"The Day The Assassin Regained Humanity" by Sunny He

Competition 7 Winner

Disclaimer: This is a story of fiction and may not reflect the author's beliefs.

Silently, I lie across the filthy surface of an abandoned tower. Though the walls at the very top chamber have eroded, and I am in the open air, not a single soul down on the streets can see me. I lick my lips in excitement. Here I am, looking through the viewfinder of my sniper, pointed at the entrance of a big building, patiently awaiting my prey. As the time draws near, the figure finally walks out the door and my finger pulls the trigger.

My job is done.

I shift my feet, preparing to stand and make my escape, when I feel my body being flung upwards. It is to my horror when I realize that I am hanging from a rope around my ankle.

No—!

I am an assassin. There is no way I wouldn’t have noticed any traps in my surroundings, yet…!

A coated man with a black mask appears, approaching me. I slide out my knife and—bam—the man shoots it out of my hand with a gun.

He shows me a printed picture of, well, me. A side view of me with my sniper, aiming at the building entrance into which I had just shot. And most importantly, it was definitely clear enough for an FBI agent to be able to track me from, if turned in.

“How—?!” I gasp, stopping myself as I realize this was blackmail. “What do you want?”

He slides the picture into his coat and tosses a folder on the ground. Then, he leaves.

I swing myself to reach my knife and cut myself down. Scrambling to open it, I discover in the folder a note:

these are the families of three you’ve assassinated.

make up to them and you shall see me again.

fail to do so and you’ll say hello to federal prison.

I am watching you.

“Seriously?” I mutter, almost laughing as I scan over the documents. Who was that man? And why would he want me to apologize to strangers for doing my job?

Realizing I didn’t have a choice, I sigh and go down the crumbling stone stairs. Guess my next gig will have to wait a while.

With my hands in my pockets, I stand on the rooftop of a nearby apartment as I gaze upon the lighted mansion of the first target on the list—a politician.

I make my way over their fence walls, undetected by the surrounding guards, and prepare to break in silently. This family is rich enough to get the police over within minutes, so I might as well have some fun before my potential doom arrives.

Sliding in through the opening I’ve made in a window, I make myself at home as I lay upon a long, comfy couch.

“Ah. This is nice,” I mumble right as a woman and her daughter walk into the room. “Oh, hey there.”

The woman drops the plates she has been holding and screams. Both back away when I finally stand up.

“So, before you run, I’d like to say I’m sorry for the death of your husband, Mister Feranzaic,” I explain coolly, “because I’m the assassin that killed him.”

“Wh-what…?!”

The girl runs away, but the lady is too shocked to move.

Suddenly, I take a bow, “I am sincerely sorry.” Then, I turn and walk away, ready to leave.

“He was everything to me,” the lady says, her expression being one of trauma. “I really didn’t care about all the insurance money. We’ve worked hard, together, to help him achieve his dreams… of changing the world.”

I couldn't care less about anyone’s dreams, but yet, her words make me stop dead in my tracks.

She drops to her knees, her limbs weak. “If you really are his killer, his… murderer..” The woman is in too much pain to look up or let out tears but says, “then you’re mine too. Because, that day, you took away everything that mattered to me. You took away my world.”

Shivers climb up my spine as I look upon her. I’ve always known what it meant to truly take one’s life—I’m an assassin—but never was I aware of what happened to those around my victim. I never really cared. I… I guess I have to do something about this.

“Listen, Mrs Feranzaic. Change... is what life’s all about. I know it’s weird hearing this from, uh, your husband’s assassin, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to move on.” I glance over at the hallway the younger girl had run off to. “I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to take care of your children.”

I kneel down to the woman’s level and lift up her chin to make her look into my eyes as I say, “He would’ve wanted you to be happy, so stop grieving so grimly. Remember him, for always, and move onto your life’s next journey in his name.”

Minutes of deep breathing and stillness pass by before she finally moves her lips to whisper. “Thank you.”

Just at that moment, sirens tune in.

“Well, nice to meet you, but I’ve gotta get going,” I barely manage to say before I bolt away, maneuver through security, and escape into the alleyways.

The next morning, Mrs Feranzaic woke up to dozens of bouquets of flowers at her front door, each with the note: a thousand condolences tagged on them. Two other households received similar gifts, but with a more clear, apologetic, and deep letter.

I'm strolling through empty streets, and as expected, the coated man from yesterday stands before me.

However, when he takes off his mask, I can do nothing but stare in surprise.

“Sir,” I greet my elder mentor, who had taught me everything I know, “what is the meaning of this?”

He forms a smile and says, “You’re a talented assassin, my protégé. But... over the years, I’ve seen your blood-thirst grow, and I thought you needed reminding. Never forget, the lives you take are precious.”

Without another word, he hands me my picture.