Asklepion, Southern Damoclea
"Bolt"
Nicolaus Polycarp was a street urchin throughout most of his life. Growing up in the darker times of his parents and grandparents, Nicolaus lacked a proper upbringing as he grew up in a rough part of Asklepion. His house was nothing more than plywood in most places and he rarely saw his parents -- his mother a prostitute to earn cash and his father being an army dog was drafted and rarely returned home. At his tender age of twelve, he had already left home; his mother now rarely ever came home anyway and his father was probably killed during the last war. Nicolaus, with his black hair, short height, and rough personality, was a perfect psychopath in training. Fighting daily on the streets to get a bite to eat; Nicolaus constantly fought other children and had even fought adult bums -- his first kill came at eight when he stabbed to death a teen slightly older than he was. By now, he was covered in dirt, scars, bullet wound marks, scratches, and had nasty bruises healed all over; his body was full of healed wounds, physical and emotional. This rough and tough child almost mirrored a child soldier from parts all over the world; he had the scars and experiences to prove it too. He was now hollow; nothing but an empty shell trying to survive in a world that did not accept him. He hoped his mother was raped to death and that his father had earned a bayonet to the throat -- the gods or god could go die already too.
It was on a normal evening as Nicolaus was sitting in a dark and filthy alleyway. He starred at the old bread from the restaurant he sat behind now -- having plucked out the old bread from the trash to eat as dinner. That was when he met his first foreigner. The man was tall, had a dark outfit on and seemed to prefer to hide his face with a hood and hat. He didn't look scruffy nor did he look dirty; he looked like a military dog wrapped in business man's outfit. The first reaction of Nicolaus was a dark and empty gaze at the man above him, thinking him of a threat; one hand on his knife, hidden in his pocket, he used the very day before to kill a child who tried to take his bread -- he was probably the same age as when Nicolaus had earned his first kill, eight. That was when the strange man knelt down and reached into his coat -- he slowly brought out a large wrapped up bread and offered it to the boy; it was obviously fresh and was still steaming with warmth and taste. Without thinking, Nicolaus quickly grabbed the bread and forgot his intention to kill the man; his knife flying out as he dropped it alongside his old stale bread. Nicolaus feasted like a king in that moment, not caring for his safety or of the rest of the world. "You are obviously hungry lad." the man spoke softly while glancing down at the boy still devouring the bread. He starred down at the knife; it was old and rusting -- it was obvious it had been used for killing, blood that had dried was still on it. The boy too looked scared and was obviously one who gave and took beatings. The man grinned and offered out his hand to pull the boy up.
"Let me treat you to a feast even a king doesn't deserve."
A month and a half passed by quickly since that night. Nicolaus, with his empty eyes and hard toned physique, had come a long way. That night, he met a Commoner SIGS soldier out recruiting blood for a special unit: the Assassins. The Commoner took great interest in the boy at first sight and decided to take him, feed him, and bring him into the unit. After a month long strict training session; Nicolaus was one of Damoclea's most ruthless if not professional child soldiers and assassins. Nicolaus did not care about the money he could earn or that he would be killing people; he wanted a life that freed him of the streets and to survive. That feast he received his first night turned him loyal as a dog; the subjugation brainwashing helped too. He was now not a street rat, a boy, or a man; Nicolause or now code name "Bolt", was cog in a machine called revolution; he would kill or die for the cause the very second he was ordered to.
Asklepion, Southern Damoclea
Present Time
"Trigger"
Bolt stood amongst the crowd that was now protesting. He was utterly bored by the topic itself but was not paying attention to the topic at this point. Bolt was hidden well inside the large crowd of Damocleans; his short size helped conceal him but his visibility lacked some -- he trained around this to see through the cracks of people and abuse any opening he could see. His disguise was early familiar to assassins in his unit; a dark hoody, hood up, that was a bit to big for him, dark pants, and the tasteful white mask over his face. He dashed through holes in the crowd and blended in without trouble, making his way to the front of the crowd to get a view of the confrontation. Darkness and the crowd were now his best friends and his world.
Bolt finally made his way near the front of the crowd; he wasn't too close nor was he too far. He could see most of the front through the openings and cracks of figures surrounding him. He saw the line of McNernian police and saw the Father at the forefront of the mess; he knew he arrived at an optimal location. Bolt stared down the Father like a raven to its next meal. The topic he was interested in was the Father.
Unbeknownst of the Judicial Front and most Damocleans; the assassin unit was only working for the SIGS unit. Their loyalty stretched that far alone and it never strayed -- they don't answer to the Judicial Front nor do they to others. Even though the Farther was a valuable ally to the cause, he was more valuable dead. That is why he was to die tonight; Bolt didn't care about making him a martyr but would follow that kill order if it meant his life depended on it. Bolt crept his way through the crowd slowly, buying his time as he got closer. He had one hand on his blood patch switch and the other on his fully loaded Škorpion hidden inside the big front pocket of his hoody, where both hands now kept warm in wait. He got close enough to take out the Father easily in one shot, let alone a burst; his weapon was hald drawn when he noticed the commotion that was igniting the front of the line. That commotion was dressed in full military dressed uniform and wearing white gloves; it's name was Field Marshal Louis MacKellon, military governor of Southern Damoclea. Bolt was shocked at the development; what in names sake was such a high end official doing in the depths of this Hell? This worked great for Bolt though; he not only had his target in front of him, but he even had the highest priority target right in front of him as well. He watched as the Field Marshal made his way and stood in front of the line; out in the open, no protection, standing in limbo. It was too good of an opportunity -- as they say, 'Kill two birds with one stone'. "That stupid bastard." Bolt thought to himself. "Thank you so very much."
The next second passed so fast that time itself slowed to catch up. Bolt drew his weapon, aimed straight for the Field Marshall who was wide open and sprayed his ten bullets in a flash. He ripped off his mask and chucked both the mask and his gun as hard as he could under the feet of the now panicking crowd. Bolt then quickly activated his patch which blew like a rifle bullet had just pierced his chest, blood flying everywhere, and fell as if dead with a deathly scream. Now all he had to do was let the blood gather and lower his heart beat bellow detection if he wasn't really shot in the next few seconds that is -- and of course let the world end. "Deal with a dead kid now McNernians."
Edenists Arrested by McNernian Police!
