Chapter Text
My name is Carver Howell. I was born in Cuba and moved to Mexico when I was 9. I suffered intense emotional and physical abuse by my parents, and when I was 18, I left for the United States to free myself from their chains. To this day, I have no contact with them. I have never seen or spoken to them since I left, and I’ll keep it that way ‘till the day I die. To be honest, my memory of my childhood and teenage years is kind of blurry.. As if I am forgetting major events, but it doesn’t really matter. As of me writing this, I am 36 years old. Carver Howell is not my birth name, but it’s my name now, as I changed it legally to separate myself from my previous life. I finished high school at 19, found love, and went to a community college to prepare for a university. Unfortunately, I did not have the funds to go, since I lived alone with my fiance, trying to support each other. This is where I made the biggest mistake of my life.
I am a hitman, and I have been since I was 20 years old, or was it 21? I don’t know anymore. I work for an agency called the “International Contract Agency” also referred to as the “ICA”, against my will. I was manipulated into signing a contract that tied me to them, and I cannot leave. I was lied to, tortured, experimented on, and made into a weapon for violence. I was violated in so many ways, I was used and treated like some sick bastard’s lab rat. It was years of pain I had to endure, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. My boss, Silas, is a cruel, sick man.. He’s vile and rotten, I’ve never met a man so evil and malicious. I’m not a good man myself, I’ve done terrible things, but Silas.. I never thought I could despise a person so much, but here I am. I can’t do anything about it currently. I wish more than anything that I could put a bullet through that man’s head, even though I feel like that’s too quick. He deserves far worse than that. Still, he knows me well enough, he’s made sure that I cannot harm him. He’s always multiple steps ahead of me, he knows my weaknesses. So I must wait, even if it’s another decade, I’ll find the perfect moment to take back my freedom. Still, catching that man smiling at me with that uncanny grin of his, it makes me feel uncomfortable, and angry.
I don’t know why I’m typing this out, maybe to get my emotions out in some way. I can’t express how I feel anywhere else, I don’t dare express my emotions to anyone. Hell, I’m not even supposed to feel anything, and yet I still do. Majorly, I feel anger, but there’s also sadness and regret. I regret many things, the weight of my actions sometimes almost suffocate me when I lay in bed at night. I’m constantly thinking of who, no, what I’ve turned into. I’m not the man I used to be 16 years ago, that man is dead. Sometimes I think of him though, he deserved better than this. He had goals, ambitions, he had a life before all this. He had someone who loved him, but I had to fuck it all up.
I should’ve said no, I should’ve walked away. But I was a desperate man, a desperate and idiotic man. I can’t undo what I’ve done, the day I signed that contract, I threw my life away.. I threw everything I worked for away. I took away the life of someone I loved, too. For that, I’ll never forgive myself. Now I sit here, alone in my apartment, thinking about my past decisions and every terrible thing I’ve ever done. I am a victim to Silas, but I also am no better than him, am I? The things I’ve done, because I was ordered to, but I still did those terrible things. I still took the lives of many that didn’t deserve to die. I’ve become the exact opposite of the man that younger me wanted to be. I’m just an angry, violent man, if I even still count as a man anymore.
Sometimes I stare at my reflection, and I just see a broken man. Yet sometimes, I see my younger self, the younger self that hasn’t met Silas yet. If I could do one thing, to go back in time, I’d tell my younger self to run. I’d tell him to never accept that contract, I’d tell him to never go to America. If I would’ve known that signing that contract would’ve ruined not only my life, but would take the life of my fiance. Well, ex fiance I guess.
Maybe my life would be different, maybe I would be happy.
I miss Brian, he deserved better than this. He deserved better than me, if he had never met me, he’d still be alive. But it’s been years, and I’m starting to forget parts of him. I’ve forgotten what his voice sounded like, I’ve forgotten what his face looked like. I can’t remember his mannerisms, how he acted, his personality, everything that made him who he was.. I can’t remember. It’s like he’s slowly disappeared from my life, like he never existed. His name is all I can remember, I have nothing left of him. I have nobody, I feel so alone, yet I don’t want to be with anyone. I can never find connections with people, I haven’t felt love for someone in years. My emotions are the only thing that helps me remember that there is some part of me that is still human, because of everything else I’ve done, and what’s become of me.. I don’t feel like I connect with humanity anymore, and yet I have such a deep urge for human connection.
I’m so angry all the time, when people look at me, I can sense their unease. It’s like they can see through my eyes and see the monster that I am, and they refuse to meet my gaze again. I don’t have a life outside of being a hitman, and I’ve forgotten how to have genuine conversations that weren’t necessary to my line of work. I often don’t have anything to say, so I just don’t speak at all. It’s just an endless cycle that I can’t escape from. I would’ve killed myself already, if that was possible. But I can’t, the experimentation I went through, it’s impossible for me to die, really. Some might think that’s a blessing, to not be able to die, but to me.. It’s a curse. It’s painful, and I can’t escape this life.
I’m stuck like this, stuck in a body that cannot die. Only Silas knows of the only way to kill me quickly, and that information is classified. I was the only hitman that survived the initial experimentation of enhancing my stem cells, regeneration, etc. Ever since then, Silas has been fixated on me. I went through more experimentation, and that was how my healing factor came to be. I am, what Silas calls “his perfect experiment”. I am merely his lab rat, his toy to play with and make me do his dirty work. It’s possibly one of the most dehumanizing things that anyone has ever said to me.
This has turned into more of a rant than a document dictating who I am and my past, but I needed to get this off my chest. I just received a private message telling me to head back to the ICA in the morning, probably for another hit. I should get some sleep, it will be dawn in a couple hours, I can’t afford to be late. I will probably forget that I wrote this, but I just needed to get this off my chest. I don’t really know what else to put here, so I’ll end this here.
END OF LOG . . .
- - -
Carver stepped out of the elevator and walked down the corridor that led to his boss’ office, the sound of his footsteps were the only things he could hear. This hallway was always quiet, and fairly dark, the only light coming from the cracks from the dark red curtains on the walls. Carver always had to speak to his boss directly whenever he was given a hit, Silas always had the specific information from clients that sign contracts with the ICA. Carver was Silas’ “favorite”, so oftentimes Silas would choose Carver specifically for certain hits, all to test his skills. Carver had been through countless hours of training, no hit was too complicated for him, he would always handle it with expertise. No witnesses, no evidence left behind, it was like Carver was never there, and it would be like the target just.. Disappeared from thin air, never to be seen again.
Carver was a worldwide legend, countless people heard of him, but they didn’t know him. He was a faceless and nameless killer that people feared. “The Indestructible Hitman” was his other name, given to him by other agents that worked at the ICA and people that heard the legend. Some agents willingly work for Silas, some were manipulated like Carver was, but they were turned into emotionless husks that questioned nothing Silas does or says. Carver pitied them, they were victims to Silas just as much as Carver was, but they cannot be saved, so Carver ignored them.
Carver approached a large door, a door that was different from all the other ones in this large building. He glanced at the camera that was beside it, he didn’t even have to knock until he heard a voice from the small intercom by the door.
“Ah, Carver, there you are. Right on time as always, come in.” A low, cold yet eerily calm voice was heard, a voice that Carver despised so much, yet would make his blood run cold. Carver heard the faint click of the door unlocking, and he gripped the door handle. Taking a soft breath, Carver fixed his face and opened the door, darkness immediately greeting him. This was a normal sight for him whenever he stepped into this room. Across from him, Carver caught the gaze of a red eye meeting his own, and the smell of cigar smoke filled his nostrils, along with a faint metallic scent that Carver knew all too well. The only light in the room was from the crack in the curtains of the window, and it cascaded onto the figure that sat in the darkness, causing shadow to fall over their face. It was Silas, sitting there in his chair, his elbow resting on the table with a cigar in his mouth. His face could barely be made out, it was so dark. Only his eye’s gleam was most clear, and he eyed Carver like a hungry predator.
Carver walked up to Silas’ desk, but stopped a few feet away. He had his hands behind his back, and his expression was empty. He stared back at Silas, not breaking eye contact. He watched his boss take the cigar out of his mouth and blow out more smoke, before putting it out in the ashtray. Silas cracked his knuckles a little, his gold rings shining against the light’s reflection, as he leaned against his chair.
“Hello, sir. You wanted to see me involving a new hit, I presume?” Carver spoke first, his voice was empty and lacked any emotion. He learned that not expressing emotions or any opinions towards his boss was the better option, Silas didn’t like it when Carver spoke out of turn. Silas smiled, his teeth showing ever so slightly as he continued to stare at the hitman before him.
“Yes.. A contract was signed, but I also wanted to speak to you about something.. Important, and it’s something I’d want you here physically for. I’ll speak on the contract first, though. It’s really nothing special, hmm.” Silas hummed, as he slowly rose from his chair. Carver kept eye contact with his boss, only his eyes moved as he watched Silas walk into the darkness and approached a laptop atop a cabinet. Silas grabbed it and headed back to his desk, placing the laptop on top of the desk, facing Carver. He opened the laptop, and a tab came into view.
“This was sent to me anonymously, which is quite a pity, not for me, but for them. I still have their information, of course. I don’t do anonymous contracts, but you know that. The target you're assigned to is in Kansas, Nickville Square. Only a few hours away, as you can tell.” Silas pointed to the screen, flicked it with his finger, showing a map. Specific areas were landmarked, seemingly the addresses that Carver needed to head to.
“Annoyingly, however, they only gave me a name and a set of addresses for your target. Normally, I wouldn’t tolerate something like that, we need direct information, but since they are paying us generously, I figured you could find your target with ease. Consider it a little test, I suppose. I’m too tired to demand more information from this person, they’re not worth my time.” Silas sighed, for a split second, his expression shifted to anger, but quickly went back to the smirk he had before.
“I can do that, sir.” Carver responded, nodding faintly. Silas’ grin grew ever so slightly at hearing Carver’s acceptance, as he chuckled lowly.
“As expected of you. I have no doubts you’ll handle this swimmingly, as you are my best agent.. Still, our client did not specify what you should do in regards to taking out your target. So you may handle it quietly or bloodily, I frankly don’t care.”
“Yes sir. What information do we have as of now?” Carver asked, using the excuse of looking at the laptop screen so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with his boss. It was hard too, when Silas only had one eye staring at him though.
“All I have is that your target is in the mafia, not really the most dangerous things you’ve dealt with. There are different gangs in this city, from what I’m aware, and if my hunch is correct, our client could be a rival member. Heh, how intriguing. Seems like your target must be quite hard to kill if we’re being asked to handle them, hm?” Silas tilted his head, smirking at the thought. Carver remained expressionless, as he glanced at the laptop screen and the information shown.
Target Name: Gino Fratelli
- Gender: Male
- Estimated Age: 35 to 40
- Estimated Weight: 40 Pounds (???)
- Estimated Height: 4’4 to 4’5
Hm. Pretty basic information, but not a lot of detailed descriptions of this man’s features. This.. “Gino Fratelli”.. In the mafia, huh? Carver had far more dangerous hits, the mafia was nothing in his eyes. Still, he shouldn’t get sloppy, and since the client did not specify a certain way for this “Gino” to be taken out, Carver will just handle it as he usually does. Silently and quickly dispose of the body without a hint of evidence remaining. “Hard to kill” didn’t exist to Carver, nobody was hard for him to kill.
“I’ll handle it, sir. I’ll head off this afternoon.” Carver took a mental note of the information given to him, even though it didn’t matter, since he’ll be given the information later once he arrives in this city. He wanted to leave this office quickly, and he motioned himself to walk away, but Silas’ voice stopped him.
“Wait, don’t go running off yet.” Silas’ voice was suddenly cold again, almost demanding. The hitman froze instinctively, and he turned to face his boss, not wanting his back faced towards him. With barely any sound, Silas had already moved over the desk, and was beside Carver, one arm behind his back. Silas finally exposed himself to the light, his face now visible, and his bright red eye fixated on Carver's brown, dull eyes. Silas only had one eye, the other, now just an empty socket, was hidden behind an eyepatch. Carver never knew what happened to that eye, but he’s seen that empty socket plenty of times. It always made him uncomfortable, because even if there was no right eye, it always felt like, to Carver, that there was something staring at him from the depths of that hole. Silas would do that on purpose, he liked making people uncomfortable, he liked the feeling of making others feel unsafe or on edge.
“What is it, sir?” Carver asked, as Silas approached him. There was silence for a moment, before Silas exposed his hand that was behind his back, and in his hand, was a syringe.
Carver immediately felt his heart skip a couple beats, and his eyes widened a little. His throat tightened as his eyes shifted from the syringe, to Silas, then back to the syringe. Carver hated needles, in fact, he had a deep fear for them. From the experimentation he had to suffer through, all the needles that were poked into him, injecting him with strange liquids, the countless blood samples on him.. Carver would get immediately on edge at the sight of one. It didn’t matter what kind it was, the size didn’t matter either, it filled him with fear and flashbacks of torture. He wanted to back away, get as far away from the syringe as much as he could. He wanted to smack the syringe out of Silas’ hand and stomp on it until it shattered. Yet he stayed still, frozen like a deer in headlights, analyzing Silas’ movements, waiting.
Carver took a sharp breath, attempting to control himself, but Silas caught onto Carver’s unease, and his eyebrow raised.
“Even now, you still wince at the sight of a needle. And I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.” Silas sighed indifferently, he almost sounded disappointed.
“Sir, why do you have a syringe?” Carver couldn’t help but ask, trying to hide the unease in his voice.
“Relax, there’s nothing in it.. Yet, anyway.” Silas chuckled, as he played with the needle against his fingertip. Carver’s breaths wavered a little, feeling unease creep into him, as he swallowed again.
“I want your blood.” Silas spoke, the sentence so sudden and out of nowhere that Carver didn’t even process it at first. He stared at Silas with a blank expression, before it sinked in for him. The needle looked so thick, and sharp. He recognized it from the lab, the labs that had all the samples of blood from each agent, every injection. The lab was a place Carver avoided like the plague, because of the horrible memories of what he endured in that place. He hasn’t stepped foot in the lab in quite a long time, and for that he was grateful. His blood and genetic code seemed perfect, so he had no reason to go back. So now, here he was, staring at the very syringe that was injected into him countless times beforehand.
“Why?” Carver asked, but Silas didn’t respond, he only continued to stare down at the syringe in his hand, playing with it like it was some kind of toy. Suddenly, quicker than Carver could react to, Silas had gripped Carver’s arm and plunged the needle into him. The needle went right through his trench coat sleeve, and Carver couldn’t help but let out a grunt of pain.
Carver’s body froze, and his hands started shaking severely. He would’ve jerked away, but his body wouldn’t move, he could only watch his blood being sept into the syringe, the faint sting of the needle deep in his skin. His heart was beating so aggressively, and he felt sweat dripping down his neck. He wasn’t being injected with anything, but still, the feeling of a needle inside his skin struck Carver with all the painful memories.
After the syringe was filled with blood, Silas pulled the needle out of Carver’s arm. Carver let out a gasp as he pulled away, gripping his arm tightly. He couldn’t help it, he turned his back to Silas, not wanting to face the syringe again. He tried to calm himself down, but the memories kept flashing, he could feel his heart beating in his skull. All Carver could do was stand there and control his breathing, but he could still feel every stinging pain of each needle in him. Over and over again, it kept replaying in his mind.
“Oh, calm down. It’s just a damn needle, if I didn’t like you so much, I would’ve done worse for you questioning me like that.” Silas’ cold voice echoed in Carver’s head, it ringed in his ears, making his skull throb.
“You barely react to a gash wound, barely make any sound with a bullet in your stomach, but you yelp at a needle. Pitiful, but also humorous.” Silas sighed, rolling his eyes. Still, seeing Carver weak before him gave Silas an overwhelming sense of pride, Carver should know his place, always. If it wasn’t for him, Carver would be nothing, a weak, useless excuse of a person, and for that, Carver should be grateful.
“Why did you do that?” Carver asked, his voice low and filled by anger, and yet he didn’t move. He felt violated, he felt worthless, like he did not matter at all. He could feel Silas’ eye burning through his back from behind.
“Because I can, Carver. I own you, in case you’ve forgotten. The second you signed that contract, you gave your life to me. You have no say in what I decide to do, and if I want something from you. You don’t question me, ever. Be grateful that’s all I did, if I didn’t favor you.. You’d be just like them.” Silas’ voice cut through Carver, it was dangerous, vicious, and yet his voice did not raise.
Carver didn’t need to look at Silas to know what he was referring to. “Them” were the people that perished by Silas’ hands, in such a vile and terrifying way. Carver glanced around the dark room, the faint outlines of Silas’ actions in the shadows reminding him of how much of a monster his boss really is. He saw the skull cabinet, he eyed the jar of eyes that sat neatly in the cabinet as well. There was a secret door in this office, behind the bookshelf, where Silas’ most twisted actions were committed. Carver never went inside that room, but he knew exactly what Silas does there. Sometimes, you could hear screams from Silas’ office, even if you were in another room on the complete opposite side of the ICA. Carver would never forget the day he found that out for himself, just how twisted and evil Silas really was.
“Get up and control yourself.” Silas ordered, and Carver obeyed, as he slowly adjusted his posture and got up. Carver’s eyes twitched, he wanted to rip Silas’ head off, but he knew he couldn’t.. At least, not yet. He took a deep breath, and slowly turned around to face his boss again. Silas had injected the blood into a capsule, and was now holding it in his hand like a precious piece of treasure.
“If you’re done with your little tantrum, you should get out of my office and do your job. You can decide on transportation. I expect you to get back to me immediately once the job is done. If you want to get paid, then go.” Silas finally dismissed Carver.
And with that, the hitman silently walked to the door he came in from. He glanced at Silas briefly, a glint of rage in his eyes, before leaving the room. Carver robotically walked down the hallway and stepped back in the elevator from which he came from. There was a tight sensation in his chest, he wanted to scream, break something even. But he didn’t, he just stood there in the elevator, feeling powerless. As the elevator went down, Carver looked at his arm and pulled his sleeve up. There, Carver could faintly see a now healed small stab scar from where Silas jabbed him with the needle. His healing factor immediately got to work, since it was a very small and not that deep wound, it healed almost instantly. There was dried blood on the edges of the scar, and Carver brought his finger to it and gently scratched the blood away.
Carver spaced out for a while, a lot of memories going through his mind. His brain was still trying to process the sudden PTSD, he had to really control himself in Silas’ presence. It’s been a long time since he freaked out like that, and Silas knew of Carver’s hatred for needles. Carver knew Silas did that on purpose, it was a power thing, he wanted Carver to feel weak. In moments like these, Carver felt weak. Not physically weak, but emotionally and mentally. Even though there was nothing in that syringe, Carver’s body still reacted the same way it used to, whenever it got stabbed with needles with unknown fluids that would seep into his bloodstream. It hurt so much, and Carver’s brain, filled with all those traumatic thoughts, tricked his body into thinking that he was being experimented on again.
“No.. I’m fine.. I’m fine. I’m okay..” Carver whispered to himself, trying to calm himself down. The fingers that scrapped at his skin were shaking, and his thoughts were screaming. Carver didn’t want to think about what Silas planned to do with that capsule of his blood, so he wouldn’t. Carver stood there completely still in the elevator until the sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts. He had to go do his job, he didn’t want to stay in this building any longer than he needed to. Carver took another deep breath, readjusted his sleeve and gloves, and fixed his face. He walked out of the elevator, his expression shifting back to default. Carver needed to be emotionless, stern, and serious around everyone in the ICA. He could not afford to let anyone see him vulnerable, or else it’ll get back to Silas. Carver had a reputation, he was the strongest, skillest hitman in this place, and he was Silas’ favorite. He could not let people see him weak.
Carver walked robotically out of the ICA, and once he was outside, he pushed his hand into his trench coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack, along with a lighter. He needed a smoke, it was one of the very few things that brought Carver some peace of mind. Carver lit the cigarette and brought it to his mouth, the smell of nicotine filling his nostrils. Kansas, Nickville Square.. It wasn’t too far, only less than 10 hours by train. Carver will need to head back to his apartment and get the necessary weapons needed for this hit, all the weapons that were made specifically for him. He kept them in cases, perfectly preserved for these missions. Just one man from a mafia gang didn’t require much, but Carver always came prepared. This was his routine, this was what he was trained and made for.
It was just another day, and with that, another contract.