"That's one long story, Sandy."
A smile crept into my lips. "Well, I think we have time."
"Well... technically I should go to work. But to hell with it. Paperwork can wait."
I smiled in response, as I twisted and turned around a bit so I could see him.
He sighed, trying to recollect his memories. "Well... I was never an exemplary kid. Always on my own, never really had any friend. But it all took a turn for the worse when my father got himself killed. ... I've never dug too deep into it, but as far as I know, he was doing stuff for the mob. I guess a rival family killed him."
"That's why you're hellbent on destroying the mob?" I looked into his eyes. He had that grin of his, but it was cold this time. Sad, even.
"Nah. That would grant a bullet, a few at most, not a full all-out war. Anyway. He was the one who brought the money. Once he was gone... we had nothing."
His grin was now gone. "My mother struggled to make ends meet, but she never really managed it. In those days, I always went hungry to bed. I soon started stealing. At first minor stuff, you know. A sandwich from this kid who had two. Some money from that uptight man. Whatever. I tried to do it nicely. But... sometimes I got caught, and I soon learned to fight back. I figured it was the only way to avoid a beating." His lips curved into a smile, but his eyes were full of gloom.
"Guess it... makes sense." I managed to say. The story was not important anymore, seeing him like that... it was heartbreaking.
He kept talking, though it was clear it was not easy for him to open up. "Time made me go further and further. Soon I didn't try to play nice anymore. Scaring the people into giving me money was easier than staying undetected." Those glistening eyes again. I thought I had saw a hint of regret before, but now it was gone. "I also dipped my toes into the mob, doing minor jobs here and there. It all got me arrested a few times. Last one... okay. Wait. I should show you, that one got into the newspapers and all."
He got his phone and searched for the old article. A kid, probably underage, had been badly beaten up. I looked a him, waiting for the inevitable explanation.
"Yeah, it's not a nice pic." He joked, but his somber eyes betrayed his words. "Yes, that was my first kill. I... two days before, the idiot had ran to his brother when I had politely told him to give me his money or else. The brother was a beast, he beat me up pretty badly. That day, I saw him alone. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I just sort of went into a frenzy. Beat him to death. Thing is, I didn't realize there were quite a few witnesses, so I got sent to that place again."
I kept listening. It was hard to see him like this. Broken.
"I was about fourteen then. I was expecting the same as always. The same idiot counselors that just told you how your actions hurt people. That sort of moralizing nonsense. But this time was different. The guy was none like the others. He was in a suit, for a start." His eyes lightened up.
"So that's where it comes from." I joked. He almost always wore a suit, and kept insisting I had to wear one too. I hated them with a passion, but he didn't really gave me a choice.
"Well, I've always respected those who can rock a suit, but... no, that part comes later." He smirked, for a split second back to his usual self. "Well, thing is. He showed me the newspaper. I told him everything. And then he went and offered me a contract. A full time job, at the Agency. Didn't pay too well, at least during the training, but it included food and lodgings. I didn't have to think it twice."
"And your mother?"
He closed his eyes for a long second. "I honestly don't know what was of her. I was angry at her, I always thought she was the cause of our misery, so I mostly ignored her. I didn't thought of her when I got into this place, you know."
"So... how was the training?" I decided to move on.
"Hell." He smiled, as if hell was the best thing ever.
He made a long pause, trying to figure what to tell. "As in any other training plan, I guess. A strict schedule, and some creative punishments for those who didn't follow the orders to the letter." He sighed. "Screw it. This is what he did, over and over." He grabbed my hand, ran it through the back of his head. It was invisible under the hair, but obvious to the touch. A thick scar, clearly a brand, in the shape of an x.
I looked into his eyes, realizing where his obsession with the marks came from.
"As for the training, at first it was mostly physical stuff, but soon enough it became apparent that there was something... not right." He now had a half-sided smirk in his face.
"Like?"
"Well... we started practicing with dummies, but sometimes they were... a little too real. Anyway, we kept ignoring those things, knowing well that saying anything was not a good idea. And then... " And then his smile was gone again, bitterness taking its place. "I think I was like sixteen by then. Three of the guys had had enough and tried to escape. I... I'll never forget that day."
I just stared at him, curious about what was it that broke him.
"The instructor called the rest of us to his office. Led us to the safe room beneath it. He had rounded up the three guys like human livestock. Blindfolded, hands tied... you know the stuff. He made us sit on the floor right before them. And then he killed them. Cut their throats. Their blood splashed everywhere."
I swallowed hard. Not really at the scene, but at him. It was obviously painful for him to retell the old tale.
"And then he just told us something along the lines of 'that's what happens if you mess up', and left. The worst was, from that day on, they didn't bother with the false dummies anymore. It was painfully obvious they were... people. And it was painfully obvious we couldn't really do anything about it."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah. He kept pushing us farther, though. Soon we were doing... actual interrogations. Real files, I mean. I think at least three of the guys killed themselves when they saw what the man did." A smile crept up to his lips, a hint of shine was back in his eyes. I think I know who wore a suit too. "The man could have been the Devil, if you ask me."
I couldn't help to smirk at his remark.
"Though, I soon started liking the job. For the first time, probably in my life, I felt... in control. I had power. It did not help that the man knew well what to say to... lead us forward. He kept praising me. Telling me how I had a future there. And... Well, I guess I fell for it." His grin was now obvious.
I bit my tongue. Someone had obviously learned much more than how to torture and kill in that place.
"I was like eighteen when I was called to the Head of Detentions' office. Long story short, he said he had been watching me work, and felt I could fit in his department. And so, he signed me a contract. And that's how I ended up working in this place. Skip a few years, and he got seriously hurt in one mission and thought it was time to retire. He called me again, and offered me the position, and as I guess you can figure, I accepted it."
