Where the wind blows.

He crept through the darkness following his prey, the man ahead oblivious to the danger he was in.  The rain was falling but to the hunter it did not even register, this was his job, his life, he no longer considered himself a normal person, every day was a battle with his conscience and every day his killer instinct overrode any level of decency that remained in his being.  He moved up behind the prey, the length of steel in his right hand, “make it look like a mugging”, had been the instruction.

Even as a kid he was the kind of person that pulled the wings off flies and tortured other animals, he hadn’t been a bully but then he didn’t then have the self belief that he now exuded.  He had taken his first human life aged 17, his father who had been abusive to him and his mother all his life had been hitting his mother when he arrived home, not something particularly unusual.  However that one day when his father turned to him, something began to boil up, it wasn’t the first fist that connected with his head, or the one after that which was to his stomach.  In fact the flurry of punches went un-answered by him until something in him snapped, suddenly the pain of old injuries flaring up again was gone, the fear that previously had run through him was suddenly washed away, his eyes became focused and his fists began to tighten as the red mist descended.

His fist lashing out caught his Dad by surprise and he went down, not so much from the strength behind the punch but from the sheer surprise that his son had fought back.  The foul language that left his father’s mouth and the threats they contained spurred him to his feet, with a skill and strength he had never shown before another fist connected with his Dads temple and the rising body slumped to the floor.  At this point he began kicking out, striking blow upon blow on the body on the floor, he never noticed when the movements and flinching stopped, but he kept on kicking, tears now streaming down his face.  Eventually the adrenaline that had kept him going ran out and he slumped to the floor, fear returned to his eyes as he realised what he might have done.  His mother’s cries finally registered with him and he turned to her, however the look of horror  on her face the final straw and he ran.  Fear of what consequences his actions might bring kept him running.

Months passed and he was living on the streets, no one troubled him any more, too many had tried to bully him into situations, but he soon discovered that he was more than capable with his fists and soon his reputation grew.  He had never forced others, never wanted the power that others desperately attempted to gather, he was a loner.  Eventually he came to the attention of some of the local criminals and the attraction of money and of some kind of real life was too much of a draw and he was soon a hired thug.  He lost count of the number of beatings he handed out, Store owners who refused of could not pay their “protection” money, rival thugs who needed to be disuaded.  The list went on, eventually he started to enjoy his job and this was when the line was crossed.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen and it he couldn’t work out what happened, but once again  the red mist descended.   What had supposed to have been a normal beating became something more, he couldn’t stop and his fists just kept going.  By the time he had been pulled off the body in front of him was still, the face a mass of blood and bruises, the nose broken, cheeks split and blood pouring from the mouth, the eyes lifeless and he felt staring straight at him.  Punishment came and went, the scars healed and he was back working again, this time however he was being asked to kill.

He thought it would be easy, the money was more and these people did not deserve to live, but the first time in cold blood he froze.  It wasn’t until his own nose had been bloodied that the red mist arose and only a short time later he was walking away leaving the body on the pavement as per his instructions.  As time went on it became easier he didn’t need the red mist to do the job, became more clinical and able to put each job behind him.

Earlier in the day his phone had beeped, as he flipped up the cover and spotted the “New Message” notification he already could feel the excitement rise.  He hit the button and a photo appeared, followed by a place of work and then a name.  Max.