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$2,000,000. When you live a life that he had, money like that has the possibility to change everything. His parents didn’t want him, and left him stranded in the foster care system. After so many family’s and none of them working he decided to run. Pack what he needed and make a break for it. It wasn’t the best solution, but at least it meant he didn’t have to go back.
Life on the streets wasn’t much better, a lot of the time he had to steal just to get a meal, he tried to stay in the shadows and just take enough to get by. He never wanted to cause harm. When he turned 15 he was able to get his first job, it didn’t pay well, but it was money he didn’t have to steal. He managed to get a lousy apartment that was falling apart at the seems and by 17 he tried to tell himself that everything was okay. Even if the knew he was lying.
Eventually he turned to a dark point. People who were willing to pay for things that were not morally correct. He didn’t want to do anything that would hurt anyone, but…there was one client. Willing to pay 2 million dollars for a fairly simple mission. He pondered over it for days but, with the way things were going, constantly at risk of losing his only home, barley enough food to keep him alive. He didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.
The mission was fairly easy, go in, kill the target, and take care of the kid too. Anything worth doing is worth doing right. Cotton gloves to cover fingerprints, he couldn’t afford a gun so a dull kitchen knife would have to do. He didn’t know a lot about the target, only that she was a single mother, her husband left her and her child was 3. He felt queasy.
The street was dark, the air was stuffy and he didn’t want to think about why he was there. The door was locked, but a little force and the rickety frame gave way. The house was nice, modern. There were pictures on the walls, of the woman, she had bright green hair and smiled at her child as if he were the only good thing in the world. He wished he had a mother like that. It was to late to turn back. He made his way down the hall, there were slit doors and he decided to take a right. The room was white and covered in All Might posters. It seemed tacky until he saw a bush in the bed. Upon closer inspection it was a child, his unruly green hair the only thing sticking out from under the blanket. He needed to get to the mother first.
Her room was a lot more plain. It was like she forwent any decoration to fund her son. She really seemed like a great person. His shoes thumped against the floor. He felt sick. The only way he could do this was if he slit her throat. The dull knife caught and tore at the skin and her eyes flew open, she tried to struggle but he held her down. She couldn’t yell, she couldn’t fight, she was powerless. She was limp. He hated himself, but he had more things to worry about. He walked out, and back into the child’s room.
He grabbed what he could of the kids and scooped him up into his arms. He would try to be a good father, and with the money it would help out with this. He tried not to think about it. The kid mumbled in his sleep. He left the house. Hopefully this was what the client meant when he said ‘take care of the child’.