Livio (Razlo) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doublefangs) wrote2014-12-03 06:41 pm
doublefangs) wrote2014-12-03 06:41 pm
memory 3
Memory: EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE... (page 29-32)
Game: Day 111
Content: Deep, steady breaths. Empty your thoughts, focus on your breathing. It's almost time. You don't have to like this but it is necessary - the betrayer is on his way. He needs to die and you must focus on that, not the niggling sensation that says everything about this makes your stomach twist in knots. It would be simpler if he could just die, but making him suffer for his treason is important and that means being in this place and remembering -
"What's wrong? Your breathing is irregular."
You don't even realize someone's speaking to you immediately, snapping back to the present. Darkness, sitting on a couch. A worn down table in front of you, the only source of light from a nearby window. It's blinding and you don't look, don't turn to face the old man speaking to you, don't do anything but stare ahead. You can make out his features, barely, in your peripheral. Aged, exhausted with lines on his face and a disapproving frown.
You don't want to disappoint him so you lie, just a little.
"...Nothing. But I don't think he's the type to bite our bait so easily."
The traitor isn't stupid, doesn't make foolish mistakes. This isn't a good idea and you aren't convinced he will show. You wouldn't, if it was you.
At least, that's what you believe. It is a weakness; to care, to need, to love.
"Well, he's always been a half assed bastard. Unlike these guys," the man gestures and three figures approach on your left, crouching nearby, "who have sacrificed everything in order to gain the power to destroy everything, he could never make that final leap of faith."
The three are grotesque but you have grown used to that. Faceless, muscular figures in masks and leather, each carrying a cross bound as they are. The old man speaks again, a subtle scorn in his voice.
"For some reason, he could never be forced to harm his family. An assassin can't have such conflicting feelings because they shall eventually prove lethal to him in the end."
Ties that bind and hold us back. You wonder if it was a jab at not just the traitor, but yourself. You are only necessary because of Trip of Death. You wouldn't be here otherwise, you are not strong enough.
"When this job is over, we should return to the Eye of Michael's main headquarters. With the head of a traitor in our hands, they will welcome us with open arms."
Again, you stay quiet, listening as the old man asks for the three's opinions. They don't speak and his laughter grates. Eventually, you find your voice.
"I understand. Still, those guys," and now, your gaze travels to the window - outside a vast expanse of desert, with distant figures armed lurking outdoors, "seem completely useless." The old man assures you, and you can't help but protest - "But honestly, do we really need them? For this situation, don't you think the two of us are more than enough?"
They are weak and stupid, rash and thoughtless in their actions. You don't trust them, violence not contained and itching to lash out. The people here don't deserve that, but they don't deserve what you're doing, either.
"Those bastards outside don't have a chance in hell of beating him," he laughs again, easing into the couch. "Well, we'll see. Thanks to them, we've installed an alarm around the orphanage."
Your brow furrows, puzzled. "An... alarm?"
The memory ends before you get an explanation.
What it does: HAHAHA I AM ASSASSIN TRASH whatever.
Game: Day 111
Content: Deep, steady breaths. Empty your thoughts, focus on your breathing. It's almost time. You don't have to like this but it is necessary - the betrayer is on his way. He needs to die and you must focus on that, not the niggling sensation that says everything about this makes your stomach twist in knots. It would be simpler if he could just die, but making him suffer for his treason is important and that means being in this place and remembering -
"What's wrong? Your breathing is irregular."
You don't even realize someone's speaking to you immediately, snapping back to the present. Darkness, sitting on a couch. A worn down table in front of you, the only source of light from a nearby window. It's blinding and you don't look, don't turn to face the old man speaking to you, don't do anything but stare ahead. You can make out his features, barely, in your peripheral. Aged, exhausted with lines on his face and a disapproving frown.
You don't want to disappoint him so you lie, just a little.
"...Nothing. But I don't think he's the type to bite our bait so easily."
The traitor isn't stupid, doesn't make foolish mistakes. This isn't a good idea and you aren't convinced he will show. You wouldn't, if it was you.
At least, that's what you believe. It is a weakness; to care, to need, to love.
"Well, he's always been a half assed bastard. Unlike these guys," the man gestures and three figures approach on your left, crouching nearby, "who have sacrificed everything in order to gain the power to destroy everything, he could never make that final leap of faith."
The three are grotesque but you have grown used to that. Faceless, muscular figures in masks and leather, each carrying a cross bound as they are. The old man speaks again, a subtle scorn in his voice.
"For some reason, he could never be forced to harm his family. An assassin can't have such conflicting feelings because they shall eventually prove lethal to him in the end."
Ties that bind and hold us back. You wonder if it was a jab at not just the traitor, but yourself. You are only necessary because of Trip of Death. You wouldn't be here otherwise, you are not strong enough.
"When this job is over, we should return to the Eye of Michael's main headquarters. With the head of a traitor in our hands, they will welcome us with open arms."
Again, you stay quiet, listening as the old man asks for the three's opinions. They don't speak and his laughter grates. Eventually, you find your voice.
"I understand. Still, those guys," and now, your gaze travels to the window - outside a vast expanse of desert, with distant figures armed lurking outdoors, "seem completely useless." The old man assures you, and you can't help but protest - "But honestly, do we really need them? For this situation, don't you think the two of us are more than enough?"
They are weak and stupid, rash and thoughtless in their actions. You don't trust them, violence not contained and itching to lash out. The people here don't deserve that, but they don't deserve what you're doing, either.
"Those bastards outside don't have a chance in hell of beating him," he laughs again, easing into the couch. "Well, we'll see. Thanks to them, we've installed an alarm around the orphanage."
Your brow furrows, puzzled. "An... alarm?"
The memory ends before you get an explanation.
What it does: HAHAHA I AM ASSASSIN TRASH whatever.