The Assassin

The Assassin pulls her sword from its sheath. She runs her finger along the blade to test its sharpness—crimson blood spills from her thumb. She grips the hilt and twists the sword around in her hands. Moonlight bounces off of the bright metal. The blade was a one-of-one. A katana explicitly made for her father. It was funny. Her father thought it was a sword made for him to use. Years later, the assassin knows the bladesmith made the sword that would kill him.    

Sayaka walked the New York City streets silently like she wasn’t making any steps at all, like a snake stalking her prey. Her serpent eyes watched her target turn down an alleyway. She usually would expect payment for her services, but this one was free. Sayaka had made a tremendous amount of money from disposing of the former enemies of businessmen and aristocrats. None could escape the assassin's grasp, whether they were political leaders, career criminals, or fellow hitmen. Sayaka turned the corner and hastened her steps. Her gaze locked on the midnight blue of the man’s suit. She was at her most dangerous when she was like this, the moon could fall to earth at this very moment, and Sayaka would pay it no mind. All that mattered was the kill. 

She now stands right behind the man. She’s no longer just the assassin. She’s become a predator ready to strike. The blade whizzed through the air, but the man ducked at the last minute. Did he just react in time? No, he must’ve known she was there. He punches, but Sayaka drops to the ground and sweeps his legs. The man falls onto his back, and the assassin pounces on him driving her sword deep into his chest. The man starts to scream, but Sayaka covers his mouth, silencing him. Teeth break the skin on her palm. However, she grits her own teeth and fights through the pain. Sayaka reaches into her back pocket, brandishes a knife, and in one swift motion, severs the man’s throat. Blood gushes from the wound before petering out. 

Sayaka rises and stands over her fallen prey. She pulls the sword out of his chest and sheaths it once more—another victory for the assassin. One more job left, and that’s to kill her father. 

Sayaka enters her small, sparsely decorated apartment. She was never someone who enjoyed extravagant displays of wealth, and besides any art, tapestries or plants in her home would be a distraction from her primary goal. She opens her fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine, the only distraction she would allow. Without considering pulling out a cup, she opens the bottle and begins to drink. Sayaka has a drinking problem, a habit she picked up from the man who killed her mother and left her stranded while he went to live a happy life on the other side of the world. Back then, she was just a hatchling, stupid enough to think that the kingpin or a drug trafficking organization would be a good father. Now she knew better. Now, the legend of the assassin that’s eliminated more than 400 men has spread far and wide. With an impressive kill count like that, they’re always expecting an older man over 200 pounds, and they’re surprised when they’re met with lightweight nineteen-year-old Sayaka. She walks around the apartment, allowing a waterfall of wine to flow into her. Even when tipsy, her steps are silent. 

She enters her bathroom and looks into the mirror. Would her mother be proud of the woman she’s become? Probably not, but she’ll never know for sure. He took that away from her. The woman Sayaka has grown up to be is the result of learning a hard lesson. Some people deserve to die. Ordinary people walk around with compassion in their hearts, naively believing that everyone deserves a chance at life. Sayaka knew the truth. Someone must deliver death to those who deserve it but evade it anyway. That is the cause she gave her life over to, but now it's come to an end. She’s tracked down the one man who deserves it the most. First, she eliminated his old business partners. Next, she’ll come for him.

“It will be over soon.” She whispers to no one. 

Four men carry Daisuki’s coffin to his final resting place in the rain. Very few people had arrived for the ceremony. Only a couple of coworkers, his wife, and an old friend had shown up. Droplets of rain masked the tears falling down their faces. The men moved slowly to avoid slipping in the mud. They stop and lay the coffin down above the pit. The priest begins to speak, but Daisuki’s old friend isn’t listening.  Hibiki Kato had been bawling his eyes out.  He stood silently as the priest said his piece. He knew that what he wanted to do was scream and punch his fist through a wall—anything to unleash the anger he had built up inside of himself. Hibiki was shocked that a man he had just gotten eaten dinner with a week before was now lying dead in a coffin. Despite not being the perpetrator himself, Hibiki couldn’t help but think that this was his fault. He and Daisuki had come to America together to escape their old life, and it seemed to have followed them here. Who else would have to murder a man like Daisuki? Back home, he was involved in a criminal enterprise, but here he was, a loving husband and a good friend. The wails of Daisuki’s widow fill the open air. Hibiki looks away. He can’t face her. How could he? If Daisuki had never worked for him, he’d still be alive. It’s all too much. Hibiki can’t take it anymore. 

He turns around to leave, but someone catches his eye in the back of the crowd. It’s Hibiki’s own wife. He walks towards her, and the two lock eyes. He can’t help but let his tears flow once more. His wife wraps her arms around him, and he mourns in her embrace. 

“It’s not your fault.” She tells him. This does very little to appease him. He knows it isn’t true. He’s responsible for creating a widow. His family back home probably doesn’t even know. 

Later that night, Hibiki goes on a walk to clear his head. In times like this, he wishes he hadn’t given up drinking, but he knows he can’t go back to that. Hibiki sighs and turns a corner, oblivious to what is following him. He looks around and notices that the streets are surprisingly empty tonight. It is late, but still, he’s in the city that never sleeps. His heart begins to pound for no reason. A street lamp uneasily flickers before the light slips away, leaving Hibiki in the dark. A chill manifested in his upper back and slithered down his spine. He’s walked in New York before he’s seen these streets. There shouldn’t be anything to be afraid of, but despite this, he couldn’t stop his instincts from telling him to run, but he would do no such thing that would be ridiculous. 

There’s a crash in an alleyway, and Hibiki jumps. His head swivels to see what made the sound. Only to see a raccoon squirm its way out of a trash can. Hibiki laughs at himself; maybe it is time to go back. He’s too on edge.  The walk had done its job. All day he had been upset about Daisuki’s death. That’s a normal feeling to have, and he’s processing it. He was only on edge because of how his friend had died. 

A small knife darts through the air, narrowly missing Hibiki’s head. He doesn’t wait to see where it came from, he just starts to run, but it’s too late. Another knife strikes Hibiki in the shoulder. He falls to the ground. He grabs the knife and shuts his eyes to prepare himself for the pain. Hibiki yanks the blade from his shoulder and lets out a yell. His vision blurs, was there something on the knife? He stumbles to his feet. He tries to walk, but it’s like a baby deer taking its first steps. He’s sure of it now he’s been poisoned. He grabs a wall and uses it to guide him to his feet. 

Hibiki isn’t worried. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to kill him. They always failed. He’s no stranger to poison, either. At the opening of an alley, he sees his attacker—a small and slender form. The figure walks closer and comes into view. It’s a small girl.

“Who are you?” Hibiki croaks out. A fist slams into his jaw, knocking him onto the ground.

“You really don’t recognize me?” The girl picks him up by the shirt and looks him in the eyes. His vision finally consolidates, and he can finally see. The eyes, the lips, she does look familiar.

“Sara?” No, that’s stupid. Sara’s dead. His attacker cracks her head against his and drops him to the ground.

“Don’t say her name!” The girl unsheaths a katana with a bright red hilt, and it all clicks. It’s his katana. Is he looking at his daughter? “Every time, you mangled her face, left her gasping for air, and you have the nerve to say her name?” 

“Listen, Sayaka.” He attempts to lift himself off the ground, but the assassin kicks him causing him to fall back down.

“Now you remember.”

“I’m different now. I’ve-” The girl jumps on top of him and punches him again.

“Changed? I know.” She punches him again. “Do you think I care?” and again. “That you remarried? That you’re sober? That you’re a good man now?” Hibiki can barely move. Sayaka drags his body and makes him sit up against the wall. She takes the sword and holds it to his neck. “My mother was a wonderful forgiving woman. She didn’t deserve to die, but she’s dead. You were an evil man who killed many innocent people, but you think you deserve to live a happy life? You don’t get to take back what you did, Hibiki. You left your own daughter to rot. Did you even care where I was? ” Hibiki can’t answer that, honestly. He didn’t want to think about where she was. She was a walking reminder of everything he was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are.” The sword cleaves through his neck, allowing blood to escape. There was no gurgling. There was no screaming. It was just over. 

    Sayaka wrapped the body of her final target in gauze with a determined look in her eyes. When she’s finished, she grabs a gasoline container and empties it onto him. She then throws a match onto the body, watching it burst into flames. This wasn’t about making sure she didn’t get caught. He simply didn’t deserve a proper burial. She looks at the burning corpse, and a single tear travels down her cheek. Then a smile creeps across her face. Her mouth opens, and laughter spills out. 

    Back at her apartment Sayaka looks into her bathroom mirror. Surely her mother would be proud of her now. As Sayaka looked at her reflection and looked into the snake's eyes staring back at her, she felt nothing but disgust. She’s not even proud of herself, but why? She’s finished the plan. He deserved to die. Her mind returned to the woman wailing at Daisiki’s funeral and Hibiki’s wife consoling him. 

    Her fist hurls through the air cracking the mirror. The shards fall into the sink bowl. 

    “NO!” She screams. She punches holes in her wall again and again. This is the only time she wishes she had decorated the apartment. She could use more things to break. She drops to her knees, tears falling from her eyes.
“He deserved it.” She says. “He deserved it.” She curls up in a fetal position, repeating the phrase. A phrase she’s not even convinced of anymore.