• “Did you see the kid they brought in this morning?” asked a large guard man in the corridor.
    “A kid?” replied the other guard as they walked toward they’re bunk room. “Your joking.”
    “No,” stated the first. “They brought in a kid. You should have seen him...” he paused beside the door. “His eyes were as blank as the walls around us and as emotionless as the devil himself.”
    “There is no way it was a child,” replied the second not believing his companion.
    “It was,” said the first, “I hope we never have to see him again.”

    In the conference room a group of old men sat at a long oval table. Most of the men were white haired and wrinkled though a few were younger. The man at the head of the table was in his forties, he wore dark glasses and a smile that could ring fear in another man. The other men sat silently staring at the boy who stood at the other end of the table.
    To their surprise he was only a teenager, about fifteen, with blonde hair and icy blue eyes and a round face with light skin. His hands were tied behind his back and his chest was exposed. He was only allowed to wear boxers this way he couldn’t hide a weapon. The men of the room found it appalling and unnecessary. No teenager was a killer. But as each of there eyes met the boys their minds changed. There was no emotion in those icy eyes, nothing, as if living didn’t matter and every other soul in the room was just a sack of blood and bones.
    “The scars that line his body,” started the man at the head of the table, “Should be proof enough of his murderess acts.” He eyed the boy over the rim of his glasses. It was true. Anybody would be able to see the child had had a rough background. Large scars ran along his chest in all directions. Some pulled across his tight abs others rounded the curve of his shoulders or biceps. Some you could tell were stitched by a novice and others seemed they could have been fatal wounds. The men at the table stayed silent.
    “Boy,” said the head man. “What is it that you wish us to call you?”
    The boys eyes moved slowly up to the mans and as they locked with his the man felt a sheer moment of fear. He shook it off with a smile and waited for the boy to speak.
    The boy moved his hands in the metal shackles then blinked slowly. “Deo.” His voice was just as cold as his eyes. It was flat and monotone holding no care or emotion just stating a fact.
    “Deo,” the mans smile grew. “Will you be our assassin? Will you kill for us?”
    The boys eyes glanced slowly around the room. None of the men had a weapon on them. But the table was full of them. Each man had a glass cup, pitchers of water lined the middle of the table, and half of them wore thin glasses.
    “Kill for you?” the boy’s voice stayed flat.
    “Yes, we have some very bad enemies and would love to have them eradicated.”
    The boy bowed his head as his fingers silently worked at sliding through the shackles. He was free only a second later. A smile slowly pulled across his lips and he heard the sudden gasps of the men around him. Fright, the first stage of murder.
    “I will not kill for you,” said the boy dropping the shackles to the ground and launching his body onto the table. He grabbed the first two cups and slammed them through the first mens necks. Blood poured from their ripped skin and spilled onto the long table. Before the others could comprehend what had happened the boy had broken the other glasses and thrown shards of them at the men. The shards hit hearts, necks, and eyes, screams erupted in the air and filled the room. The boy walked along the table’s surface with a shard of glass in his hand. It cut through his palm and his blood dripped through his fingers. The man that sat at the head of the table only smiled larger as the boy walked to him.
    “I will kill you,” stated the boy.
    “You can not, Deo,” replied the man. The boy picked his speed up and ran along the bloodied table but the man was already turning to mist as if he was never there. The boy hurled the shard of glass into the mist and watched as it hit the floor beyond the table. The tip was soaked in a black liquid. The boy sat in a puddle of blood on the tables surface. Men bled around him, screaming in pain and agony. The boy pulled his knee to his chest and sat with his eyes closed. He inhaled the scent of the blood and bone, of decay and death. His smile grew on his face and a soft sound left his lips. The sound of a child's laughter.
    “I will get you,” he whispered to his blood covered knee, “I will get you.”

    “Deo?” called a female voice through his door. He rented a small studio flat in a two story apartment complex. His room consisted of a japanese floor mattress, a pillow, a closet with his clothes and shoes, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom. He was sitting on his bed crossed legged listening to the sounds out side his room. His concentration was perfect, he could hear the street, count the cars that passed, hear the breathing of his older neighbor still asleep, he had heard the girl shower and dress from the other side of the wall. He remembered her odd behavior and her daily appearance. She was short and thin and wore cute sundresses with tight leggings and always had a bow in her short brown hair.
    Deo stood from the bed and walked slowly to his door undoing the locks with fast hands and pulling the door back. The girl stood before him in a plain pink sundress that had a red ribbon under her breasts. She held an empty shopping bag and eyed his attire grumpily.
    “I was going to take you to the market today,” she pouted her face. “You didn’t remember did you?”
    He smiled shyly at her then ran his hand through his blonde hair. “You didn’t give me enough time to get dressed.”
    She stuck her tongue out playfully then pushed past him into his entry. “Fine, change.” He closed the door with a sigh then walked back toward his closet to dig through his clothes. The girl eyed his tired body and shook her head then she noticed a bandage on his right hand.
    “Did you cut yourself?” she asked swinging her torso back and forth with boredom.
    Deo had his back to her so he smiled cruelly to his clothes. “Yeah, I cut myself last night while I was making dinner.”
    The girl bought it and replied, “Your such a klutz, Deo. You should be more careful.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” He piled his clothes in one arm then walked to the bathroom to change. The thing about Deo was in this life he never wore anything that didn’t reach his wrists or ankles. The girl thought it odd but never pushed the matter. Today he walked out of the bathroom in a white longed sleeved shirt and tight jeans. His hair had been combed but still hung in his face around those ice blue eyes.
    “Are you ready yet?” she asked excitedly.
    “Almost.” Deo went to his bed and grabbed his wallet and keys then met her at the door. They walked out into the sun of the walkway after he flicked the lights off and locked the door. She skipped down the stairs holding onto her bag and looking back at Deo with a smile.
    The market was busy full of life and cheer. Merchants sold their goods in small wooden vendor booths and store owners stood by their doors waving people in. The streets were packed. Deo followed the girl silently, picking only a few things for himself. All necessary to survival. The girl stood before an apple booth and picked a few up deciding which to buy. Deo stayed directly behind her vigilante of the other shoppers.
    “Why, your a cutie,” said the cheerful female vendor. She smiled at the girl then glanced at the emotionless boy behind her.
    “Thank you!” exclaimed the girl shyly.
    “What’s your name?” the woman asked handing the girl a plastic bag for the apples she chose.
    “Elya,” stated the girl plopping her apples into the bag. She then reached into her purse to grab her money but Deo smiled and took her hand.
    “I will get the apples,” he pulled his wallet out and handed the woman two crisp dollars. She didn’t know how to react except to take the bills. The boy had just been emotionless and now he smiled at her as if it were an average thing.
    “Thank you, Deo!” exclaimed Elya putting the apples into the grocery bag.
    “Not a problem,” his smile stayed as he turned to her. “You’ll just have to make me dinner sometime.”
    “I do that anyway,” she replied. “Though, maybe I should do it more often. Then you wouldn’t cut yourself.”
    The boy’s smile grew and turned shy. He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s true.” The vendor watched the curious couple walk away without much to say. She felt as though the boy wasn’t normal. It was something about his eyes.
    As the morning continued Deo and Elya filled the grocery bag with fruits and vegetables and even noodles and sauces. At one point Deo had to take the bag from Elya for fear of it being to much for her to carry. The last vendor they stopped at was a middle aged man. He was a farmer selling his strawberries with one of his young daughters. The girl was about twelve and found Deo irresistible. Her eyes were always on him.
    “How many strawberries would you like, Miss?” asked the farmer.
    Elya eyed the pile of strawberries. They were large and looked juicy. She just couldn’t think of anything to make them into. Then as if Deo had read her mind he leaned down and whispered into her ear, “We can have strawberry smoothies with dinner, or,” he flicked his eyes at the girl behind the booth. “we could make a pie, or cover them in chocolate.”
    The vendor eyed the boy cautiously. The feeling he got from the boy in front of him was cold as ice but his words were nice and calm and oddly romantic for this pair because they did not hold hands or make romantic gestures. Not to mention his daughter wouldn’t take her eyes off him.
    Elya nodded, “That is true. I think I would like to get about ten.”
    “Alright, just give me a moment.” The man pulled a bag out and began loading it with the biggest strawberries. His daughter still watched the blonde boy. Deo ignored the girl and turned toward the dwindling crowd. His eyes scanned the alleys and doorways reading signs and posters. They all claimed to have the best foods. He returned his attention to Elya and the strawberry vendors.
    “Here you go, Miss.” The man handed Elya the bag of strawberries. She handed him a few dollars for the berries and then just as they were about to leave the man asked, “Sir?”
    Deo stopped, putting a gentle hand on Elya’s shoulder. This was a common gesture of devotion and ownership. Though, Deo didn’t own Elya or even want to. It was part of his survival to have her in his life for the time being. “Yes?”
    “Oh,” the man thought for a moment as if Deo’s action had changed the man’s mind. “Never mind. Have a good day!”
    Deo smiled and waved at the vendor, “You too!” As his eyes turned back to the street they grew as cold as ice. Elya didn’t even look up. She just began walking toward their apartments. Deo felt lucking in that moment because he truly didn’t know if he would be able to shift unexpectedly to happiness.
    They walked up the stairs in silence then at his door she turned to him and smiled. “I will be by in a few hours and make you lunch.”
    He nodded trying to look content and happy. “Okay.”
    Her expression shifted. “Are you okay? Deo?”
    His eyes moved to the cement below them then to his door. “I’m... fine...”
    “Did you lose much blood last night?” He suddenly thought that she was talking about the scene in the business building. Being covered in the red blood of the dead, of the ones he had killed with only glass. Then it snapped to him that she was talking about the cut on his hand. The cut he got from holding the shard that cut himself and the beast.
    “No,” he replied finally. “I didn’t. You don’t need to worry Elya.” He smiled at her and reached into his pocket for his key.
    “Are you sure?” she asked. “You don’t have anybody else to worry about you.”
    “Yeah,” he said putting the key in the lock. “I can take care of myself.”
    She began to walk toward her door. “How old are you, Deo?” She turned toward him now that she stood in front of her door.
    He looked up at her as he turned the key in the lock. “How old are you?”
    She smiled at him. “I’m twenty. I’ve been living here for five years on my own.”
    He laughed lightly. She glared at him, “What’s so funny?”
    “You can’t be twenty,” he smiled at her. “Your so short.”
    Her tongue shot out of her lips and her face became red. “Well, I am. I’ve been living on my own since my fifteenth birthday.”
    “Okay,” he lifted the bag of groceries in the air to show he still had them. “I believe you.”
    “Yeah right,” she crossed her arms. “Keep the groceries at your place. I will be by later to make you food. How old are you? I want an answer.”
    He smiled as he opened his door. It was a sincere smile. “I am fifteen years of age.”
    “Only fifteen?” she stood stunned. Her neighbor was just a child yet he had the face of an adult and the physique of a soldier. He held his body tight and muscular and let no one close. Those icy eyes of his kept everyone at bay except for her.
    “I’m fifteen, Elya,” he stepped inside of the door frame then leaned out. “I will see you in a few hours. I’m expecting a nice meal.” With a big smile he closed his door leaving Elya alone. She fumbled for her keys still in shock. She had guessed him older then that. He must have been lying. That was her conclusion. She unlocked her door and stepped into the small room.