everest phantasma {d1 - fin}

She heard of their legacy, knocking on doors in the dead of night to claim unwanted babies. Rumors whispered of cash bags left in cribs and vanishing cries. Their little voices were never heard again, and the mothers would wear a ghostly mask of guilt for the rest of their lives. Desperate times demanded the most desperate measures. What was a mother to do? Two twins, dwindling money, and no miracles.

They put a knife in Everest's hand at the age of six.

She didn't know her identity, her sister, her mother, or her father. The men in coats never told her that she was a twin, that her mother had to keep one twin and sell the other. She was the throwaway but they would never treat her that way. Ignorance was bliss. And when a little girl begged to know why her caregivers were not her real parents, they gave her only one hint; your mother didn't want you. And she never asked again.

Phantasma was a mold. A silhouette around which a killer named Eve would be built.

Their mansion was converted into a training facility. It was grey, bland, and no place for a child. She had her own room tucked away in the corner - windows boarded to keep the curious ones in - with her own bed, and her own voices to turn to. By day, they guided her across balance beams demanding feather-light footsteps and poise posture. By night, she was hiding in trash cans for the other future assassins to find her. Games were found in desperation among the children. With only small windows of time to play, it was no wonder the joy slowly seeped from their bones.

Bleak lives meant long winters. The cold crept into their hearts and souls, but Everest had a strange fire in her biology. When the others sulked in their rooms with sore spines, she tugged on her trainer's sleeve and asked "Why do we have to work all the time? I'm tired."

Their answer was always vague. You have to. It's part of our rules and part of your future.

"I don't want to."

But defiance wasn't welcome. She ran extra miles to compensate for every second she mouthed off. They had seen her kind before; the one's that took longer to break. A child's imagination was an adult's worst nightmare, and she was always picturing herself in another world. She was the girl with endless questions. Why did people have to die? Because everything had an end. Why did she have to kill? Because it was her destiny. Why did people need to be murdered? Because of population control, crime lords, career families, tyranny, and corruption. She learned about a world that was not black and white. It was red; infected like a wound, and she would be carving the rotten pieces out of it.

They waited until puberty to give her a real responsibility. She was a difficult child to begin with; add hormones and she was a disaster. They whipped her back into a level-headed secret weapon with discipline before they nudged her out of the nest. She felt ready, well-trained and knowledgeable. Problem was, she didn't want to do it. The other boys and girls - for the most part - seemed brainwashed. Tricked into believing they served a higher purpose. Those who weren't self-righteous had simply lost all hope and will for goodness. Some of them enjoyed feeling emotions vicariously through the pain of their victims. This killer "Eve" was somewhere in between. Part of her knew she was trapped in this fate forever, so there was no reason to hope. Another part of her wanted to be defiant. Show them how pissed off she was that she couldn't live another life.

After her first kill, a wannabe gangster tripping over himself behind a bar, she gave them hell.

"This is fucking pointless."

She reveled in their exasperated expressions. What a problem child, they thought, yet they refused to budge. She could not be released from this sealed fate, or else she had to be executed. She knew too much. They had warned her of this before. You leave, you die. But as long as she stayed, she didn't have to be happy about it. She sure as hell didn't have to be pleasant either.

A boisterous personality took hold of this doomed twin. She took every new job with a scowl, pursuing her targets in the most reckless ways possible. Pissing off her superiors was the best way to spend her evenings. During the day, she stayed as far away from hell as possible. Rebel child, they called her, but they yanked her with invisible chains. She could not abandon this life without losing her own, and she had seen death enough times to know that life was wasted often. She was going to live the hell out of this one, even if it sucked.

Even if she was a killer.

Never think about what is right or wrong - just do. That was their motto, hammered into the minds of every kidnapped child. Eve pretended not to buy into it, but could not break away from how she was raised. Right or wrong didn't register. It was about what she wanted - to get the hell out. Who she killed and why did not matter. She wanted to escape, but she was not built for the real world. It was too late to adapt.

A weapon had one purpose: destroy.

Eve was their weapon, and she would deny it until the day she died.