They sent me because I don’t exist. I shouldn’t exist. I’m an anomaly among my colleagues.
They sent me because no one knows who or what I am. I’m invisible when I choose to be, silent, deadly, and fast. I’ve been trained to be the perfect killer. It’s what my job is, what my purpose is.
I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want it. I fought them on it. I’ve never liked hurting people. But this one was different. I wanted this case. I asked for it. I wanted to feel the life drain from his body as I watched him go. He had hurt someone very close to me, and today I would hurt him.
Part of my job was to judge each case with a sound mind, a clear head, and no preconceptions. But we all knew he was guilty. We had all seen the things he was capable of, and we all knew what my final judgement was going to be. He was guilty, and even he knew it. And he wouldn’t fight me on my choice. He knew he deserved it.
I wanted to feel the blood dripping through my fingers as he died. I had never much enjoyed my job, but I would enjoy making him pay for what he had done to her. She was much too innocent to have deserved that type of treatment, to deserve such abuse. I wanted to know that justice had been served for the wrongs that had been done to her. And there was no one who would even try to stop me. They all knew it was coming, and they all understood why I had to do it. They knew it was my job, and although I may never be congratulated for it, I would never be punished or frowned upon for it, either. It was, after all, my job to keep her safe.
He wouldn’t fight me on this. He knew I was coming for him, and he welcomed me, even though he couldn’t fully understand that I was there. He would never set eyes on me. He would never see who was responsible for taking his life. He would only know that he was getting what he deserved.
They sent me because I don’t exist. I’m invisible. I’m impossible.