I peek my head around the corner, seeing my target walking further down the street. I quickened my pace to keep him in view, making sure not to attract attention to myself. Rule number one of assassinating people: don’t let them see it coming.

I dodged between people on the busy sidewalk, following my target, keeping a close watch on his head far up above me. He turned around and started running. I sighed. Why do they always make it difficult? They know I’m going to find them in the end. It’s only a matter of time.

I hurled around the corner that my target had just turned and found myself in an alleyway facing a wall. A wall my target was desperately trying to scurry up. I smiled as I realized how easy it was going to be to capture this particular target. He’d only had be running for maybe two minutes, and now he was trying to climb up a brick wall with no hand or footholds.

“Give it up, Yongguk.” I said. “There’s no way you can get away now.” Typical banter. It wasn’t like he was going to voluntarily give himself up to what he knows would be certain death.

“You give me no choice.” I informed the scrambling fugitive. I launched myself forward, taking hold of my target’s waist and pulling him down to the ground. I took one last look at the man I was going to kill, trying to summon up some feeling. But, as I knew I would, I felt nothing: no hatred, no remorse, not even a glimmer of happiness.

Disappointed, I plunged my needle full of poison into the veins bulging out of Bang Yongguk’s throat and felt his life slipping away. I got up off the ground, brushed the dirt off my black skinny jeans and headed back the way I came into the busy street.

---

I’ve been an assassin since before I can remember. All that I’ve ever been since the genetic mutations were implemented when I was just an embryo is a weapon. I was just something for the government to do with as they please. I was engineered to be the perfect warrior, with no feelings to get in the way of doing my duty, cunning as a fox and faster than your average Olympic runner. The moment I was able to walk, I started training, learning every type of martial arts known to man. At first, I was excited that I could be a service to the world, but now, as I neared the end of my nineteenth year, I was a little tired of the routine. For eight years, it’s been a constant chase; tracking and killing whoever it was I‘d been assigned to.

Eleven may seem young to start working, but I was, and still am, far beyond my years. My age also made me the perfect candidate for fitting into crowds without arousing suspicion. In the eight years I’ve been “of use”, I’ve killed around 250 would-be-threats (poison being my weapon of choice because of its cleanliness and speed), been to most foreign countries, and used 73 different personas. I’d never really realized that something was missing.

Of course, I knew I couldn’t feel, but I didn’t know what I was missing. I didn’t know that feeling was so much to be missing out on. I’ve been too busy pretending all my life that I don’t really know who I really am. It’s not my fault, though. My whole life had been work and training. I’ve never had more than a minute to myself. I mainly sleep at headquarters in a room they have set up for me. I never realized how much I wanted to be normal. My life is never going to be normal, at least, not as long as the Korean government controls my actions. This life isn’t the one I chose, but it’s the one I have, and I can’t complain.

Recently, though, I’ve been trying to see what would happen if I did have feelings. I’ve been wanting feelings, more than anything. I didn’t know what they were like, and I didn’t know what could come of having them; all I knew was that everyone seemed to have a much more interesting life when they experienced things fully.

But never mind that. I’m not even supposed to be having these feelings. Maybe I’m cracking. Whatever it is, I’m not sure I like it.

I walked into my home and threw my keys in the bowl on the table right near the front door. I reached towards the light switch but before I could turn the lights on, I heard a noise coming from the kitchen.

I froze, my training kicking in, searching all around me for any sign of intrusion. Seeing no sign of forced entry on my door, I moved towards the kitchen silently, trying to make sure I didn’t alert whoever it was that I was here and aware of their presence.

Standing in my kitchen, was a boy, about my age, incredibly skinny and with huge dark circles underneath his eyes. His clothes were loose and hung around him, his pants held up by a piece of string. He was searching the cabinets for, I would assume, something to eat. And for some reason, I wanted to give him food. I didn’t care who he was or where he came from, but I needed to take care of him, to make sure he was okay. I swear, I shouldn’t be having this kind of feelings. It goes against everything that I’ve been taught.

“If you’re looking for something to eat, you’d be better off checking the cupboard that doesn’t have cleaning supplies in it.”

He turned around quickly, gasping and clutching his hand to his chest over his heart. “I’m so sorry.” he said. “I- I just…”

“I know.” I said. “You’ve gone without food, you’re trying to find something to eat and my house looked like a place with something you could eat. I don’t want to know how you got in here, because it’s obviously because of a lapse in my judgment, and not a fault of your own. But I’d like to repeat myself by saying: check a different cabinet, unless you want to eat the cleaning supplies. You look like you could use some food.”

“U-umm. What?” he asked, looking confused.

“Here, I’m about to eat some dinner. Do you want some of whatever I make?” I said, getting slightly annoyed now.

“So you’re not mad? About me breaking into your house?” he said.

“Like I said, the only way you could have gotten in here is if I left something unlocked, because I know for a fact that no one could have gotten past the security in this place without me finding out about it.”

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Yeah. Now, what do you want? Grilled cheese or pasta?”