“Every man you’ve killed is someone’s child, Attano. You can measure it however you want, however gets you to sleep at night, but you and he are hardly different.”
These words have flooded my mind since I left CJ. Am I really not that different from you, Jasper? I mean, where is the line between assassin and serial killer?
You and I have a vicious streak that runs through us, and we won’t let anything stand between us and our happiness. I mean I killed just to get my opportunity in OSW and try to make a better life for myself, how far off is that from using murder as an art medium?
We seem to be mirror images, you and I, Jasper. To the untrained eye that is. Because you know what I’ve never done? I’ve never stooped to the physical and psychological torture of my targets to “break” them. I am actually haunted by the lives I’ve taken Mr. Redgrave.
But you’re the cleverest guy in the room, right? The man who outsmarted the APD and got a Soaring Eagle’s wings clipped.
The name Arcadian Ghost isn’t just because I am there without being seen. It’s also because of the weight I carry, every soul lost because of my decision. Even my own daughter’s haunts me because if I was here a man like you wouldn’t have survived out here. You would just be another soul to haunt me.
Well Jasper, let’s find out how clever a fuck you really are when I step up and shatter the Mirror Image that’s developed between the two of us. When you’re in the ring alone with me the man who’s heard his daughter’s voice day in and day out since that night in the Mortuary.
I can’t fucking sleep without hearing the words spoken that evening, the desperation in her words…
This week all of Arcadia will see the difference between a man who’s killed for a profession and one who kills for his own failed art projects.
That mirror breaks and I become the seven years of bad luck it represents. Unyielding and unrepentant at every turn I will be your fucking shadow. One of that will cast you into darkness and make you feel every bit of pain that you’ve caused him.
I will be every shard of glass digging deep under your skin, I will watch you bleed, just as you’ve done with each and every one of your victims. Exsanguinated by your decisions and choked out by the invisible hand of Nobody.
Because, Nobody remembers I’m a dead man walking with Hell waiting to take me through that door, but I’ll push you through that door first.
This week you’re nothing but another job to be done, another name to be crossed off, and you will know the difference between us is a mile deep river of your own blood