Oculus {ON HOLD}

[0] Violence Keeps the Peace

It wasn't in his nature to feel pity. It wasn't in his nature to feel emotions of any kind.

Yet, as the breeze from the air conditioning ruffled the papers on the desk to his left, the smell of parchment and ink wafted through the room and mingled with the sweat of the squealing fat pig of a politician in front of him, 449-1O did feel some sort of emotion stir inside of him. He didn't know what it was, nor did he want to find out. Emotions were new to him - having been away from base for over six weeks, funny feelings and tingling sensations had come to him at random. It had scared him at first, and it scared him now. The concept that people felt anything besides a profound sense of numbness was beyond him.

The fact that he was having these internal debates at all surprised him more than anything else.

Consciousness, as well as feeling in general, was another something new he needed to properly experiment with. He wondered if he-

"Please!" A wail cut short the assassins thoughts, and he mentally chastised himself. The git had somehow managed the move the gag from his mouth and was now attempting to beg for his freedom. "Please, don't do this! I have a wife and a daughter! I'm expecting my first grandchild soon!"

The existentialist of a murderer sighed in dismay and crouched in level with the man he was about to kill.

"John Wickersham, Foreign Secretary for the Government of the UK." He began to smile as he contemplated his next words, but quickly wiped the expression from his face when he realised what he was doing.

What's going on? What's happening to me?

"John Wickersham, I don't tolerate liars. I know you have no wife. She left you twelve years ago for a Spanish prostitute named Carlos. Ironic, that you became the foreign secretary – is that what provoked your harsh treatment of migrant men, denial at blatant police brutality and racism in border control, and sanctions on vital resources for Spain that caused one of their worst economic crises in the last century. Is it because your wife – that you treated like shit, may I add – left you for some 'far inferior man'. Is that why you allow the constant abuse of people who aren't just like you? Is that it?" His target recoiled, and the murderer continued.

"You spread biased propaganda throughout the UK, promoting the 'ideal family'; straight, white, comfortable, wealthy – yet you are none of those things. You ruined the lives of others because you hated your own." 449-1O's brows furrowed as he stared the politician directly in the face. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled inside of him. The word rage came to mind. He attempted to shrug it aside. "And your only child, a boy by the name of Bentley, was diagnosed with Autism at the age of four. No sooner than that, you had him shipped off to a mental asylum with claims, false claims, that he attacked you. He was caged, drugged and examined to the point of insanity. He took his own life ten years later."

The politician looked furious, but there was something else in the man's expression. Something that reminded him of a familiar feeling. Something that looked like regret.

"Listen here, those claims are completely- "

"NO!" The assassin yelled, surprised at the ferocity that came with his words. The response felt unnatural, but appropriate. "No, you listen here you fat git! You are a sick, racist son of a bitch and you're going to be punished for it. You didn't sign the electives the Prime Minister was proposing, you're the reason the UK is being held back."

"So this is a political killing then?" The pig spat, globules of saliva spurting in every direction. "This has nothing to do with my family?"

The Foreign Secretary's response made 449-1O flinch. He clasped the holster at his side.

What am I doing? Why am I even conversing with the target? What is there to be gained from this?

Pulling the gun from where it was secured, he aimed it at the man's face.

"I'm dragging this out longer than I need too." He unclicked the safety. "Goodbye, Mr Wickersham."

The desperation is the man's eyes was nothing new to him – this oaf was neither his first nor last target – but this seemed to resonate with him far more than before. Wickersham was a foul git, that much was clear – but his eyes... the man at his feet seemed so human that when the killer standing over him aimed the gun, he hesitated. The politician, being a politician, seized the opportunity.

"I...I'll make amends. I'll fix things with Tina, and with Spain. I'll honour my son. He-" John's voice broke. "He didn't deserve his fate."

The assassin's gun shook in his grasp. He was tempted, so tempted, to just let the fat lard live out the rest of his miserable life as penance for his sins. But he wasn't used to these kinds of emotions, and he wasn't about to let them alter his decision. He wasn't a good man, he was a man who got the job done.

Pity wasn't in his nature.

"You have disappointed Oculus. The storm has come for you."

With a spray of blood and bone, the Politician was silenced.