Valentine's First Kill
He almost immediately stiffens up as the words fall on his ears. "It...I'm not going to lie...it was pretty...bad. I was only twelve years old." He sighs and stops walking, staring off into space as he recollects the events that had transpired that cold, December day. "It had been a pretty normal day....I had woken up, like normal, just like any other day. I had put on my uniform and went out to the training fields with Carter. He was teaching me how to disarm. It had been going pretty good, actually. Carter said I'd always been a natural when it came to combat, whether it be melee, guns, or hand-to-hand. We were taking a small break after my fourth time in a row taking his gun--it was the actual thing, not a toy, a Glock 19--when we heard the comms flick on. They had said a bunch of words that my young self didn't understand, but Carter's face darkened. I could tell something wrong must have been happening." His eyes seem to cloud over and turn a shade paler. "Now, we were laughing and having a good time, but after the announcement, Carter stopped. I asked what was wrong, and he told me that everything was going to be okay, that I could trust these people, and 'For the love of God, Valentine, just--just do what they say.' I was worried hearing this and asked him where I was going, and why he couldn't come with me. He said he wanted to, but where I was going was somewhere that he wasn't allowed." He somehow straightens up from his already perfect posture and grits his teeth. "Suddenly, the doors opened and six people came in and marched right over to me.'Valentine Crowley, you are required to come with us.' I whimpered and tried to hide behind Carter, but Carter just moved out of the way. I was almost in tears by this point, I was begging for mercy, or at least for Carter to come with me as the Captain threw me over his shoulder and started to carry me off. They had carried me through a series of doors and tunnels until we arrived in a small room. The room was bare: there was the artificial sunlight that permeates each room, and no windows, which was pretty usual. What was unusual, though, is what was in the middle of the room. There was a chair, but what was /on/ the chair was the issue." He walks and sits down on the curb. "There...he couldn't have been any older than ten, now that I think about it. The captain threw me down on the ground, hard, and pulled his knife from his belt and handed it to me. 'That is an enemy of The Order, one of the people who you have sworn to defeat--So defeat him!' I gave him the confused look of a twelve year old who'd been removed from what he knew and thrust upon a foreign situation. Sure, I had been trained for combat and shit, but I hadn't expected to do anything--especially not at that age." He props his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands. "They...it was bad. He forced me to grab the knife, and picked me up and pushed me towards the child. I could hear him under the rag they put over his head. He was crying, and the rag showed it. He was begging for his mother, his father, his friend, anyone. A kid! They had me, a kid, kill another kid!" He tears up slightly. "I...I did what I had to do. If I didn't kill the poor bastard, I'd be in the same situation he was, before they even bothered to clean up the blood. I...It....I walked up to the child, as a child myself, and stuck a nine inch blade in his throat! I can still remember it clearly....how he whimpered....how he immediately stopped as soon as he felt something sharp against his throat...how he started screaming as I slowly thrust in...how it squelched as I slide the knife in...him gasping and gurgling as the blood spilled out around the blade, and onto my young hands." His eyes squeeze shut. "It...God, it was bad..."