Mercy Amidst a World of Death (Part 2)

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

She has narrow green eyes, staring innocently at me, though I am sure those eyes could grow sharp and captivate with fright.

With her smile, slender build, and handsome blond hair, she appears remarkably normal. She wears a simple white dress shirt with black pants. As for her age, late-20s I would guess. I’m not far off from that age myself.

She is lanky and thin, but that’s no surprise. She was impossibly agile back in the lot, surrounding us, embodying the darkness.

Like a void.

But no, I can’t give her that. She was jumping around like a circus performer with a fucking gun. Kicking our heads, punching our stomachs, even shooting around us for good measure without any bullets actually striking us.

She subdued us. And then she conquered them.

But not me.

Disgust grips the back of my throat… How unassuming she looks. She could have been a colleague of mine, or a civilian in the street. How jovial she is, those sweet eyes and grin.

She’s uncanny. Beyond uncanny.

This room doesn’t help– this windowless box, stuffy with the smell of blood, with crimson stains on the gray walls.

“Another mercy, then,” she remarks. “Having a pretty woman in your sights before you die.” She points to her smiling face. “Not bad, yeah?”

I cringe even harder.

She snickers. “Let me explain something to you,” she comments gently, “I’m no void.” Adopting a smug grin, she shows off her pistol, and remarks, “I am Róisín Conlan, the strongest hitman of the Doyle Group. Think twice before you diminish a dignified lady’s individuality again.”

Why did I cringe at her face? It’s far better to have a human before me than a void, right? If only. Cops and criminals, Americans and Soviets, far-right and far-left… We all look the same.

Losing the blindfold is easier on my senses, but in truth, it sickens me that she is not a void. That she is not some embodiment of death.

That she is human.

And she blabbers on. “In any case, your question about my dreams? I’ll give you some fun facts.” Then, she points her gun towards me. And fires a gunshot.

For a second, I wonder. But no; I have no gunshot wound. I am still living. I am still breathing.

“This gun shall slaughter the bastards ranked above me.” The voice is nonchalant in its tone, almost gentle.

“Hm?” I bite my lips. “You’re a snake?”

“Uh-huh,” she explains. “I guess.” She steps forward. “Maybe.” More steps. “Depends on who you ask.” More steps. “Well, not that you could ask, anyhow.”

I continue with skepticism, though I cannot help but feel shaken. “Why do you want to kill them?”

“I wonder why the hell you care,” she barks, invading my space, staring at me with those eyes– the crazed eyes I had anticipated beyond the blindfold. She then looks to the side, takes a smoke, and unleashes at me the gray breath.

I enter a coughing fit from the smoke, twitching as the bastard starts snickering.

I can feel it. What lurks behind my form— the void itself.

I can turn my head to see. Open my eyes; take a look! There’s nothing there! There is no void. No being of death dripping saliva, waiting to swallow up my form! It’s not there!

She doesn’t care about me. She cares about what pleases her perverted moral compass and amuses her. How can I do it? Reclaim my death from her?

Róisín continues, “Take a real good guess why a lower-level mobster would want to kill her superiors.”

“You want power, right?” I groan.

“Wrong; I want to change this shithole of a city,” she asserts, those hostile eyes manifesting once more.

Seriously? My first thought is to dismiss it as nonsense. “Pfft, of course you do– GAUGH!” She puts the gun in my mouth.

And she pushes it in further, reminding me, “Most people in our world die just like this without a second to spare.”

Yes. This is mercy. I’m experiencing mercy, am I not? A gun smothering my mouth, dependent on the wielder’s whim to survive… What luck!

This woman wants to change this shithole of a city? The ambition of a politician or a cop, but the work of a criminal; is this what I am hearing?

I try to move my mouth to speak. No good. My outlet… If I piss her off, will she just kill me? I refuse to accept that I’ve been towing the line this much! What is this criminal’s mercy?!

She smiles and withdraws the gun. “Speak.”

“Heh, you’re not really acting like a hero.” I keep talking tough. Why? What do I get from refusing to accept her goal? Refusing to accept my fate?

“When did I claim to be one?” she replies sternly, yet still grinning. “Quite the presumptive comment.”

“Perhaps my curiosity was mistaken,” I quip.

“Then can I finish the job right here and now?” she asks, her eyes focusing. She taps her gun while those words flee from her lips.

No. No! My eyes widen. But she doesn’t care. I tremble. But she doesn’t care.

And neither does the void behind me as it awaits a feast. It’s not there; what am I even thinking? But if it’s not there, then it’s somewhere else in this room. Is it her? No, it’s not. Is it hidden in the ground? In the ceiling? How could I know?!

Ah, despite the futility of it all, despite understanding that the void is the void, Róisín is Róisín, and this probably won’t matter to me after I am dead, and my soul may forget it all… I press further, determined to thwart the void, to thwart Róisín, however I can! “You’d be much better off trying to improve this city as a cop or a politician than as a criminal,” I comment.

She sighs. “You want to know why people hate cops?” She unleashes out of her pistol three howling bullets. “This is all you lot do,” she mutters.

Once more, I still live. I still breathe.

But my entire body twitches.

So what?! “The bar is in hell when a woman of the underworld is saying this.”

“Hah! Well, literally,” she laughs.

For some reason, I laugh as well. My will to defy her, to relinquish her control over my fate? I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh,” she suddenly stops and so do I, “and there’s nothing to even say about the politician, those puppets in suits. In this city at least, the underworld holds the true power. If you want to control this city, you need to seize it from the shadows.”

“This is a city, not a country,” I refute. “What about the ‘puppets’ above even the top of the mafia?”

Róisín chuckles with heinous eyes. “You’re a real asshole, man. You know the higher governments pretend our city does not exist. That’s why there’s a perfect opportunity for me to rule with an iron fist. And not for my own hubris, but for the benefit of the actual city. The people, the economy, the safety. The things that matter.”

I laugh. “Not for your own hubris? Bullshit.”

She laughs back. “It’s true that I’m the most well-fit for the position, that I find myself to be inherently superior to most people, and that the life of the all-powerful leader is realistically the one I deserve.”

She’s saying that like it’s a joke. Then again, she treats everything like a joke.

“But,” she continues with straighter eyes and a firmer face, “it’s my innate responsibility thus to serve the people. The perfect woman should be on top, no? But not to abuse the sheep or enrich herself. I must enhance and channel such perfection– to make everyone bathe in glory.”

It seems like she has an endless amount of words to describe how awesome she is. I can’t bear to listen any longer, but it’s not like I can stop her.

“People are suffering,” she keeps going, “and the Guard perpetuates it all. The Guard abuses its power. It’s true the underworld is the exact same, just outside of the law; I’ll never deny that. I’ll be the first to say that it’s true I’m perfect, but I’m also an asshole. You’re a quality-enough man to deserve my mercy, but you’re an asshole too. You can’t change the world without submerging yourself in corruption and becoming an asshole yourself. But I’d like to think of myself as a clean, freshly-wiped asshole, y’know?”

What?????

I utter with disgust, “You’re saying you’ll serve the people you terrorize everyday?”

“Yes, them,” she asserts. “I won’t act like I haven’t killed aplenty, and I am sure some didn’t deserve it.” She gives her gun three taps from her fingertip. “This little buddy of mine is the main culprit, but others were due to accidents and such.”

“Is that so?” I snap back. “I’ve had to kill a few criminals myself, but that was all in self-defense, for the sake of public safety. How about you? You are the public menace, so how can you justify the blood on your hands?” She can’t, but she’ll try to. It’ll be complete nonsense to justify her lofty, arrogant goal. Am I really going to die from this fool? Am I just damning myself further by finding out all of this?

“That’s quite simple; I don’t. Instead, I accept and utilize it.”

“Tch! So you just don’t care at all?”

“Oh, I’m far from apathetic,” she responds. “It’s alright; you see, once I pull this trigger upon you, you’ll become another elimination on my record. Every action I take in favor of my group and against my enemies grows my credibility, allowing me to rise up the ranks.”

Action? Credibility? She only thinks of her victims as tools. Why, of course she does. But then, does that mean…

Róisín continues, “Your death will help me in my mission. You will become another enemy subdued, captured, and executed by this ambitious criminal.”

My death… shall only be to aid her?

Nothing more? There shall be no more meaning behind it?

She preaches further, “They are all my martyrs. You included. I once shot the tires of a car being driven by a rival, and he crashed into a couple civilians. Those innocents too died for me. I shall not say they lived for me, but they were sacrificed for the necessary death of the enemy.” Her eyes narrow with pensiveness, and her voice lowers. “I will not deny the inherent tragedy of it all. Our world is obsessed with death. It truly thrives off it. Thus I find that death by my hand,” she smirks, “is one of the more merciful ways to go out. I permit my victims to die martyrs for the city,” she points at herself, “chosen by fate to serve their superior.” Lastly, she points at me. “And you’re next.”

Then and there, my mind processes a massive sigh of resignation.