Legal Assassin

[America]

Assassin... Murderer... Killer... Monster...

Alfred...Alfred...Alfred...

My burdens, I can't erase
The ones I might have saved
___________________

"Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime." -Ernest Hemingway

Bombs falling. Cities disappearing in a dark cloud of smoke. People screaming. Then...Nothing. He found himself standing in an ocean of blood off of a beach of burnt flesh, his hands soaked and dripping with the blood of innocents. The tears couldn't stop falling, continually shaky repeated words of "I'm sorry" filled his ears. At first quiet...Steadily rising to full anguished screams. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen! I-I-I'm sorry!"

"あなたのせい. あなたのせい. あなたのせい. あなたのせい."

The horrible voices filled his ears, eyes squeezing closed as his hands covered his ears in a vain attempt to block out the voices that continuously haunted him. "I told you I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please...Please...Forgive me...Forgive me..." His eyes cracked open, he could only watch as the sky turned the color of blood and ash, arms and hands rising from within the grotesque depths before fingers wrapped around the fabric of his uniform. With one swift movement pulled him under with a loud yelp, with nothing but his glasses brushing up to the shore from the crimson waves.

"我々は許すことはありません."

__________

"NO!" Alfred didn't even realize he had screamed out loud at first until he saw that he was in the sanctity of his own house...His own bedroom...His own bed. He was deathly pale and trembling, body drenched with cold sweat, and his own face stained with tears. He felt his shaky hand reach upward to wipe at his sweat and tear-drenched face, head shaking as he fumbled for his glasses. The nightmare again. That God damn nightmare, one of the many that haunted his nights with cruel whispers filling his ears with promises of no forgiveness. No peace. The continual reminders of his sins long, and not so long past. God damn it. Here he was...Shaking like a lost puppy caught out in the rain without his owner.

Finally finding his glasses and putting them on the bridge of his nose, he looked down at his sleeping wife with a tiny smile. Lightly brushing his bangs out of his face and pushing himself out of bed, he snuck out of the room and just let his feet take him where they wanted to take him. He didn't even realize he had gone down the stairs and found his favorite chair until he felt fingers clenching at the armrests.

Every night. Every night it was a different nightmare, but each one a constant reminder of his past. The chilling voices that even during his waking hours continued to whisper in his ears, voices claiming that he was nothing more than a heartless, soulless monster. A murderer. Nothing more than a legal assassin under the guise of a heroic being wanting to do nothing but the "best" for the world.

The faces of those that he had killed both directly and indirectly, all in the name of war and his heroic duty. His...Duty.

That's what it was, wasn't it? He didn't know...All he knew that for the past seventy years he had lied to everyone about that day and what really happened, even he himself began to believe his own story.

War.

Japan.

Battle.

Bombs.

Blood.

Death.

Truman.

Harry Truman. The one who had taken over after old man FDR passed on...He didn't know how...Or even why...Somehow...Truman had managed to find out some of his own darkest secrets. Secrets that he had tried to lock from his memory forever, memories that he was still ashamed of himself for. All of the lives that he destroyed long before WWII. Times when he thirsted for more...When...He...Then...

The Depression. Becoming a single father to raise his young son alone. Trying his best to right the wrongs that he had caused amidst his own depression, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't...

Just a long, red string of events that Truman somehow managed to find out about. He remembered that day so clearly, that day when he was called back home from the Pacific Front. The day where a large manila folder was thrown in front of him and a proposition was made. A proposition about the new weapon that had been created, a proposition about wanting to 'test it on the perfect test subject.' The look that man had on his face, one that was so calm...So composed...But with the smile of a power-hungry monster.

Truman had information on him that he had never told...Anyone. Information that if it ever got out in the open would completely destroy him, destroy everything that he had worked so hard to build. That calm voice as he spoke, that all he had to do was sign the papers. He wouldn't have to bloody his hands, he wouldn't be the one killing those people. He wouldn't be held responsible for their deaths, that it would bring the war to a speedy end. If he didn't sign the papers, then he would have no choice but to leak the information out to the press so the world would know that their dear little golden boy who could do no wrong was really nothing more than a legal killer. The promise that not only would he ruin him, but his son as well. With the coming and the makings of the beginnings of the communist scare, how would the people react to find that their capital was a half-blood? The son of a communist and could he actually allow that to happen for the boy who was only barely fourteen?

In hindsight...He shouldn't have succumb to the threats, the ultimatum that his long-dead boss had given. He knew now what he was thinking about that day. He wasn't thinking about himself, he was thinking about his boy who had since grown up. Daniel at that point was all that he felt that he had, he didn't want to see his future ruined because of his decision. With the signing of his name on those pieces of paper, even though he wasn't the one in those planes that were dropping the bombs...He as good as did. That tight, punched in the gut feeling immediately kicked when he signed his name. He was no better than a cowardly assassin, taking out his targets under the dark of night though in his case...The guise of ending the war quickly.

Lies. All lies.

He was no better than a Repoman like in that one movie, killing behind a mask...Behind closed doors. That day when the bombs were dropped when he had gotten the news of the toll, he had found himself holed in his office along with several bottles of whiskey. He couldn't face what he had done. Thousands dead. Thousands of innocents dead because of him. He that day became one to be feared. Truman got what he wanted...He got to test the ultimate weapon, got to prove the might of the United States...At a great cost. That day...He had truly become a monster.

Assassin. Murderer. Monster. Villian. Killer.

Maybe that was why he saved Japan that day. Saved him in some morbid, twisted effort to try and redeem himself from making a deal with the devil and turning his back on his own beliefs, morals, everything he stood for. Redeem himself from his sacrilegious dance with the devil the moment he signed those papers.

Feeling his hand rising and pushing his bangs out of his face, his head gave a firm shake. Damn it. He knew he would have to confront these demons sooner or later...He knew that he owed them an explanation. He couldn't. Not now. He could tell no one what really occurred that day behind those closed doors, he was to ashamed of himself too.

Wiping his eyes with his hand, he pushed himself upward and out of his seat to go back to his room to try and sleep. Though...He didn't know if he could, or ever could until his burdens from back then were confronted and erased forever.

They wouldn't, and they never would. He was to much of a coward. He would continue to be wrapped in that red string with the end being held by he honestly didn't know who. All he could do was continue to walk forward, and try and escape from the plague of demons that continued to haunt him.

Look what I've become
The nightmare that they should fear
Is the father you left alone!
___________________

Translation: 1. Your fault/Because of you.

2. We will never forgive.