Fault Line

            I dropped the gun, and squeezed my eyes shut. Panic, surprise, and agony melded together in my head to make my ears ring and shock take over. Falling to the ground, I curled up in a ball, blocking out the whole world. The night was too quiet without the sound of the creaking rusted swing set breaking the silence. I told my body to get up, to run, to get out of there before someone comes, but every limb felt like a hundred pounds.

All I wanted was to take back what just happened.

            When Kazimir had one of his servants deliver me the file on the next victim, I was still covered in cuts and bruises from my last target. An assassination on a freight train had some unexpected turns, but that is to be expected in this line of work. As the improvised medics swirled around me, trying to give me stitches on my arm and put bandages on my side, I opened the folder just enough to see the name. Shock flew through me and my breath caught in my throat. I snapped the folder shut before anyone could see the source of my anxiety, and jumped off the wool-covered crates that served as a bed. The team yelled out in angry Russian behind me, but I ignored their threats as I stalked further into the maze of caves. I had someone to see.

            It had been years since I had been down these rock hallways. I used to come down here as a young girl, back when I idolized Kazimir as my father figure – he was my savior for picking me off the streets when I was six and setting me in training to defend myself against the gangs, rapists, and thieves. He explained it was so I could protect myself if I ever chose to leave and go to the streets again – though why I would want to leave such a safe haven was beyond me. In my naïve mind, I didn’t see the obvious. I didn’t see that I was just a tool to him, another assassin manipulated to do his bidding. 

            I was 12 before I realized what was really happening. He had sent three men twice the size of me to my room in the dead of night with direct orders to kill me.  As I blocked the first attack, I realized what “training” really was – what I had become. I ran down to him after I was finished, terrified and sobbing. I told him what had happened, and I expected he would take me into his arms and tell me it was alright, that I would never have to do anything like that again, that he would make sure I was safe and never let me go. Instead, his words to me were, “In this world, it’s kill or be killed, Natalia.” He turned towards me with a cruel smirk and ice in his eyes. “Tonight, you showed that you are the killer,” he hissed at me, his words like a sword stabbing through my innocence. His sadistic laughter echoed in the rocky halls as I ran away.

            I flew through my training after that, fueled by my hate for myself, wishing that I could have died on the cold streets of Moscow. But every time I brought the gun to my head, I knew it would be this hell to the next. I couldn’t even leave the Red Operation, because I knew society would reject me as a cold blooded murderer – I rightfully deserved the title. I was numb. I had no hope. So I went on, carrying out the assignments given to me by Kazimir’s messengers without questioning his reasons for wanting them dead – they were all strangers to me. Until now.     

Seeing the familiar twists and turns made bitter memories come to the surface again, but I quickly suppressed the feelings of betrayal and innocence lost. I flew past the men in the tunnels, all stepping aside, having a healthy fear of my abilities. I had grown to be Kazimir’s best assassin, although I didn’t appreciate the title even after nine years of countless missions and murders.  

My eyes adjusted as I strode deeper into the maze of underground tunnels, and I was starting to feel nauseous from the fear of what I was about to do. Finally, I reached the massive mahogany door that looked strikingly out of place in the dim kerosene lamp light. Two soldiers in heavy armor pointed their machine guns at me, fidgeting nervously when they recognized me.