The first time Sawyer killed someone, he was twelve.
It was raining. Not hard, just steady-- enough the blur the windows and make the roads slick enough to muffle footsteps. Perfect weather, they said.
The target lived alone, four floors above a quiet bakery. He ran the orphanage during the day, giving out loaves of bread to hungry children in the slums, providing private prayers and confessions. Recently he had been dabbling in human trafficking, setting up the children with no ties to be sold to another continent, branding him as a traitor to Noctis.
You see, besides Sawyer and and his blood siblings, Noctis recruits children from a young age, tailoring them into perfect weapons. The orphanage the target runs is one of the Noctis locations, but his greed ruined his opportunity - colluding with someone other than Noctis behind their back.
'But the story doesn't matter, as I'm here just to do my job. Innocent, guilty, grey lines - I have nothing to do with it. I just follow the order given, I kill who I must and spare no one. Empathy is for the weak - empathy only helps when you pretend.' Sawyer repeated in his head, steadying his resolve.
'I'm ready,' He thought to himself, grabbing the blade nestled in his pocket.
'Clean. No emotion. No noise' those were the words his brother spoke before dropping him off at the start-point.
Sawyer's fingers barely wrapped around the blades hilt, his small palms squeezing tightly to avoid losing grip. He slowly climbed up the building, using the window ledges and uneven bricks to scale to the fourth floor window, slightly open with no locks.
According to the report, the target brews his night tea and opens the window every time, the steam bothering his breathing. 'I bet he never thought this habit would aid his death.' he thought momentarily.
Sawyer slipped through the window silently, using his small frame and weight to move undetected.
He didn't even hear Sawyer come in. Inside, the room was warm, books stacked like towers, papers strewn across the table. The man was humming - off key, something upbeat and filled with happiness. Sawyer crept behind him, holding his breath.
And then-
The cold steel bit into his sternum, and he pushed the sharp blade deep, sliding into his flesh. The sound was wetter than Sawyer expected, softer- like slicing into overripe fruit or warm bread. The man gasped, a single sharp inhale. The teacup clattered from his hand, his knees buckling. Sawyer watched him as he fell to his knees his eyes wide and expression confused. The blade was still embedded in his neck.
"Please,' the man begged, his voice raspy, "I have money, I'll pay you, I--"
Sawyer twisted the blade, and the mans body went still. Sawyers heartbeat didn't, though. for a moment everything was loud - the rain, the kettle, the murmurs of outside. The brand under his arm was burning and pulsing, still tender from when his father burned it into him last week.
Sawyer recollected himself, exiting silently and leaving no evidence behind except a cold body.
He ran back to his brother at the rendezvous point, signaling the end and success of a mission. Once they got home, his father even commended him.
"Well done," he said as he stared down at him. "Done quickly and you didn't flinch. You get to eat meat tonight." he smiled, proud of this "achievement."
Later that night, Sawyer stood in the shower for over an hour, watching what seemed like the last of his purity go down the drain, his soul soaked in blood. He stared at himself in the mirror, searching for something that looked human.
All he saw was a monster.
The next morning, he put on his blue school uniform, combed him sandy brown hair and put in dark brown contacts to cover his blue irises, and met Theo at the front of the Aurenhart entrance. He smiled, laughed. The mask held - but under his sleeve, the brand still burned.