• I’ve been called by many different names but for this purpose you can call me Deana. This is the story of my life. Its filled with murder and gore and betrayal, but hey, a job is a job.
    I was picked up by the agency at the age of 16. I was a rough youth living on the streets of Montreal, having long since been abandoned by my crack abusing mother. In that world you could only be tough. If you weren’t tough, you died. And tough doesn’t necessarily mean strong, it means street wise. If you couldn’t find enough shelter the -40 weather of a Canadian winter will freeze you solid within hours.
    One cold quiet night I huddled in the doorway to an apartment building when two men approached me. They wore long dark over coats and their heads were shaved bald. Suddenly a gun was levelled at me and the last thing I remembered was my whole world fading to black.
    When I awoke I was in a pristinely white room. The floor, walls, and ceiling were singularly, blinding white as was the small cot I was laying on. It was a medium sized room, with 2 doors.
    I felt warm and cold at the same time. Warmed by the hospital type flannel blankets on the cot and yet the medical feel of the room and harsh fluorescent lights chilled me to the bone.
    Vaguely I wondered if I was in heaven or hell. The last thing I could remember was being shot by the men in the dark coats.
    I ran my fingers through my hair and sat up alarmed. My hair had been cropped off to my shoulders. And it was clean. I ran my fingers through again, savouring the feel of my hair. I was so used to my hair being ratted, and greasy from lack of washing.
    That’s also when I noticed that my clothes had been changed as well. I was wearing a white tee shirt and white flannel pyjama type pants. Beside the bed were some white slippers which looked to be my size. I slipped them on and got up.
    I walked over to the closest door and tried the doorknob. It was locked. I rushed over to the other door and tried it. It opened into a bathroom, also completely devoid of any colour. Not a window anywhere.
    Feeling a bit hopeless I slowly turned back to the cot and sat on the edge. I had barely sat down when the locked door swung open and the two men from the streets came in. They were no longer wearing the dark over coats but each wore dark plain suits.
    I stood in alarm, fearful of another attack, telling myself I would be prepared for it this time. The attack never came. The two men stood there staring at me for a few moments and then one of the spoke.
    “Sit down,” he commanded. I tried to be defiant but something in the cold blue of his eyes told me that it would lead to much worse than the position I was in now, so I did as he asked and I sat down.
    The second man stepped forward and knelt down in front of me, taking a good look at the features of my face. I noticed he had green eyes and seemed to be much more fair skinned than the first man. I supposed he would have had fair coloured hair as well if he had any, but the colours of his eyebrows indicated a strawberry blond maybe.
    “I am Genesis,” he said. There was a slit lilt to his voice, I listened carefully, curious at his accent, trying to place it. “We’ve brought you to this facility in order to monitor you and to teach you our ways. We’re assassins, trained killers and our boss seems to think you have what it takes to be a top assassin.”
    I decided he had a definite Irish brogue. However I was slightly stunned by what he was saying to me. Me? An Assassin? Certainly I had killed before, out of necessity to survive, but to target unknown people and kill for money? I wasn’t certain I could do it.
    Before I could say anything, the second man spoke again.
    “You do not have a choice in this matter, it is either kill or be killed. My companion,” he said, gesturing the first man, “is called Ghost. From now until he decides you are ready, you will be his apprentice.”
    With that he turned and left the room.