Fatal Performance

Sharyukin is on mission that requires him to do something no man should, and yet he has no choice in the matter, for not completing it means becoming something worse than death.

Exiting headquarters, Sharyukin turns right and walks down a short alleyway before reaching Main Street. Opposite he sees the Tigris Mountains reaching up into the night sky, and beyond, the mists, the barrier that concealed Essu Akkad, or locked everyone in depending on their point of view.

He could see the side of the mountain illuminated by the lights emanating from The Steppe. He remembered living there, surviving on begging, the only certainty the roof over his head.

Turning left onto Main Street, Sharyukin sticks to the shadows as he continues to the eastern city business district, his cowl concealing his mask in an even deeper gloom. After half an hour of walking and twisting through side streets, he sees the warehouse. He enters the building opposite. It's close enough that he is able to cross over onto the roof and make his way into the building from the top.

Pausing to listen for movement, and hearing nothing, he moves on down the stairwell, carefully keeping his own footfalls silent. There is barely any light, but the mask compensates for this.

Finally he reaches the second floor and hears signs of life. He stills and concentrates, holding his breath and slowing his heartbeat. He can hear the heartbeats of twenty other people spread throughout the level. Only two of those are his targets, his Dagilu. Only two of them must die. This meant evading eighteen other people, each one probably armed and possessing combat experience.

He wonders for a moment if he'll be able to incapacitate them all without killing anyone. Though difficult, he believes he can do this.

Picking the closest target, he surges forward, trips the guard backward before delivering a calculated blow to the chest. The guard slumps, but Sharyukin is already engaging the next one. This one sees him and tries to call out, however a quick sideswipe to the throat renders the man mute.

The terrified look in the man's eyes barely flusters Sharyukin as he delivers a sharp blow to the head. Two down, sixteen more to go.

His next target is a few meters further down a bare passageway, offering no means of concealment. Bending low, he angles toward the man, and pushes forward in a burst of speed. The guard only has time to notice a dark blur surging toward him before he is knocked unconscious.

Pausing to listen once more, he hears three guards clustered around the next corner. He will have to employ a more brutal approach here.

Slinking forward, back to the wall, Sharyukin nears the end of the passageway and stills. He can hear their soft conversation, idle talk among the bored. They seem sluggish to Sharyukin, perhaps exhausted. Their guard is down. This is their mistake.

Beginning his attack from below, Sharyukin skips right into the center of the group. He gives three short wraps to their noses while spinning. This is enough to drop two of them, however the third guard is more alert than anticipated, and manages to back away fractionally at the last minute, avoiding a blow that would have put him to sleep.

He draws a pistol, but Sharyukin is quick to disarm him, and the gun drops to the floor, distracting the guard and allowing Sharyukin to finish him off.

Taking a deep calming breath, Sharyukin locates the remaining guards, and one by one, takes them out. He can't afford to have his final performance interrupted. The last thing they see before darkness takes them is a phantom wearing a mask of despair.

The warehouse is silent. Sharyukin hears the final two heartbeats in the room just ahead. They are already aware of him, so a surprise attack is out of the question.

He cannot tell where they are located inside the room. Just barging in won't work. All the same, they would not escape.

Straightening, he walks toward the door and opens it slowly. Before he enters, his eyes scan the room. He sees his mother first, and his control crumbles. She hasn’t changed since he last saw her. Still tall, still slim, her presence still overwhelming. She is standing by an open window, and the night wind ruffles her long dark hair. Her gaze to the outside world never falters.

A shadow flickers in the corner of his vision and Sharyukin springs forward, somersaulting over the blade that would have severed him in two. The gundagger is already facing his opponent when he lands. He squeezes the trigger, and hears his attacker grunt. However it is not a death blow. Hearing quick, soft footfalls behind him, Sharyukin ducks, then flips into a backward handstand, extending his foot outward to connect with his mother’s belly. The air whooshes from her and she tumbles backward.

Still braced on his hands, Sharyukin twists to deliver a kick to his father, who has recovered somewhat, and is trying to strike him with the sword. The man falls away and Sharyukin straightens once more.

For the first time in years, he sees his father. He too hasn’t aged much, though his hair has silvered. The impact of seeing him does not affect him as much as his mother did.

Sharyukin’s father pushes up from the floor and eases toward his mother. The two of them stare at him, at the mask he wears. He can see the fear in their eyes, yet they both stand prepared for another assault.

"This is a surprise," his mother laughs breathlessly.

Her voice jolts Sharyukin. For a moment he wonders why he's about to kill her when she, they, are alive, and he is able to see their faces.

A tiny crack forms in the mask, audible only to him. It is enough to focus his mind again. Deep down he is loath to do this. Yet he would suffer a worse fate if he stopped now. The mask would never come off again, and he’d become a reaper. Uncontrollable. Deadly.

Fate had chosen him for this task.

Sharyukin's face feels damp beneath the mask, and he realizes he is crying. He is doing something unspeakable, and he cannot stop.

The crack elongates. A word slips out if his mouth before he can stop himself.

"Why?"

The man and woman look at each other in confusion, and Sharyukin understands why. He has broken a cardinal rule. An Akilu Isparutu assassin does not speak.

Before they can answer, Sharyukin rushes forward, extends the gundagger and fires a shot. Both of his targets duck and jump to the sides just as Sharyukin reaches them. The wall is ahead of him and he continues, moving his arm to the right and firing off another shot, rushing the wall and vaulting off it to his left. His earlier aim is true and he hears his mother cry out. The sound squeezes his heart like a vice, but he continues, his father in his sights.

There is nowhere else for the man to run. He has run himself into a corner. Sharyukin sees the resignation in his father's eyes and he cries out to him as his left hand thrusts forward, the Stab's deadly point aimed at the heart. The blade plunges in, the slick sound horrible to Sharyukin's ears.

"Shar..." his father gasps. He raises his hand toward Sharyukin's face, however the life leaves him quickly, and his hand drops to his side.

"Why?" Sharyukin whispers.

"How ironic," he hears his mother say. He turns slowly and finds her on the floor, hand clutched to her abdomen, blood oozing between her fingers.

Tears slide down her face, yet she smiles at Sharyukin.

"I'm glad it was you."

Sharyukin remains silent. He cannot compromise himself further. The crack in the mask signified corruption. He starts toward her, the gundagger leveled at her head.

"Do you remember the knoll on the western shore, where your father used to take us?" She asks him.

He doesn't stop. He is almost there. He is almost done.

"After the end of the Jade Gate uprising, I'd sneak away from your father and go there. I could always voice my fears and desires among those trees."

Finally reaching her, he touches the tip of the gundagger to her head. The memories flood him. The laughter, the picnic basket his mother would pack filled with all his favorites. The way his parents would look at him, with joy in their eyes, when he mimicked a play he had recently seen.

"You stole from me," he says to her.

"Ah, we did. We stole your childhood; we stole our love from you. It is our greatest regret."

Her eyes begin to dim.

"I'm so proud of you. You seem to have found a good family. No matter what happens here, don't lose faith in them."

Sharyukin does not close his eyes, does not flinch, as he squeezes the trigger.

His mother slumps to the ground, and Sharyukin turns away. Already the mask is beginning to dissolve in a blue light, crumbling into nothingness from the bottom up.

A minute later his face is exposed to the night air, cooling his swollen eyes. He is cried out. Despair has visited him. Questions plague him.

He makes his way to the knoll, knowing there would be answers hidden there.