Author: Pepper Winters

But in the end, I’d done what they asked—not to prove my cold-heartedness and obedience, but because death was a better existence for him. Frostbitten, drowning with pneumonia, he’d wasted away from a bright, intelligent boy to a bag of rattling bones.

I’d put him out of his misery, hoping someone would do the same for me.

But I’d live that day a thousand times over to avoid watching Clara die.

She stole my will to live.

She stole my humanity.

I no longer wanted to fight.

I wanted to go Ghost and forget.

About everything.

I needed to inflict pain.

I needed to be inflicted.

I needed the sweet salvation of agony.

I needed to fucking die.

Anything. I would’ve accepted anything to be free of the revolving horror in my head.

She’s dead.

It’s over.

She hadn’t fucking cured me. She destroyed me. She took every good part left inside and stole it when she took her last breath.

I couldn’t handle seeing Zel come apart wrapped around her daughter. I couldn’t fathom the intolerable agony I would inflict if tried to console her.

Fuck, this conditioning!

Every part of me hummed with confusion. I wanted to fight. But I wanted to hold Hazel and wipe away her tears. I wanted to murder. But I wanted to scoop up the body of Clara and share my life with her. I wanted a miracle. I wanted to be fucking free so I could be there for the woman I loved.

But you’re a machine. Love and touch aren’t permitted. They would never be fucking permitted.

As much as I wanted to fall to my knees and wrap my arms around the two most important people in my life, I couldn’t. One touch and I’d kill. My mind wasn’t strong enough to override my training. And that shredded me, stole all my hope, and plummeted me into the dark.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Violent anger squeezed my muscles until I shuddered with the need to kill. I’d been around death—it reminded me of my past and my true identity.

I gripped my skull. I refused to regress. I refused to slip down the slide back into Ghost.

“My sheep!” Clara’s voice sprang into my head, making me howl in heartbreak. She’d gone. She’d left me. She’d taken all my progress, all my happiness with her.

I was nothing without her. Nothing.

I skipped over sadness and went straight to rage. My life was a fucking joke. Full of injustice and unfairness and every fucked up circumstance. Time and time again fate played with me—granting me a sliver of hope before crushing it completely and leaving me in despair.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Clara. Her collapsing. The wheezing. The sweet innocent taste of her as I forced oxygen into her failing lungs.

She broke my fucking heart, looking at me with terrified eyes, begging me to help her.

“Please, Roan.” Vasily’s blue eyes met mine, swimming with tears and fear. “I’m so cold, brother.”

The flashback exploded as my ears echoed with the sounds of Clara choking, gasping, dying.

She’d been the colour my life was missing. She splashed me in yellows and oranges; she turned my black soul into a riot of rainbows. And now her light was gone, leaving me in the dark once again.

“That’s it, Operative Fox. You know who you are. Fight us no more.”

Hazel.

After everything she’d given me, I couldn’t go back. I wasn’t strong enough to ride through the storm of sadness—I couldn’t be there for her.

Everything I’d worked so hard for didn’t matter anymore. What was the point when all the good things in my life were stolen anyway? No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t cure illness or bring loved ones back to life.

I couldn’t change the past—just like I couldn’t change the future. It was written in stone, crushing my bones, wrapping me in chains that I’d only just begun to shed.

“What is a Ghost, Operative Fox?” My handler stood above me, pacing my cell.

I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to answer.

He kicked me, growling, “Answer me. What is a Ghost? What is your only purpose?”

Huddling into myself, I answered, “To kill.”

“Kill who?”

“Anyone who our clients wish to die.”

“And that makes you?”

“An assassin.”

My handler clasped his hands in front of him. “That’s right, Operative Fox. You are a highly trained, highly specialized assassin. Your life is ours. Your only task is to carry out orders from governments, individuals, and anyone else rich enough to buy your services. You are ruthless. You are merciless. We made you this way. You are a Ghost.”

The conditioning I’d been running so hard from opened its sinister arms, welcoming me back. It was like slipping into well-worn clothing, still warm from when I had shed them. I hated how easy it was to revert. How all my struggles meant nothing. They were right. They fucking owned me. Always had. Always would.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The urge to kill returned with a vengeance. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Seeing Clara die had reminded me of my purpose. My one and only purpose.

I need to fight.

I need to draw blood.

I need to kill.

I needed a victim. If I didn’t kill and accept my heritage, I’d explode into a billion fragments, raining blood and bone.

“You thought you were free?”

I looked up at the walls of the dank pit I’d spent the last two nights in. I’d tried to run like a fucking pussy, but they caught me. Just like every time.

“You know there’s no escaping us, Fox. The sooner you give in, the easier life will be for you.” He kicked some snow from around the hole, landing on my freezing body. “Say you’ll obey, and you can come back inside.”

The thought of warmth and food almost broke me, but I was a stupid, stubborn ten-year-old—I wouldn’t give in.

I turned my back and didn’t look up when he left.

That night was the first time I dragged a sharp stick across my arm, trying to find freedom from the impossibility of my life.

The flashback ended, and I bolted.

I couldn’t be anywhere near Hazel. I wouldn’t have the self-control. She’d already lost her daughter I didn’t want to steal her life.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

I had no control left. I was a machine. A Ghost. I’d been stupid to try and change my life path. I needed to purge. I needed pain. Agony. Torture. I couldn’t live in a body while my soul tore itself into pieces.

Throwing myself down the stairs onto the floor of Obsidian, I searched the early arrivals.

You won’t find redemption here.

My mind darted into the unknown, feeding me alternatives that I’d never thought of.

Go back. You’ve accepted who you are. Go back. Go home.

My hands clenched at the thought of returning to Mother Russia. Returning to the place where my life was ruined. I would renounce everything: turn my back on Hazel, admit I could never heal. Everything I’d fought so hard for was a complete fucking joke.

Ghosts didn’t have families. Ghosts felt no pain.

So why am I in so much fucking pain?

My vision went hazy. I couldn’t do it anymore. Hating myself for my weakness; flaring with shame for my needs, I grabbed a pen from my pocket and stabbed it into my palm.

The agony washed through me with a wave of heat, followed by prickles of release. It granted a small spotlight of rationality in the chaotic storm of confusion.

I knew what I had to do.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Zel owned me more than anyone, and I wouldn’t survive without her. Clara had gone. Hazel was all I had left. I’d kept secrets from her. So many fucking secrets.

I wasn’t worthy. I wasn’t safe.

But I could change all that.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

My heart died in my chest at the thought of betraying her. She would need me. She deserved a shoulder to cry on and another person to share the burden of grief. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while I existed on the border of Ghost and sanity. I couldn’t hug her. I couldn’t console her pain.

The moment I let my guard down, I would snap her neck.

I couldn’t give Zel what she needed. I wasn’t whole.

And I meant to fucking deserve her.

My anger turned outward, focusing on the handlers who’d fucked up my life.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The conditioning throbbing in my brain was right. I needed to kill. And now I had my victim. I was done being an outcast. I was done not being normal.

I thought Clara had been my cure.

I was wrong.

The fucking cure was inside me all along. I held the key to fixing myself by returning to my past and annihilating them.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

“Fuck this.” I let down all my walls. I welcomed the ruthless conditioning with open arms. I smiled as the ice entered my limbs and filled my head with fog. I allowed my muscles to remember exactly what I’d been programmed to do.

I went Ghost.

And I lost myself.

Mother Russia.

The Iron Fist of a past I couldn’t out run. Bleak and barren and home to my misery.

I only vaguely remembered how I got here. I bought every ticket in the first class cabin to ensure no one touched me. I locked myself into the freakish persona of an assassin and no one—not even the air hostesses came near me.

The moment I landed, I stole a 4WD to drive into the snowy wilderness. I said goodbye to no one. I just disappeared.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

The conditioning throbbed harder and harder, recognising its place of origin. I was returning to my handlers and the training was fucking ecstatic to embrace the true machine I was.

I had no belongings apart from some cash, passport, and my memories, but that’s all I needed. The establishment stole me when I had nothing, and I would return with nothing.

And then I’d make them fucking pay.

Over and over again.

I was ready to go rogue and dance in blood. The ice was back in my veins, howling like a Siberian winter. I’d embraced who I truly was—who they made me become.

“You’re not a bad man. You can’t be a bad man because I love you and well, I couldn’t love a bad man.” Clara’s voice whipped around me with the artic wind.

I shook my head as a fresh, crippling wave of grief threatened to overshadow the rage. I couldn’t let myself mourn. Not yet. Not when I had so much to do.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Sucking in a deep breath, I deliberately pushed Clara from my thoughts.

I stood on the perimeter of the establishment, hidden by thick trees. Thunder rumbled above, chasing jagged lightning, illuminating the compound in flashes of white.

My skin crawled beneath my black attire. Home. Hell. My place of birth from child to killer.

Snow flurried like icy tears—glistening in the dead of night, raining over the landscape and hiding a multitude of sins. Russia was just like I remembered—frigid, ruthless, uninhabitable.

Kill. Sever. Bleed. Devour.

Australia, Hazel, Clara,—all of it seemed like a dream. I felt as if I’d never left this terrible wasteland and everything in me said to run.

Beneath the pulsating conditioning all I wanted to do was run far, far away and never look back. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be fucking free from all of this.

My muscles tensed. You will be free. Kill them all. Make them give you freedom by taking their fucking lives.

Straightening my back, ignoring the howling wind and jagged teeth of frost, I prepared for battle. I would win tonight. I would take back what was mine.

“You always were a weakling, Fox. Got to beat that compassion out of you.”

The flashback came from nowhere as I stared at the gargoyle embellished facility—so similar to the building I’d erected at home.

“You’re no one to anyone anymore. You’re an orphan, a drifter, an unknown. We are now your family, your shelter, your owners. Never forget that.”