The Ghost of Braxton

"Wow, I'm impressed, number eight," Lanewood's satisfied voice rings in my earpiece.

"I hope you understand what it means now that the German Mafia is out of the picture," I reply, unmounting my bloody armor.

"Well, I.. uh," he stammers, "I didn't really think our department would ever get this far."

Tossing my weapons into a bath of acid, I growl with sarcasm, "And by 'our department,' you mean me alone?"

Lanewood falls silent after my biting comment. Only his heavy breathing breaks the stillness, invading my ear. After a minute, he snorts and replies thoughtfully, "Don't forget that Department XV is what created you."

How could I ever forget? I was born and raised in a lab. I have five genetic parents, yet none of them gave birth to me. In the eyes of normal society, I don't even exist.

"And you tend to forget that my loyalty has a price," I utter, reminding Lanewood that even though I am the result of human experimentation, I still possess the autonomy to twist necks as I please. I am not loyal to the government; I am loyal to upholding the old and honorable tradition of what it truly means to be an assassin.

Lanewood stammers, as always when our conversations become heated. "Y-you're threatening me again, t-that goes against the ministry. A-and you're getting paid for your job. B-better than anybody else."

"I bet the minister herself would like to hear all about it," I rumble in my tired voice. The reality is that the minister is unaware of half the things Department XV engages in. As expected, Lanewood ends the call with a final bitter remark. "I wish they gave you some sort of button to make you shut up, number eight!"

That suits me just fine because I have a cold shower to take anyway.

After some deep reflection, Schäfer getting away doesn't seem so bad anymore. I kept that bastard alive all along because he was a useful fool. He played his part exactly as I had hoped. He was the one who convinced his boss that Clarice had deep connections with me.

Honestly, it wasn't even a lie. Clarice just had no clue about my true identity. 

But the way she handled her kidnapping surpassed all my expectations. Despite the torture she endured, it didn't break her spirit; instead, she adapted like a fish in new waters. It made her stronger than ever. I could swear she even has a certain lust for blood. She seemed to relish the sight of me eliminating those people.

I have pushed this woman to her limits, and yet I have not reached the depths of what she is capable of.

Even when confronted with the news of my true identity, Clarice remained remarkably composed. Perhaps it was because she wasn't certain whether I would spare her life or not. But the way she refused to let go of me, later on, is undeniable proof that she harbors a dark madness within her, one that she may not even be aware of.

Deep down, I suspect she always knew who I truly am. That is precisely why I ended the game and revealed my alter ego. I have a sense that she has even more to offer, and I am fully committed to keeping her in my dark and twisted world.

Moreover, it's far too late to entertain the idea of changing my mind. Clarice must either remain by my side or face elimination, just like any other individual who discovers that I am not a mere folklore meant to frighten children. 

Though the legends surrounding me are wilder than reality itself, the truth is that I am neither immortal nor three hundred years old. People have yet to realize that there have been multiple government assassins before me. They have one thing right though - I am dark, silent, and deadly.

I stand as the third of my kind, genetically modified, to serve the government, filling the void left by the waning influence of the church. All assassins answered to the church's command in the era before this shift.

As my weapons steep in an acidic bath, dissolving away any trace of blood and evidence, I prepare to cleanse myself of the remnants of my own deeds. It has been an excruciatingly long day, from the moment Clarice ventured out from her home to the moment I returned to my safe house.

Even a chilling shower fails to wash away the lingering tension that clings to my every fiber. While none of my seven predecessors have been killed, I bear the weight of unprecedented pressure upon my shoulders. The horde of enemies I face is overwhelming, and with the German Mafia out of the picture, my mission in this cursed Braxton City grows ever more arduous.

They will stop at nothing until they have me in their grasp or until I have eliminated every last criminal in this fucking place. The urgency to unmask the puppet master responsible for placing a staggering seventeen million dollar bounty on my head consumes my thoughts.

I can't focus on my true purpose–eliminating individuals of high society who carelessly violate the rules. There is no God in sight when the judgment day arrives. Only me and my sword.

It seems that the elite is tired of their anonymous Grim the Reaper, closely monitoring their immoral lifestyles. Surely, the hefty sum of seventeen million dollars comes from the pockets of someone who isn't quite ready to meet their maker.

The list of suspects stretches far and wide, and even with the name Koch gave me "Lord Rabbi", I find myself no closer to unraveling the truth.

I guess for now, I patiently have to wait for Schäfer to emerge from his hiding place unless multiple untreated infections claim his life first. I may have shot him in the leg, though my aim was for his head. Embarrassingly enough, firearms aren't my strongest suit.

Back at the house I despise, I steal a quick glance at Clarice's residence. Not a single light illuminates the windows, yet I'm certain she's wide awake. That's precisely why I'm heading to my backyard. Opening her back door and slipping into her house without her ever noticing is usually a breeze. 

Or so I thought until I come face to face with her in the living room.

"What took you so long?" she asks in a hushed tone.

Slightly taken aback, I reply, "You were expecting me?"

She huffs and shrugs, "You always show up after shit has hit the fan."

Approaching her slowly in the enveloping darkness of her house, which always smells like a welcoming embrace and warm smiles, I growl, "Do you even realize that the reason I'm here now is far more serious than anything before?"

"I have a clue," Clarice mutters, her teeth grazing her lower lip.

"No, you don't," I retort, now standing directly in front of her. Tilting her head back, she searches for my face as she always does, her mouth slightly ajar, her breath shallow. "You're in my world now," I continue.

She laughs softly, the corners of her mouth stretching wide, "I thought I've been in your world ever since I stripped naked by my window."

Clarice's body language speaks volumes, clearly indicating her delight in seeing me. She playfully nibbles on her lip, gently fidgets with her feet, and emits barely audible gasps. It's evident that danger and mystery arouse her, but I question if she truly understands the depths of my words.

"Let me make it crystal clear, Clarice. There is nothing but death surrounding me."

Her gasp is met with a breathless "Yeah..." as she inches closer, her body almost pressing against mine.

"I kill and torture people."

"Mhm," she hums, drawing even nearer, her bosom almost grazing my ribcage.

"The only way out of my world is when I slit your throat," I growl between clenched teeth.

Clarice gasps again, her hand slowly gliding along my chest, breathlessly whispering, "What weapon would you use for that?"

Now, that's a question that makes even me raise my brows. I smirk and gently trace my hand along her neck. "You're not supposed to be aroused by my words."

"Mmmh," she moans, "Then stop talking," and she pushes herself up on her tiptoes to reach my lips, her warm breath tickling my chin.

Meeting her halfway, I whisper, our lips a mere inch apart, "I'm not here to fuck you."

"You're never here to fuck me, yet you're the only one who's ever done it," Clarice moans, her delicate hands encircling my neck, squeezing tightly, urging our lips to meet with hers invitingly open.

"You're fucking insane," I groan, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us. As the master of driving people to the brink of madness, extracting their darkest secrets before ending their miserable lives, I find myself tangled in the web knitted by this seemingly ordinary woman.

The more she unveils her dark side to me, the stronger the irresistible pull becomes, urging me to claim her. As an assassin of my kind, I am permitted to claim only one woman—the one who meets all the necessary criteria. While Clarice is far from fulfilling every requirement, I already sense the tremendous difficulty of ever getting rid of her.

Clarice moans softly into our passionate kiss, her words muffled, "You're literally the Ghost of Braxton. If I'm insane, then what does that make you?"

"I despise that name," I roar, keeping our lips locked as I tighten my grip on her waist.

Breaking our kiss slightly, Clarice searches for my eyes in the darkness, her voice filled with curiosity, "Then what is your real name?"

My brows furrow, and my jaw clenches. Personal questions like these always strike a nerve within me because I have no answers to offer.

Keeping her gaze fixed on me, Clarice implores in a sweet voice, "Please, I just want to know your name."

Against my own will, I retort harshly, "I don't have a name because I don't exist!"

Clarice is taken aback by my reaction, but she doesn't release her hold on me. Instead, she bats her eyelashes slowly, innocence and trust shimmering in her eyes. "That's okay."

However, the thought of her calling me by the name that will be engraved on my tombstone when I eventually meet my end, "John Doe," isn't quite to my liking either. Taking a deep breath, I mumble, "Kylo. That's sort of my name."

Clarice's face lights up, her beautiful smile widening, "Now that's a name I like much more than John Doe."

I can't fucking believe I actually told her that name. It's the name Dr. Steller gave me since she found it inhumane to refer to me as "number eight". While most of the scientists at the lab stuck with Kylo, there are still plenty who prefer a more clinical approach and treat me like a mere number.

The truth is, even the people in the lab have no idea that I'm the infamous assassin everyone is talking about. To them, I'm just a secret agent. That's what Department XV is all about - layers upon layers of secrets, triple agents, and human experimentation.

"So, Kylo," Clarice whispers, her voice sending shivers down my spine.

Fucking hell, the way she rolls the name over her tongue already makes me not regret the decision to have her call me by it.

"What's next?" she asks, her eyes filled with curiosity.

I lean in closer, a mischievous smirk playing on my lips, "First, we're gonna take a look at your wounded hand and then I'm gonna eat you."

Clarice's breath gets caught in her throat for a moment as she understands the true meaning behind my words. Biting her lower lip, she lets out a seductive hum, "Mmmh," and moans, "Yes, please."

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//Author//Please let me read your thoughts. Love ya!//