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No Reason
By Bekkoko
Omi aimed his crossbow and fingered the trigger. He thought of all the pain that the man had caused-- not to Omi himself nor to anyone he personally knew, but to all of the innocent strangers who had been unwittingly caught in the
/Who's to say that the strangers were innocent?/
tangle of deadly politics. The games that bad men play. The
/Could that man have been an innocent stranger himself, once?/
power games, the struggle to end up on top of the political dogpile, the brutal world of ends that always, always justify the means. Of wealthy, overprivileged businessmen who
/His wife stayed home to raise the kids, even though some people accused her of being old-fashioned and of being a bad role model for her girls. She was financially dependent on her husband. She may have even loved him./
don't care about the obstacles they eliminate, be those obstacles financial or human.
Don't think too deeply, Omi. You're complicating a very clear-cut issue, a very simple mission. He's an evil man. A dark beast!
Omi saw terror on his target's quivering, peaked face. Their eyes met, and Omi shot him.
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He was laying on Ken's bed and Ken was laying on the floor. They both stared at the ceiling, Omi's arms behind his head and Ken's arms folded over his chest. They had been quiet for a long time until finally Omi spoke.
"Do you ever feel bad about it?" He knew that Ken would know what he meant. Ken tried better than anyone else to understand Omi.
"No," Ken said. "They ruined my life. I'll never forgive them for that. I know I have to play the hand I've been dealt, but I'll never forget what my life could have been and I'll never regret what I do. They ruined my life."
"Your life isn't ruined, Kenkun," Omi replied quietly, "because you're still alive."
"Mmhm." Ken began to tune out. He could already tell where this conversation was heading.
"We eliminate our targets without even considering what we're doing. We think about it because we have to-- to work out the plan, we have to think about what we're doing. But we never stop and consider the real implications. We kill people, and we say it's the right thing to do because we're told that it's the right thing to do. But we don't even know these people."
"You don't have to know somebody to know that he's a monster."
"We're /told/ that our targets are monsters. We don't know that they are. We're never given a chance to judge for ourselves!"
"Omi, please--"
"I'm not whining, Kenkun, I'm just saying... don't you think we shouldn't take for granted that we're doing the right thing?"
"I'd rather not think about it right now," Ken said, sighing. "We're fucked up enough without your philosophising."
Omi kept his pretty little mouth shut.
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"You know, Youjikun, I've been thinking..."
Youji pretended not to hear him. He stared right through the TV.
"I've been thinking," Omi continued, "why is it that we assume that the people we kill would do more bad in the world than the people whom the targets kill? What if a target kills the person who would have started World War III? Wouldn't that mean that our target actually committed a huge act of good? Even if it was accidental, wouldn't that prevention of so much suffering make his net goodness higher than his net evil?" Omi was standing in front of the TV, and Youji had leaned over to see around him. "Youjikun?"
Youji frowned impatiently, then managed a lazy smile. "Good and evil's not some brainy equation. There's good, and there's bad. We kill bad people. Therefore we are good." He waved Omi aside, trying to move him from blocking the TV. "If you need something to think about, I'll pick you up a couple of special magazines." He chuckled a little.
Omi smiled weakly. "Mm." And he went to his room.
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What if the shy high school girl grows up to love human chess? What if the sweet little boy wants to own the world when he grows up? When the scientist is killed for selling his science, what happens to his undiscovered discoveries? What if the cure for cancer could have been derived from that poison? The corrupt politician's kind-hearted son turned bitter when his father was murdered, and his greatest aspiration is to make others suffer as he has suffered. Whose fault is it?
For all they knew, Omi realized, Persia himself could be a dark beast.
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His darts flew true to aim, plunk-plunk, and the sack of flesh toppled to the ground as the lovingly-crafted toxin took over. Per the plan, Omi stayed back as the others pressed on. They didn't call for him-- there were no complications, the plan was perfect-- so when they returned to him, he was watching the bloated corpse turn black. The others ignored it, except that Youji kicked it halfheartedly.
Safe at home, sterilized and cauterized and held together with medical tape and black stitches that melt away with time, they became normal people... Except for Omi, who knows that he will always have the heart of a killer. He stood in Ran's doorway. Because he was not told immediately to go away, he slinked inside.
"Ayakun," he said as he stared at the back of the young man's head, "I was thinking about something tonight. About you, I guess."
Ran grunted, choosing the view out the window in favor of Omi.
"How do you know that being a Weiß will end in your sister having her life back?"
"I don't," Ran answered. He was looking coldly at the little people bustling down on the street below. "But the Kritiker are at least keeping her alive."
Omi's hands formed nervous fists, his arms hung down from his shoulders as if dead. "Maybe she doesn't /want/ to be kept alive," Omi said. "Maybe she doesn't want to wake up and see the way you live. What you've become."
"Shut up!" Ran stood then, and stalked over to Omi. His anger made him tremble, and he barely held himself in check. He gave the boy a rough, short shove toward the door. "At least I kill for a /reason/."
"I have a reason," Omi told his ceiling that night, giving it a sad, thoughtful look. "I just can't remember what it is."