My Past Life, as an Assassin

This is another long one, but it was very action-filled and exciting. I WAS someone else in this dream, and felt everything this person went through, I felt as if I knew their entire past and every thought they had seemed completely natural to me. It was almost as if I was remembering a past life somehow.

In the dream, I was an assassin. As a matter of fact, the only way my mind wants to portray "an assassin" is dressed as the main character from the popular video game, Assassin's Creed. So, I was in all white robes with weapons strapped all over me. And a hidden blade at my wrist.

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I was on a mission, which had no emotional effect on me whatsoever anymore, after all the murders I had committed for the greater good. It was just a job. But it was about to get personal.

The target was a high ranking member of the church who also held a respectable position for the state. He was a well-liked man, as far as I knew, but then again I never paid much attention to those things. High ranking officials (no matter how caring they seem) always end up in a body bag, their blood spilled by my blade. One person can not hold a position of power for too long, you see. They become corrupted.

I was in line waiting to have his blessing one Sunday. The churchgoers always lined up to have him kiss their forehead and recite a prayer for them. I was wearing my assassin outfit, so I'm not sure how they actually saw me, but the heavy crossbow on my back and sword at my side had to have made a few people blink, to say the least. No one seemed to notice though, so when I reached the High Priest (or Senator, however he preferred to be called) it seemed almost too easy. He would lean down, I would seem to put my hands on his chest when I was actually triggering the mechanism that holds my hidden blade to my wrist, and it would shoot forward, piercing his heart. My mind had already planned my escape route while waiting in line, so I began considering the angles my feet would be positioned in so that once the weight of his body fell on top of me, I could find my footing quickly and be out of sight before any guards could reach the scene.

When my turn was up, I took a step forward. The High Priest was the only person in front of me. He put his hands on my shoulders, arms stretched out, and smiled. "Ah, I know of you!" he said. I was intrigued. I tilted my head to the side questioningly, and he drew forward and leaned near me. Curiosity got the better of me. I would still my blade until he explained himself, but no longer. He gently kissed my forehead, and I was starting to get annoyed. I considered not even waiting for a response and just assuming it was a church thing. After all, how could anyone know me? I was a shadow. A trick of the wind. He now put his face beside mine and whispered in my ear, "I knew your parents... and your sister is still alive, you know. At least, she will be for a few more minutes. My men are knocking on her door as we speak."

My emotions, nonexistent for years, suddenly rushed forth with incredible rage. I released my blade and tore through his chest, all subtlety forgotten. Blood was streaming through the air like ribbons, celebrating freedom from his icy veins. As it splashed across my face, reality rushed back. I had a moment of panic, then focused clarity. It took only a second for my vision to target in on my escape route, each section of the path being shown to me as if my vision was zoomed in. I took a single deep breath, let it out, then began.

I casually shoved his body aside, allowing it to fall onto the person waiting in line behind me. As citizens started screaming, I started running.

This was always my favorite part of my job. Not the carefully plotted out murders and intricate details of who and how; not the idea of knowing that I walk freely among my targets-- and are even welcomed by them into their atmosphere-- just hours before their untimely demises. No, my favorite part is the escape. Because no matter how perfectly you execute your target, your mission is not complete until the moment you are truly free. When a guard will run right by you, even glance at you, and keep going. The thrill of the chase, of BEING chased, and waking up alive and refreshed the next morning. You see, at any moment during that chase, if you are caught, you are dead. Those guards are not ordered to "capture" you alive. They are ordered to kill on sight. Anyone caught still alive is just an extra bonus for the guard, a few more silver in his paycheck, and the following Friday morning the town has the pleasure of watching your tortured, raped body hang from the gallows. In rare cases, even beheaded. So when you wake up the next morning, free, the sky is a brighter blue. The grass a vibrant green. Even on rainy days, each drop of rain is like an angel's tear, its healing powers washing your soul. The laughter of the townsfolk permeates the air and the smell of the baker's shop hints of how wonderful every bite of that loaf will taste with breakfast. I could go on all day, describing the sweet taste of freedom. But I would rather not, because as it happens this story does not end quite so wonderfully. Not anytime soon, at least.

My vision zoomed out, and I felt as if I was watching myself move. I saw myself rush down an alley, dodging merchants and shoppers and ducking under a camel. I saw myself turn down one street, then another, with no visible patterns. I saw myself run towards a wall, leap at it, and scale it. I grasped the top of the building and kicked off the wall, launching myself at the building beside it. In midair I glanced downward and saw the guards running through the alley towards me. I landed on the outer railing of a balcony and swung myself over and slipped into the apartment. I moved quickly and silently. If anyone was home, they never knew I had been there. I went out their front door into a wide hallway, with open windows at either end. One tenant was carrying her laundry back into her apartment, and dropped her basket when she saw me, then started weeping as she struggled with her door handle while glancing at me every other second. I don't understand why people fear me when they see me... if I wanted them dead, they would never have had a chance. Then again, it was probably the High Priest's blood dripping down my chin that scared her. I ran down the hallway in the other direction, hearing her sobs turn to those of relief rather than panic. I paused at the window, glancing down the streets from behind the curtain, then saw my chance and stepped out onto the window sill.

I turned around and faced the building, then jumped straight up and grabbed ahold of the window on the floor above me, pulled myself up onto it, and repeated it again with the final window of the building. My next jump after that was to the roof, and as I pulled myself up I heard the familiar  sound of a blade being gently released from it's sheath. I stood only to find that a guard had been waiting for me. His blade was now aimed for my chest, a smug grin on his face. From the look of his tattered uniform I assumed he would attempt to capture me alive, clearly in need of any small amount of extra coin he could gather. I used this to my advantage. He may have thought to corner me unsuspecting on a rooftop, but he chose the wrong rooftop to do so. I held my hands out in front of me, and slowly began inching my way around the rooftop to the other side. My back never turned to the guard, and his blade was always just inches from my chest. He shouted at me to stand still or "face his wrath" (which I found laughable, even in the current situation). I paused for a moment, let him relax slightly, then continued our dance until I had my back to the far edge of the roof. I slowly backed up until my heels were on the very edge, then acted as if I was afraid to fall and glanced behind me down the side of the building. Certain I was positioned well, I regained full composure and stood up straight. I smiled at the guard, and tossed him a small bag of gold coins from my pocket, telling him to say hi to his wife from me. Winking, I took a step back and disappeared. The guard rushed to the edge of the building and glanced down, seeing a huge haystack beside a small stable with 3 camels and a horse chewing lazily. He stood on that rooftop for what must have been nearly an hour, staring blankly at that haystack. I could just imagine him glancing at the bag of gold in amazement, then back at the haystack in wonder. He could watch that haystack all day and never see me come out of it... because I was already long gone.

I can not reveal to you the secrets of my escape, but you have to admit it was quite impressive.

It began raining later that evening as I walked down an empty street toward what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. There was a loft apartment inside where I had grown up. My parents owned their own business, though it wasn't until years after their death, when I began learning the art of assassination, that I discovered my parents ran an underground safe house for people just like me, helping the greater good, with a textile mill as a cover. Knowing that made me work even harder to become the best at what I do. Three other people I trained with have already been beheaded, and at their own faults. If they would have just set their pride aside and took note of their mistakes and weaknesses and learned from them... But, I digress.

I had a sister. She was a few years younger than me, and my parents' pride and joy. She was amazingly responsible at her age, and was trusted with everything, and was even supposed to take over the business one day. Until my family was in a car crash, and at 12 years old I was the sole survivor... or so I thought. I had done some asking around in the neighborhood and discovered that a young woman had taken up residence in the warehouse loft many years ago, and hardly ever came out except to purchase massive amounts of groceries. It was believed that she was a hermit, and that she bought so many groceries at a time so that she could hole herself away for many months without having to come out. But I knew better. My parents must have told her their secret before the crash... but why had she not found me? Why had my teachers never told me that she had survived?

I had no need to pick the lock on the door, because it was already slightly ajar. I crept inside and was hit with a wave of emotion. I began having flashbacks of my sister and I chasing each other around the mill while cloth was being woven and dyed. I saw my mother setting the table for dinner one night, proud of the expensive meal she was able to prepare to celebrate my father's new business arrangements selling his goods. I had so many wonderful memories... why had I never remembered them till now? I held back tears... assassins do not cry. Tears in your eyes only obstruct your view and can mean the difference between life or death at any second. I took a deep breath and made my way to the loft.

The loft consisted of three rooms. A kitchen/living area, a bathroom, and a bedroom. The kitchen was destroyed. The cabinets had been torn apart, dishes shattered on the floor, the couch cushions ripped apart and the table on it's side. I readied my blade, then moved to the bedroom. It wasn't much better... the bed had blood spattered on it, a knife was sticking out of the wall, it's point buried in the wood. There was a bracelet on the floor, made from lettered beads that spelled my sisters name. She had been here... but where was the body? I went into the bathroom and found bloodstained rags and the remains of some bandaging... someone left here, wounded. I ran a finger around the sink bowl and it was still wet. The High Priest was telling the truth; this took place only a few hours earlier. When I glanced up into the mirror on the wall, I had half a second to notice the man standing behind me, a club in his raised hand. Before I could react, he brought it down swiftly and with a sharp burst of pain, I blacked out.

I awoke to find myself sprawled in the back of a large military van. I don't know how long it had been since I was knocked out. There were three men in the van, all in camouflage with large guns. One of them was driving, and we were speeding down a long highway. When the other two saw that I was awake, they rushed to my side to help me up, apologizing for having to knock me out. They began telling me about how there was an older man who was known to work for the High Priest, and he had been seen leaving the warehouse not an hour earlier with a bandage around his left shoulder and a large bundle in his arms. He had clearly been sent to kill my sister, who was a known ally to the underground rogue association, and it appears that he was successful. She had been targeted for discovering important details of a government plan that the High Priest was carrying out in an attempt to take complete control of the country as well as flushing out the association and murdering every member and their families. It's assumed that after years of working with assassins, she had gained enough knowledge to work her way into the High Priest's office and get the information she needed, however she was spotted leaving the office. She was able to report part of the plan, including expected meetings and the creation of something terrifying, but she turned up missing before she could attend the gathering at which she was to reveal exact details. The entire underground was in danger, and anyone in town they had any connection to. And without my sister, all would be lost and hundreds would die. Even with the High Priest dead, the plans had already been set into motion.

I discovered that these men were not military, but under cover. There was a vehicle behind us, driving backwards and still managing to keep up with our speed. It was a flatbed truck, with a large gun mounted in the center and aimed directly at us. There were three men in the back of the truck struggling over control of the gun. The man in the center was the older man that had killed my sister.

I had learned so much so fast that my mind could not handle it; my emotions could not be controlled. In a moment of anger I grabbed one of the guns from the men and shot at the old man. Guns were a new idea to me, but the rest of my weapons had been removed from me "for my own safety" but the gun seemed to be an easy enough concept to grasp. Aim the barrel and pull the trigger. Much like my crossbow, really. But with multiple shots available back to back, and reloading being as simple as changing a clip. I would definitely have to get me one of these. I managed to hit the old man's stomach, and saw him double over. The other men grabbed the gun with relief, and started to tie up the old man. Before they could, he smiled and shot a needle out of his mouth into the neck of one man, then in one fluid motion removed the needle and stabbed the other man in the leg. It was a very familiar tactic which I had used myself on occasion, and I was amazed to see the old man use it. The needle is stored on the roof of your mouth, with the tip set into a small hole drilled into the back of a tooth and filled in with a rubber cork. The tip of the needle is coated in a paralyzing poison, which takes effect after 5 seconds of entering the blood stream. The rubber cork acts as a waterproof barrier that keeps the assassin's saliva from dissolving it into their own body. It was very impressive technology, but what I didn't understand is how the old man came to know of it. It was only taught to the best of the best in the underground, and you had to work hard and defeat many challenges to achieve a high enough status to be taught such secrets.

It occurred to me then that the old man was once an assassin himself. I watched him lean over one of the bodies of the paralyzed men, whispering to him for several minutes, then he straightened himself up, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, and dialed. All I could do was watch. After a few words, he shut the phone, returned it to his pocket, and hobbled over to the gun. The bleeding from his stomach had slowed. He didn't have much blood left in his body; he would die soon. I positioned myself against the van's interior wall, so that when he started shooting at us, I would be less of a target. My mind was working for an escape route, for a plan, but my head was pounding from being knocked out as well as from all the new knowledge I had learned. The old man pulled a lever on the gun and surprisingly the gun appeared to crack in two, both sides falling to the truck bed to reveal a giant crossbow with a bright green cartridge in place of the arrow. He aimed carefully into the back of the truck, and with his last breath, pulled the trigger. As he collapsed, the green cartridge flew out of the crossbow and was aimed directly into the center of van. While in mid air, almost in slow motion, the cartridge seemed to morph. It grew larger and changed into the shape of a person, and by the time it landed in the van it was a woman, a few years younger than me, with very short dark brown hair, wearing her nightgown. It was my sister!

The driver threw on his brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop. The men jumped out of the van and into the back of the truck, which by this time had stopped a few feet behind us, to keep from crashing into us, the driving already out of the truck and running away. They grabbed the paralyzed men and we took off again, driving into the night.

We pulled into a small diner off the side of the road just as the sun began to rise. My sister and I were enjoying each other's company and catching up on old times. She was not the least bit surprised to learn of my training, and I was proud to see that she had continued in our parents' footsteps. The paralysis had worn off the men by now, and they seemed to have important information to give us, but they said that it should be given to us in a relaxed setting, preferably over breakfast (the poison leaves you starving-- every assassin who carried the needle was required to have it used on them before they were permitted to carry it, so I knew firsthand how they felt).

We sat down and ordered our breakfast. After everyone had a plate of pancakes and fresh fruit in front of them, one of the men passed a folder letter across the table to us, and waited for us to read it before telling us what took place in the back of the truck, and what the old man had said.

The old man had been my father's best friend as a child. When they came of age, and it was time to make life-changing decisions, the old man had joined the rogue association without question. My father, however, hesitated. He had fallen in love with my mother, and they wanted children. Assassins were not forbidden from having families, but it seemed a very unwise decision and so very few ever reproduced or even married. My father instead decided to aid the association, and started his textile mill as a cover, making large purchases and funding his underground safe house all while using the excuse of "business purchases." The old man was the top of his class, and one of the most notable assassins to have gone through our training. He used to visit my father all the time, even held my sister and me when we were babies. But the old man had been too great at his job, and was given a secret mission which he never returned from. The association honored him with a monument and told us all that he had completed his last mission successfully, and we could only hope to be as great as he was.

It turns out, his mission was still being carried out. He was placed in the High Priest's council as a spy, and had been passing along what information he could to the association. He knew the remainder of his life was to be served honoring the High Priest, and although he did not agree with it he knew it was for the best. He had secretly been watching over my sister and me, and was very proud of us for everything we had accomplished. He had even attended a special ceremony in my honor when I was raised First Assassin (though of course, he kept himself out of sight). He had protected us through the years, without our knowing. Sending guards to the opposite sides of town when he knew where we were, things like that. The High Priest had not yet inducted the old man into his trusted inner circle, however, because he knew that the old man had been so close to my father, and the High Priest had had suspicions about my family for quite some time before the crash. Since he was kept out of that inner circle, the old man had no access to the most secret information, such as that which my sister had discovered. It was the old man himself who saw her sneaking out of the High Priest's office, and he knew then and there that he would give his life to save ours.

He knew that the High Priest left certain trace elements in his office so that he could tell when things had been disturbed. Such as a hair across the drawer of the desk, and balancing a pencil at such a precarious angle that should someone open a drawer or cabinet, the pencil would shake and change positions. There were many other secret traps laid throughout the office, and no one but the High Priest knew them all. The old man knew that if the High Priest discovered someone had been sifting through his office, he would manage to track down who else had been in the building that day, and it would eventually pinpoint straight to my sister.

The old man devised a clever plan. First, he told the High Priest that he had noticed my sister leaving his office. The High Priest liked keeping things between as few people as possible, so it was expected when the High Priest ordered the old man to find her and dispose of her quietly. The old man then contacted the association and told them that the time had come to finally take out the High Priest; that there would be no better time. No one else in the government knew that the secret information had been leaked, and with the High Priest dead there would be no one to alert the government of the association's retaliation. The old man knew I would be given the honor of the kill, and that the High Priest would be sure to recognize me after being told days before about my sister. He knew the High Priest would want to brag, and that I would come looking.

When he had gone to see my sister, he had no intentions of killing her. Instead, he snuck up on her in the loft and used a sleeping powder on her, knocking her out for several hours. While she was out, he destroyed the loft and made it appear as if a great struggle had taken place, even slashing his shoulder with her knife and allowing his blood to pour out onto her bed and floor, to make it seem as if he had raped and then slaughtered her. He cleaned the knife and threw it into the wall so it would look as if she attempted to fight back, then he bandaged himself up, bundled her in his jacket, and carried her out to his truck a few blocks away.

He took her to a woman he had met while traveling before his mission to the High Priest. A woman who was skilled in magics and the unknown. She transformed my sister in the green cartridge, the spell only to be broken when in contact with someone of the same bloodline. He readied it in his gun in his truck and waited outside the warehouse for me to arrive. He knew the association would be following me, and he knew they would take me as far from that building as possible. Keeping me from my past was the first step in ensuring that I would be the best assassin-- no emotional reminders of my past, no deep connections to other living people-- such things were ingredients in a recipe for failure and death. It was why the association had never told me of my sister surviving the crash. When he watched the van driving away, he ordered a friend of his to take the wheel and catch up to us. He had planned on being close enough to shoot the cartridge with the letter explaining everything into the van and then take off, but the men in the van had noticed him coming up too quickly and recognized him from the High Priest's council. Two of the men quickly jumped from the van to the truck and began to fight the old man. The old man ordered the driver to flip the vehicle around so the van would be an easier target, and the driver not only did so but also managed to catch back up to the van while driving in reverse. The struggle continued, with the men now attempting to keep the old man from firing the weapon towards the van. At this point I had fired the shot into the old man's stomach, and the timer on his life began to tick. He would have killed himself anyways, had I not shot at him, and this way actually fit into his plan much better. He paralyzed the men, then put the note into the front pocket of the man that he leaned over.

As he leaned over the man, he told him that it would all be alright; that the poison would wear off in a few hours, and that many lives had been spared that day, even if it wasn't obvious just yet. He told him that when he was able to move again, he was to give the letter to me and my sister and tell them exactly what he did next.

He then stood up, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed. The paralyzed men both confirmed that he said, "I have discovered a pair of assassins attempting to escape after the murder of the High Priest this morning. I have killed them both, and their bodies are now floating downriver away from town. I have heard the crocodiles bellowing, and I believe they have found a meal. I have taken a fatal wound from the battle however, and do not think I will be able to make it back alive. Should you find my body, bury me well."

It was then that he pulled the trigger, releasing the cartridge towards the van. The rest we know. My sister took on her true form once again as she grew closer to me, and by the time she hit the van the spell had worn off entirely. All she remembered was some man behind her in her loft, and suddenly hitting her head as she collided with the floor of the van.

A few weeks and hundreds of miles later, my sister and I were in a distant country. We heard news that the association had big plans in motion, after my sister had given them the rest of the information she had gathered, and that the council was already crumbling from within. We were now living on a beach, in our own small condo. It was one bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and an old analog TV on a metal stand. It wasn't much, but it was ours, and with complete freedom. No one to kill, no looking over our shoulders, no one chasing us. We were thought to be dead, and the association kept our whereabouts hidden. Monuments were dedicated to our services, much like the old man had received, and the association was now telling new recruits that they should strive to be like us.

I had once thought the best part of my job was to escape, to find a reason to celebrate being alive. After being reunited with my sister, every morning I woke up with the sky a bright blue, and the grass a vibrant green. It turns out, I had never been looking for a reason to celebrate living... just something worth living for.