Mercy Amidst a World of Death (Part 1)

In this short story, an ambitious hitwoman kidnaps a police officer. The officer wrestles with his inevitable demise, determined to find peace no matter what.

A psychological power struggle commences: a tenacious, haughty hitwoman with unusual motives, versus a stubborn, spiteful cop who will do anything to spit in the face of crime!

I awaken surrounded by a void.

My head thumps and pounds. A force squeezes my limbs.

I hear a click noise, from an object some feet away from this living, breathing body. I raise my head, endure the pain.

“Give me your last words,” the void booms.

And then there is silence. It waits for me, for another reason to speak.

Relying solely on sensation, I gather that the void has blindfolded my face. A tight rope bounds my limbs, restrains my body to a light chair. However, my mouth isn’t covered. My voice, my thoughts, still have an outlet.

Is this the same being who took down the whole squad? Its appearance back then was hazy, its voice abstract.

The void lectures, “Here I am, permitting you some semblance of dignity in the face of death. This is a merciful end, especially for our world.”

“Our world?” I mutter.

“Yes.” The void’s voice is that of a stoic woman. It generates footsteps, a monotonous sequence of blunt noises followed by subtle echoes, not going particularly near or far from my form. It continues, “No acting dumb. You cannot delay the inevitable.”

Suddenly comes the adrenaline. “You scumbag!” I shriek. “Keep talking and I’ll strangle you!”

“Heh,” it utters. “This is a world of death, where fear cannot survive, and pitiful resistance shall not prevail. Your fate is sealed.”

A world of death.

I am an agent of death, a dirty cop waging war against dirty criminals. Yet, I am a necessary evil. I thwart those who cannot be trusted with freedom. The public menace– elusive and abstract.

An evil known is better than one unknown.

One of us ensures stability; the other begets chaos. Yet agents of death we both shall be.

—

I was on a mission, walking cautiously in a parking lot with three men beside me, and a leading man in front.

“I’m going to shoot on-sight; I’ve had enough of this bastard,” a partner barked.

“We need information from her,” said our bored squad leader. “Rough her up and restrain her, but do nothing more.”

“Are you serious?” spouted another partner. “We do worse to protestors!”

“Hah! I send communists to the hospital every week,” a third man remarked with a sickening pride.

“You should send them to Mother Russia instead,” joked another man.

My colleagues shared a hearty laugh.

This loud chatter was only revealing our location, and they were arrogant enough to think that didn’t matter.
“Come right out; don’t be a coward!” the squad leader yelled.

And she obeyed.

We live in a city of the greatest ideological battles of the Cold War. This cursed place hosts not just strife between criminals and cops, but communists, neo-nazis, socialists, anarchists, liberals, conservatives… any political faction you can think of. All agents of death.

The federal and state governments have abandoned this place, leaving us to the will of death. They have tasked us, the Guard, with maintaining order, especially against criminals and far-left extremists. The other groups are of a lower priority.

When order is under threat, we come and do our jobs.

We are a necessary evil.

I willfully serve the Guard’s tyranny. I am gentle with the protestors and the criminals, relatively speaking. But that does not change my complicity.

I had a noble, uncompromising mission– to destroy the criminal underworld. Yet, in that parking lot, another agent of death—a void—put a sudden end to my life’s work.

Now that void looms before me, waiting to kill me. Shall it force me to talk? Yet it has already asked for my last words. I ask, “Do you not need information from me?”

“I got everything of worth out of the squad leader,” the void explains coldly. “Then, one-by-one, I cleaned house.”

“Yet here I still breathe,” I murmur. I am not to be spared, am I? No. Of course not.

The void chuckles. I try and fail to imagine a grin. “Yes. You were spared, well, from the initial executions. Your squad leader complained quite a bit about you. You’re a weak man. A coward. Barely did your job. It was your fault they got caught. You could never be a true member of the Guard. You could never stand up to the ‘Soviets among us’ and the mobsters. Your leader made sure to be hateful, even as his last moments awaited him.”

My skin crawls. “So you’ve taken some special liking for me?” My words come off more offended than sassy.

“Not necessarily,” the void replies. “You’re still going to die, but I will give you the opportunity for last words. I will give you time to come to terms with your fate. To reward your relative morality, I shall give you a merciful death.”

I grit my teeth. That tone, that haughty, haughty HAUGHTY tone!

“I will not die today,” I declare, my voice low and raspy. “I will not die.”

“You will though.”

“I won’t! Not to scum like you!” I scream.

It laughs. “The pot calling the kettle black, now?”

“Don’t group me in with my colleagues or you mob bastards!”

“Hm?” The void’s tone contorts even further, wielding a baffling masquerade of playful, innocent pensiveness. “We operate in the same world, yet we are still individuals. That’s why you’re receiving mercy, after all.”

“I don’t need your mercy!” I growl.

“I’d prefer to give it to you. Would make me sleep a little better at night.”

Forget the gentleness; I’d shoot this scumbag on-sight if I could! After all, it’s what’s expected of my damn job.

But I cannot shoot a void. Let alone a void that has already sucked in my fate.

Sucked it in? That’s not the same as conquest.

I shan’t scream myself into a pitiful death.

I will die with pride, with peace.

I huff and puff. The void goes silent.

I finally say, begrudgingly, “I’ll take your mercy.”

“Good,” it replies, “then tell me what you have to say.”

“You… If you were given this ‘mercy’ yourself, what would you do?” Anger crawls under my voice.

And then, I hear another click; the void moves the object, perhaps rendering it passive. “Those don’t sound like last words.” It pauses. “Whatever. Of course, it would depend on where I am in life.”

“You mean if you’ve accomplished your dreams?”

The void sighs. There was a flicker of light; even my clothed eyes could sense it. I hear a soft release of breath, a whoo sound; then I smell a foul odor in the air. As I cough, the void continues, “I suppose so. Well, such an answer isn’t unique. Not to me, not to you, nor to any other person processing that their head is about to explode.”

“So do you care to hear my feelings?” I ask. “Calmly. Rationally.”

“Of course I do,” the void replies, chuckling. “It’s why you’re not in Satan’s embrace.”

I want to focus, recognize that this is a human before me. And yet, as long as my limbs are tied, my vision is blocked, and I know nothing about her, the void will stubbornly maintain its dark aimlessness.

“You know,” I start, “it’s far from an honor to be killed by a hoodlum who acts like she isn’t one, someone who composes herself as if she can’t just be killed at any moment.” Swallow my contempt, void; I’ll destroy your pride!

“Heh… Hoodlum? I take offense,” the void laughs softly, then comes another whoo sound, and another wave of stench.

I try again, and I get a little further. I imagine a woman smoking, her features unclear beyond a despicable grin, with a pistol in her hand. But once more, the darkness swallows her whole, so soon after formation.

The void asks, “You go right to insulting me. What happened to ‘calmly’, ‘rationally’ talking with me?”

“I’m just adopting your style.” I smirk. “Do you wish to feel worthy to take another life? To take my life? My words piss you off, hm?”

“Yes, to all those questions,” the void responds, its footsteps resuming. “But I can determine for myself whether I’m worthy or not.” It seems like the void’s nonexistent feet have approached me. A clack. A landing click.

A gun is right against my forehead.

“I don’t need the validation of a dead man,” growls the void.

The woman of the void shall not shoot; that’s what I tell myself. Regardless, I break a sweat. How could I not? Yet, something in me continues to rebel. “Hmph, even so, why don’t you earn my sincere faith in you before you do the deed? A nice challenge, no?”

The gun does not move. “I thought I made it clear I don’t give a shit about your opinion. But…” The gun moves. I almost sigh. The sequence of footsteps emerges once more, but in reverse. “This is your last request– to know about your executioner? To respect her, even? Heh… You pique my curiosity. Why would you want this for yourself before you die?”

“Maybe I’ll answer in my final words.” I grin.

“Oh, is that so?” the void asks.

“First things first– What is your dream, void?”

“Void?” The voice pauses. “Hm…”

Away goes my smile. What does it mean, “Hm?”

Something, a hand, touches my blindfold. And suddenly, the void disappears. While I reckon it lurks behind me now, rather than all around me, still ready at any moment…

Now, a real human figure stands confidently within my vision.