Abandoned by my parents, I grew up on the streets. At thirteen, I killed the first man. A drunkard scum, trying to force his disgusting desires onto me. A week later, I had killed another three men for the payment of thirty credits. Just for a week's meal at a restaurant, I had left my humanity to the hole I came from.

I wasn't tricked into doing it, no one bullshit his way into making me kill. I asked on my volition. Two guys talking about hiring an assassin at the run-down bar I worked, and I seized the chance. Proving that I had already killed a man, although a drunkard.

A month later, I had killed seven more people making an infamous legend of the BlackHeart Child. A few days after I killed the seventh man, three middle-aged men and a young man approached me. They wanted to train me into an assassin of their business corporation. Blinded by the cash they presented, I agreed without a hitch.

I don't know why but I felt like I grew stronger with each kill.

Finally,even years later, that is today, I am known as the Crimson Devil with an impeccable record of 100% completion.

But this rank and glory didn't last long as I was stabbed and shot by my own people.

On the verge of death, I think of the past. Even after being killed off by my very first employers, I feel settled. I don't resent them. It was not a betrayal, just a predetermined outcome that I failed to see. I just regret one thing, that I had no subordinates of my own. Ones loyal to me by their soul, otherwise, the outcome today would have been very different.

Feeling my conciousness fading away, I slowly murmur," Is this how it feels to die? Peaceful and comforting?".