The Acid-thrower

I tried to warn Him. I tried to warn Him, but He didn't listen.

Saturday evening. The sun had nearly set, but its final few rays of light were more than enough to illuminate my target - Zabulon. He stood, maybe shaking from the cold, in the center of the road. His left hand clutched a straight razor; in the right, the vial.

"Show yourself, you faceless bastard," called Zabulon.

I tried one last time to deter Zabulon, but I could not - my voice was blocked from the boy's mind.

"C'mon, c'mon," came the mutters. "Where are you?"

I could feel Master's presence growing closer. If only I had not hesitated.

"Third time's the charm." He hefted his little vial and shouted, "Get out here!"

Master appeared behind Zabulon at some twenty-five yards. Master was quiet, like the night sky, but all the same, Zabulon spun around in anger. He had not planned the moment out very well - only so far as getting Master to approach. He fingered the handle of the razor for a few moments; then, when Master did not react, Zabulon raised the vial, ready to throw.

Then I struck.

I knocked my target to the ground, having left both my knives at - at home. My mask fell away from me and hit the road some distance away, but my face was still concealed by the night's shadows. Zabulon groaned in what sounded like pain, and I raised my fist to attack. One. Two. One. Two. I punched and slapped and slammed until the moans stopped and Zabulon slumped against the asphalt. I sighed and stood up, ready to leave for the time being. Then I became the target.

The now-uncorked vial rushed at me, is contents spilling out and splashing against my face. I may have screamed - or tried to - Zabulon did not react as if I had, instead choosing to fall unconscious. Without a voice to scream with, I grabbed my mask from the ground and stuffed it into my biggest pocket, not wanting to get it or myself damaged any further. Then I ran.

I heard Master chuckling softly behind me at the carnage we had caused.

Zabulon's presence disappeared. He was is asleep, but not asleep; dead, but not dead; perhaps in a sort of half-sleep, a state between awakening and sleeping, death and life. I hope for my own sake that Zabulon snaps out of it.

-Amontillado

The Mulla

Perhaps it is now time for a break from the senseless violence and a tale of how I found Him. I discovered His existence in a library, where all true knowledge is to be found. The keeper of the library was a man named the Mulla, or at least that's who he is for now. His library was made up of endless books, far as the eye could see. I called for his assistance and he appeared, such as he can.

The Mulla wistfully wondered what I wanted. I told him I needed some proof that He lived. Within seconds a huge book was in my hands, a book of records. A thousand names and titles were in that book but there was only one that I was searching for, and sure enough, on the second-to-last page, I saw it. That was when I knew I could change my life's direction, and earn a new purpose. I dedicated my life to protecting Him using whatever means necessary.

Then the Mulla wailed.

Smoke rose from the pages beneath my fingers. The shelves around me caught fire and I couldn't see the exit through the chaos. I began crashing through whatever was in my way, running towards the nearest wall, or what I thought was a wall - the books just seemed to go on forever. I was going to burn in that library and there was nothing I could do about it.

Then Master appeared. Master saved me from a cruel fate, and carried me away. It has seemed to me that ever since that day I owe Master my life, even though I had already decided to pledge it to Him.

-Amontillado

The Philanthropist

The Philanthropist was perfect on the outside - handsome, wealthy, and generous. But on the inside he had plans of his own. The Philanthropist was going to detonate at least one kilo of explosives in a very concentrated area. If He was caught in the blast, He would no doubt be killed unceremoniously. Bottlecap and Firefly were ready to take another life, and Firefly especially was thirsty.

The Philanthropist would be hosting a fancy party late in the evening, and I had acquired an invitation. It was going to be my first party in quite a while. The grounds were crowded with men in suits and women in fluffy, artificial dresses. Several small children and animals, sometimes hard to distinguish between, rushed around amongst the feet of the adults, diving in the pool and knocking over waiters. The Philanthropist was about to start his speech when I arrived in a skeleton costume - the attire of his servants. Just as he had spoken the first few words I moved in close to him and informed him of the situation unfolding in the kitchen. He nodded and dismissed himself from the podium, walking briskly towards the house. Silently, invisibly, I slipped in after him. Perhaps one of the poodles saw me.

Once inside I knocked him over the head with a rolling pin and dragged him into the nearest small, dark room. He seemed to be not fully unconscious, but that would soon change for good. I thrust Firefly into the Philanthropist's neck, and Bottlecap into his stomach. He coughed, once, and lay his head back. I closed his eyes for him and gave my usual respects. Then I draped a large trenchcoat over him and made for the exit.

-Amontillado

The Dog Whisperer

The Dog Whisperer had planned something. He had just picked up a shipment from a third party, and if I allowed him to use it, the Dog Whisperer was going to hurt Him, irreparably. Bottlecap was with me, but this was a little before Firefly's time. For quite a few months the Dog Whisperer had been slowly poisoning Him, and apparently His time had come; the Dog Whisperer was going to try to kill Him.

I could not let that happen.

The Dog Whisperer was alone in his hideout, an industrial warehouse, where several of his cronies would normally stay. The Dog Whisperer had sent them away for a meeting he had planned with Him. Unfortunately for the Dog Whisperer, I was there to stop such a meeting from happening. I shimmied up a series of ladders into the upper reaches of the warehouse, Bottlecap between my teeth. Bottlecap was more talkative at the time than she is now, and she showed me where to look, told me how to get out swiftly and silently once the job was done. The Dog Whisperer paced restlessly below me, waiting for Him to show up. The kill was easier than many others I made before or since then; I did not even have to dirty Bottlecap. I dropped down onto the Dog Whisperer's back and twisted his head around until I heard his neck make a satisfying snap. The Dog Whisperer would not be hurting Him today, or any time soon.

-Amontillado

Bottlecap

I found Bottlecap back in March, when I was on the trail of the Hyena. The Hyena was on vacation with his family, and I was supposed to hurt him, but not fatally - enough to hospitalize. They were at Mount Rushmore when I caught up with them. He was with his wife, and ten-year-old son. I had my plan all set; I would make it look like the Hyena had tried to commit suicide, and then lead someone to find him before he managed to die.

When he finally went to the bathroom I smothered him with a rag soaked in chloroform until he went limp on the floor. I had nothing to hurt him with, I realized. As I searched the premises I discovered a janitor's closet. There! Hidden under a variety of screwdrivers inside a toolbox was Bottlecap. She whispered a slow call to me, and she knew my name without a single word from me. I lifted her gingerly from the box and spirited her back to the bathroom, where the Hyena lay, still in the grasp of unconsciousness. Slowly, quietly, I slit his wrist; enough to draw blood, but not quickly and not much. As I was about to drop Bottlecap and make my exit, I realized that I couldn't leave her. I decided to smash one of the mirrors, and let the Hyena's life drip onto a wickedly sharp shard of it. As I walked out of the grimy cesspool of tourism I called out to the nearest passerby: "Help! Help! In the bathroom!" They would never even know it was I who alerted them of the dying man.

-Amontillado

Firefly

Firefly likes the feeling of the wind. Firefly also speaks to me much more than Bottlecap does. I met Firefly two weeks ago during a heist gone bad. I was lifting some...incriminating evidence from the target's seven-story casino. The Dinner Guest took nearly all the profits for himself and only barely paid his bodyguards, much less any of the employees of the casino itself. That night, he was alone in his inner sanctum, counting the afternoon's earnings and giggling madly to himself. I had been told to find something that could humiliate the Dinner Guest in public from someone I only knew the voice of. I never know why I do the things I do, but I do them anyway. I am good at following orders.

The Dinner Guest was drunk and it was easy to gain access to his room. He lounged, sprawled, like a comatose sloth, on his bed, the TV on and flickering between mindless news stations. A pile of bundled dollar bills lay next to him. Despite his alcohol-inflicted stupor, the Dinner Guest was aware enough to realize when I has come into the room, and he was paranoid enough to know I hadn't come with good intentions. He rose from his squalor and picked up a blade from his bedside table, and that's when I first heard Firefly's voice. He spoke to me, softly, like a lover, and in the blink of an eye Firefly was in my hand and the Dinner Guest was attempting to flee towards the window. Give me to drink, whispered Firefly. I sank the blade up to its hilt in the flesh between the Dinner Guest's shoulder blades, and Firefly's thirst was quenched.

-Amontillado