The Story of Blood and Roses

I always wondered why Jacob hadn't been mad when I told him that I had murdered his father in cold blood. I had thought about it until I had almost lost polishing my new found love—the shining blade.

He had always been fond of his father, despite the old chief's lukewarm attitude towards him. The Ol' Chief had been prouder of me than he had ever been of Jacob. He never failed to tell me that I had far exceeded everyone's expectations. The uncertainty nagged at me when I was younger, I had considered that he resented me for being the apple of his father's eye. When I had approached him with the same inquiry, he had laughed it off and had informed me that he would rather not raise the bars. Expectations broke easily and they lead to adverse consequences, he had told me. He had been a bloodied wise kid.

"I am a soldier," I remembered him telling me, "not a leader. You are better at handling mind games." His words had echoed in my ears.

As I spent more time around Jacob and saw him function as the head of the organization, I realized that he really did believe that he was incapable of leading and instigating his employees.

No, he was not free from ambition, quite the opposite, actually. He hadn't acted on his ambition, but neither had he let anyone on about its existence. Despite being apprehensive about taking over, he seemed to welcome the title of 'chief,' wearing it as a badge of honor.

Not for a single moment did I doubt his love for me. He loved me with all his heart, but Jacob Hunt was not as noble as he thought he was.

He used me as a shield to hide the changes he was making in the organization. Anyone who saw me would associate me with his pride and the strength of the organization. After the unfortunate death of his father at my hands, most agents believed that it would be a matter of time before the organization was in shambles, but Jacob played on their emotions and used their awe of me to keep them back, reassuring them and giving them hope that the business would grow bigger than ever before. His calm demeanor and my lethal temperament bound the rest of the flock in.

His ideas were radical. He divided the classes into teams, training them as a unit like he had intended for the group of hooligans. He introduced what he called "refresher courses" to keep the agents up to date with the latest technology and information on the crime scene of the world. He nurtured each and every member, tutored them so that he could easily bend them to his will. He did it all with a commanding voice and a smile that could win over hearts. They looked up to him as the just employer.

It had taken me a few months to come to the conclusion that Jacob Hunt was a devious bastard.

Going undercover was not in the cards for me. My experience in the field, though extremely exciting, wasn't worth the trouble. The number of times my life was threatened in such situations made me want to reconsider taking back my job in the organization. I hated being a sniper, too. I wasn't impatient, but I found no thrill in waiting for my target all day long to get a clear shot. There was no anticipation, no adrenaline rush when the trigger was pulled. It was too far away from the action, for me to enjoy it. So I had turned to fast hits. I compiled information, formed a plan and then executed it as soon as the opportunity arose. I had no time to be obsessed with just one situation, the other arose instantly. The fun part was that I could see my target dying. Shooting at an inanimate target could keep me happy for so long, right? It was the only way I could let out all the pent out anger and resentment.

He used my inclination to his benefit and formed another plan out of it. He thought I was a good teacher (albeit a really strict and unconventional one); I was supposed to take practical classes where I would question targets, murder them or have to cut them up for one cause or another.

"I have a new assignment for you," he said as soon as I entered the room. I gave a once over to the room, still fascinated by the change in the appearance in the room. A year did not make it easy to accept the change in the Chief's room. The whitewashed walls have been painted in masculine tones, and the overall mood of the room had changed from cold to professional and inviting.

I gave him a level stare before sitting right across from him. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and his chin on his fisted knuckles. A smile played across his lips.

"Hello, Chief," I greeted. "How are you doing this morning? I thought we were going to discuss the financial fronts today," I teased, light-heartedly.

"We always do that," he replied, dismissively. "Aren't you excited to find out who you are going to take out this time?" the conspiratorial tone almost ignited my curiosity.

"I've killed over forty people over the past year," I exclaimed. "Have you heard the news lately? The law enforcement has divided opinions about me: some think I am a hero, others think I am a serial killer with a penchant for murdering criminals." I sigh. "The name doesn't really matter anymore. It's become somewhat of a routine," I shrugged. I liked challenges in fair amounts. If things got boring, I would have to find another way to get my adrenaline rushing. I wondered if the assignment Jacob had for me would bring about the necessary change.

"The disposal team does a good job, Marie."