^Mercius "Fox" Verva^D6

Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart beats on. Thump. Thump Thump. It parades around within it ribcage prison, threatening to make an escape. Thump. Thump. Thump. The kill is suppose to be quick, "Make it so the world won't notice." Her words leaked from red painted lips and secured his place in hell. Thump. Thump. Thump. The man is suppose to enter now. Why isn't he here? Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The body hits the floor hard, knife leaking crimson life onto the cement flood. His eyes, still open wide with surprise, dull as life quickly exits it's host. The man watching with wide eyes is the killer. His dark blue eyes close, and his tall frame leans forward, as his dark red lips release bile and past meals. Murderer. Just another title to put on a list. Mercius, Merc, Pickpocket, Fox... Murderer. But even as he vomits, even as salty droplets of tears escape from the corner of his eyes, you could still add Assassin to that list. Thump. Thump. Thump. And his heart pounds on.

His first steps are woozy, world tilting as he fails to fathom the impact of his actions. His mind fuzzes, like the television in his ratty house, and he can no longer focus on the present. Instead, he is back with is mother. Her smile is welcoming, brought on by pints of booze, her voice wobbles, but still holds no threat. "Its ok baby. Its ok." He is sobbing, disgusted with his self, for doing dirty things, "bad boys deserve to be punished." Her voice is no longer warm, instead it is replaced by a cool iron that seems to drive into his chest and stop his heart. He pushes her away, he pushes her so far away, but she pulls him in, and makes him do dirty things again. He cries out, but she silences him. "Bad boy."

The scene evaporates as quick as it began, and suddenly he is back in the cement room with the scarlet splatters. The body hasn't moved, as expected. He stumbles out, gagging as his foot bumps against the body. He walks down the stairs and into the night. Darkness is the only reliable thing now, promised everyday with the setting of the sun. For years on the street he relied on it for cover. It's not easy hiding a pale 6' foot frame. Not even his usual dark shirts and pants could hide the bright skin. Tonight the dark clothes hide the blood, and he is able to reach the restaurant. Her smile offers no teeth, unlike the animal she was nicknamed for. Shark. Thats what they called her when he was first presented to her. Perhaps it is her red lips, dyed the same color as plasma, but not her smile. Mercius falls to his knees, still panting from the earlier release, and sputter out "I-i-its d-d-do-done." Bits of spittle still cling to his thin lips as he attempts to look at her, and the thought of how pathetic he must look pushes its way forward. Quickly he swallows his pride and guilt, and accepts her small approval, a quick nod is all he gets to chew on. And he takes it with gracious hands.

She was powerful, so unlike his mother. His mother was a simple whore, controlled entirely by anonymous johns and pimps. His mother had no control over herself. But Gartrix, she demanded attention, she controlled everyone, and every request, every demand, every suggestion, was overseen by her. She drew him in like a moth to a light.

He was dragged into this world kicking and screaming. A hand in the wrong jacket. For a moment he thought he was in the home free, with the fresh bills amounting to the thousands, but when he glanced back and saw the man chasing him, he knew he was dead. Pickpocketing was a simple hobby, something to pass the time. He could never stand to call it stealing, always brushed it off as borrowing. Mercius truly was harmless, sure he might lift your wallet, but only to satisfy the childish urges. The shiny coins beckoned him, and he would giggle as he ran. Mercius was the fastest on the streets, thats where the nickname came from. He could outrun even the angriest of the businessmen. Or so he thought. Perhaps his long legs were simply tired at the end of a long day, or maybe he knew he couldn't escape this trap, but the man did catch up to him. And quickly shoved Mercius into a society unlike any other.

With a fistful of black hair the man dragged him to the shark's lair. Her eye found his, and his futile resistance faltered for a brief moment. "He tried to steal the profit." The heavy voice brought back the fear and panic. "N-n-no I-I-I was j-j-just t-trying to p-pick-pickpocket." While his mother taught him to do filthy things, his father taught him that speaking is not acceptable. The boy with black hair and blue eyes often tried to talk with the large man (who was really just an unlucky john), only to be silenced with a sharp slap across the face, or a fist to the back of the head. His pre-pubescent voice began to falter, replaced by a deep, stuttering one. As he sat before this new part of his life, he knew that all stuttering did was speak to his guilt. They stripped him, and uncovered a map of blues and grey with streaks of reds and deep trenches of skin. Momma and Dad like to have fun with his skin, make it into a map that lead them back together. It was in those moments when they both kicked him that they looked into each others eyes and fell in love all over again. But they never knew the toll of their actions. No one had known the toll of their actions, not the school when Mercius dropped out, not the street rats who lived with him. No one knew till the day the cartel stripped him of his clothing. 

After seeing the maps of love, they took him in with open arms... after he killed a man. By taking away a family of a loved one, he became a loved one of a different kind of family. His stride became longer, his head held higher. They called him Fox, because he was quick. He was quick and clever, and he killed people. He killed people. Killed. There are days when Mercius walks with his head beneath his shoulders, when he looks only at the ground. Those are the days after assassinations, those are the days when he looks away as his trap is set in motion, and he knows he caused death. Its often those days when he has to fight the hardest to ward off memories of a childhood long ago. It is okay, because the next day he'll walk tall, proud to make his mothe-sorry-Shark proud. Her toothless smile and bright red lips offer him the approval lost for so long. Gartrix, the women in charge of lose of life, has found herself an ever loyal servant.

He joined the killers quietly. His head hung low, as his large nose sticks out obnoxiously from his square jaw. Mercius sit with the cross-dresser, who decapitates people, and the girl more brutish than any other girl in the district. Kim, whose M.O. results in a head being tossed aside without as much as an afterthought, is as normal as a cross-dresser could be. Mantis has been kind enough, never as bad as Taser. Her methods of death are something to be expected of an animal. The streaks of blue across his body are minimal compared to the woulds she leaves behind. They are sent from the private table more often than me, told to kill day after day, and yet they push on, with placid faces and unwavering nerves. Meanwhile, he spent his days at the white clothed table with Gartrix. Her power and authority, a figure that watches over him, to care for his wellbeing. A power that also tells him to kill, every so often she needs him to kill. And so Mercius kills, he kills in a way that most people could never understand, with poison and a list of ancient traps. Anything that will allow him to just look away as he creates widows and orphans.

He doesn't like to think about his job, instead he focus on his family, whose idea of love is pushing drugs together. He walks with them, a quiet but deadly force. His heart is opening, allowing in the cartel. It welcomes them. But as his heart grows his innocence shrinks, no longer can he deny the pain in the world. He is no longer the grown child they found on the streets. Mercius is a mass of oxymorons, a gentle giant with pale darkness, who just so happens to be an assassin.