ground as his legs spun forward in a sudden lunge of his nimble body.


Jack felt his skull crack under the immense force of the kick. Instinctively, he leaped backwards to lessen the blow and yet pain resonated through every cell of his head. He collapsed to the ground, almost blacking out.


"Aww. You didn't avoid that? Cummon, I thought you would be more of a challenge than that."


Jack got up slowly, his head pounding mercilessly. Why was the boy talking instead of rushing in to take control of the fight? Arrogance? Or perhaps to give him a fighting chance? To extend the fight?


Feet light as a feather, the boy dashed towards Jack, his whole body propelling towards the fight. Jack barely managed to jumped clear and swung his katana to try to force the boy back as he would surely attack again without pause.


The boys did not fall back and swung anyway, his fist meeting steel. Jack braced for the expected splatter of blood and the painful cry of his opponent.


Neither came. Jack instead felt his blade rebound backwards, the unexpected force of it made him lose his balance as he crashed to the ground. He looked up, astonished.


There was the boy examining his hand, without even a scratch blemishing his skin. The boy shrugged and stared down at Jack pityingly.


Jack closed his eyes. Excruciating pain rained down on him as he felt the world fold to darkness.


~

The putrid stench was the first thing that Jack noticed when he woke up. There was no direct source of light, but the vague light from the corridors gave Jack a rough sketch of where he was. He looked around and saw a bunch of rats crowding around a plate of, presumably, his dinner.


Jack quickly examined his surroundings. He walked along the sides of his cell, carefully tapping the walls as he went. The rusty metal bars that blocked his escape was, while obviously not well maintained, unfortunately were thick and impossible to destroy through brute strength. His katana would have made short work of it though. The cell was well secured and deserted.


Deserted! A pang of shock hit him as he realised that his risking of everything had come to naught. Panic started to seep in as he tried to reach for his katana for comfort, but in the end only grasping air. He sighed.


A slight movement in the corner of the cell brought him sharply to his senses.


"Who is that?" Jack shouted, brushing aside his despair. There was hope. He walked slowly towards the corner, his vision was slowly getting used to the darkness. He could faintly make out a figure, curled up like a ball.


"I..." The stranger tried to speak, but coughed on his first words. He obviously hasn't spoken in a long time. Clearing his throat, he tried again.


"My name is... Gem Eye." He said his name with a touch of contempt.


Jack smiled. At last, he had found him. He was finally in touch with the man he spent the last decade searching for.


"I'm Jack. I don't have much time here, I need you to tell me your secrets now. No tricks, Gem Eye, I have wasted enough time searching for you to know when you are trying something."


"My name... is Gem... Eye."


Jack fell silent. Had Gem Eye broken down in the confines of this cell? Jack quickly changed tactics and went softer on him.


"My name is Jack. You know who I am?"


"Y... Yes."


"Good. Tell me what happened to you?"


"I can't... Sorry."


Jack wiped his sweat of his brow in frustration. This was really going nowhere.


"Look. Let me draw out the picture for you. You tell me whether I'm on the right track or not."


"K... 'Kay."


"You were a fighter. A promising fighter."


"Yes... I was."


"You were attacked by Fox."


"Yes."


"You were a promising fighter, but you aren't even close to Fox's standard. He should have had your head on a platter. But you killed him. His body was found in bits and pieces. You couldn't have done it better with a scapel and tons of dynamite."


Gem Eye leaned forward, his eyes pleading Jack to stop. Jack looked back, eyes imbued with steel. Bowing his head in resignation, Gem Eye replied.


"Yes."


"How?"


Gem Eye's neck spasmed as Jack's question echoed through the cell.


"How?" Jack said again.


Gem Eye looked up again, pleading, begging Jack to stop his questions.


"HOW! TELL ME HOW YOU DID IT?"


Gem Eye cringed at Jack's outburst.


"Gem can't tell you why."


Jack blinked, uneasy by the change of tone. "And why is that?"


"Because Eye did it." Gem Eye rose suddenly, his brown eyes no longer vulnerable, but were now blue, cold and spiteful. Jack stepped back, unsure of how to react.


"Are you afraid? YOU? THE RIPPER?" He burst out laughing as he strutted around the cell.


"Who are you?" Jack said.


"Eye am Eye. I thought you were the one with all the research and time, wouldn't you know that Gem Eye never existed till recent developments?"


"Ex... Explain yourself."


Eye burst out laughing at Jack's stutter.


"Better watch that stutter, anymore of that and you'll be just like my b... b... brother."


Jack stared at him in shock. He did come across files that Gem did initially have a twin brother, but his brother was not traceable and presumed dead for many years.


"Eye am the most powerful psychic of all time, and you, like a bumbling fool, put yourself within my grip. I see through you, Jack, and I see your fear. You're addicted and afraid, aren't you? Fearless Ripper."


"No, I am not." Jack raised an eyebrow, uncertain.


"Yes you are." His tone dropped monotonous. "You are nothing more than an addiction to killing, and you hate it. You hate it so much, yet so addicted that you hope that maybe if you kill enough, you can finally stop." He stopped, waiting a response.


When no response came, he continued. "Or perhaps you even enjoy it. You enjoy the thrill of the hunt, the superiority of the predator, don't you? You enjoy it so much that it hurts from the pleasure."


He began to sing a song with a haunting tune, all the while staring at Jack with a smirk on his face.


"Kill one man, you are a murderer."


Jack blinked. Images from decades gone rose like a torrential wind.


"Kill ten men, you are a monster."


Emptiness begin to fill him up as he saw past happiness, gone forever, like a burnt out candle.


"Kill a hundred men, you are a hero."


Pain of sorrows past swelled within him. Tears flowed from the depths of his soul onto the dusty floor of the cell.


"Kill a thousand men, you are a conqueror."


Faces. Oh, so many faces. Of people whom he had murdered. Of people whom he killed. How had he remembered every one of them?


Kill all. For it makes you God."


Jack fell to his knees, weeping. Eye saw right through his soul, and toyed with his mind, drawing out his fears and pains and shoving it into his face casually.


"Please stop..." Jack cried.


"OR WHAT? You gonna go ninja on me?" Eye laughed. "My body is no longer that wimpy sickly shell, now that I have joined with my brother, I have energy, I have strength, and I am definitely more than a match for the likes of you, Jack."


"Stop..." Jack felt his head getting heavier and heavier as Eye continuously ransacked his mind.


"STOP!" Jack shouted, anger forcefully closing his mind and his outburst threw Eye off guard. Jack sprang to his feet and threw a punch into Eye's face.


Eye staggered back, recoiling from the impact. He was obviously not used to getting punched as he clutched his face in shock.


"You hit me!"


Jack stared down at him, fury brimming. "Want to see what I want to do next?"


Eye quivered and bowed his head down, still clutching his face. When he finally looked up, his eyes were once again brown.


"I... I see you met my brother," Gem said, laughing as he rubbed his cheek.


"You think?" Jack replied sharply, his temper still blistering.


"Yes, I do. Now th... that he had his power trip, he will be out of commission for the next... week or so? You said that you need answers, and I have them for you."


Jack smiled, and for the first time for the day, let his guard down as he discussed with Gem what happened that faithful night. Though somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered how things were going with the rest of the team, now that he was gone.


~

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