"Please don't do this." she sobbed.

"I said the same thing," I whispered, pressing the muzzle of my gun into the forehead of the man kneeling before me, "just before this bastard here killed my father right before my eyes."

"Daddy," one of the children cried, and my heart clenched. I was there too, a lifetime ago.

"I know," the woman – his wife I presume, huddling with their three children on the other side of the dining table – whispered. "I know everything, and I'm so sorry. And I understand."

"Hmmm." I grunted. Well, this was new. I spent years hunting down my father's killer. I discovered that his assassin was both highly skilled and highly prolific, which made everyone I encountered rather reluctant to surrender any information. I employed methods that helped, shall we say, grease the wheels of communication, but those that resisted often resorted to threats, begging, bargaining, anything to delay the inevitable. I expected his family to react much the same way. Threaten, beg, bargain all the stages of grief rather unique to situations like this.

Acceptance usually isn't a player in this game.

"You can kill me," the man whispered. I knew his name, but I like keeping things anonymous. You lose some romance and mystery if you know too much sometimes.

"Don't need your permission." I responded flatly. I unlocked my safety.

"Just don't kill me in front of my family," he begged, "they don't need to see this."

"Where was that consideration all those years ago?" I sneered. Behind me, I could hear the eldest daughter shush her siblings and tell them to cover their eyes.

"Aaron," he whispered, and then his voice broke. "You're all grown up now."

"Aaron, you loved cars. Your father bought you a radio controlled car for your birthday and he brought you to the park, every Saturday, and let you drive it around. He loved you so much he even bought a car for your best friend Fred, so you guys could race together sometimes. He'd do an announcer voice and narrate when you made sharp turns, when your car flew over the finish line he made out of paper cups and take out chop sticks with bits of cloth strewn between. He'd take you out for your favorite breakfast afterwards - a bagel with lox. You had such grown up tastes for a kid! He dropped you off school every morning and always said if you do your best, everything else will follow. You didn't live that far from school, only a few blocks, but he loved spending as much time with you as he could, because your mom died when you were so young, and you were his whole world. He had a picture of both of you on his desk. He never stopped loving her, which really pissed off Janine from Accounting. He left work early three days a week to pick you up from school, the other days were your grandma's days, and he always went straight to your school from work, except Fridays, when he'd stop off at home first to set up a surprise for you and wait for you to walk back to your neighborhood with Fred."

"And that was the perfect time to kill him. Wait for him to get back, try to kill him before you returned from school. Because your dad knew something, you see. He knew someone at his aviation company had approved something that should not have been approved, and people died. That person tried to give him money if he'd stay quiet, and oh god it was so much money, it would have changed your lives, but your father wanted to do the right thing. And he was going to testify, bring them justice. And I, I..."

The man began to cry. I tried not to roll my eyes. I knew this speech was coming.

"Your father made me want to be a better man," he continued, "I'm an active member in my community. Every time there's a snowstorm, I'm the one shoveling my neighbor's driveways. I volunteer in a soup kitchen once a month. When Greg down the block died from cancer like your mother did, I organized a fundraiser for his widow, so she could cover her mortgage payments for a year! And I convinced that beautiful woman standing there behind you to marry me, have children with me. They're the light of my life, just like I know you were the light of your father's life. I always think back to those days I tailed your father and saw how much he loved you, how he always tried to do the right thing. And I strive to be that person, each and every day."

He paused, then said, a little too smugly for my taste: "I'm sure you did your research, Aaron. That's how you found me. You know I'm known throughout my community for my kindness and generosity."

"You never turned yourself in though." I pointed out.

The man stop. Sputtered.

"Well I...I thought the best way to honor my victims was to pay it forward. Live a good life, do right by my community."

"And rob your victims's families of any chance of closure. May I remind you of what you did?" My mocking voice got a little sing-songy

"Hey," he screamed, "your dad could have suffered, the contract specifically asked for torture, but I made it fast! True, because you walked in, but he just got a bullet to the head! I took a pay cut!"

"Wow, you skipped the torture," I said sarcastically, "Such hero. Much sacrifice."

"And I let the kid live! I'm a good guy now," he responded hotly. "I recycle!"

With a flurry and agility honed from years of practice, he grabbed my gun, swept my legs out from under me, and knocked me to the ground.

Blinding beams of light flooded the dining room.

"Drop it!" FBI swat agents poured in, seemingly from every direction. The man covered his face while his family, still huddled together at the other end of the dining table, screamed.

"Get the kids out of here," I groaned from the floor, "And make sure they're okay. They didn't do anything wrong. But you–" I pointed at his wife, "you do realize you admitted to knowing about his murders, right?"

"We got it all on audio recording, Aaron," an agent reached down and pulled me to my feet. "It's over, finally. We got him buddy."

"Thanks, Fred."

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to cry.

"Love you, dad."

I sat on the crowded train, glad I managed to swindle my way into a comfy window seat by a sleeping buisness man. The condensation dripped from my fresh can of coke. The Christmas advertising saw to it that the drips ran over Santa's jolly face upon the aluminium. "Hello, fat man." I whispered flatly to myself, just loud enough for a nearby child to hear and giggle a little. I was tempted to look over to see their expression of amusement, but I was otherwise transfixed on the blur of dazzling Christmas lights speeding past the window in the night.

My mind wanders back to that night my father was taken from me. He lay in the snow angel of blood by the crumpled recycling bin, refuse covered two gardens. The lights of a police car had woken me. Red, like his blood. Blue, like I knew, there would be no happiness this year. Red, my anger built to boiling point. Blue, the man's face will be dead and blue when I find him. The officer said that there were no tire tracks due to the ice, so there was no way of finding who killed my dad. But I had my trail cam set up that night, and I know who done it.

Ten years on, and I had his address, the train ticket, and my shotgun. I don't care about the rumours that he's the best man ever, so kind and generous, I know his true colours. Murderous bastard! Not long now, and I will have my revenge.

I stepped onto his porch made of solid slate. The large solid oak door stood like a Fort before a besieging army infant of me. I knew its weaknesses, having studied the locks and picked my way inside in ten minutes. I was in. Everything screamed luxury, the floors, the lights, even the coats on the coat rack. My dad was surrounded by dirt, and he was surrounded by pearls and diamonds. The thought and adrenaline made me feel sick. The noise of laughter came from the living room, and I followed it with my shotgun ready. The sounds of a rolling fire crept around the open door before me, and I nudged it open with the barrel of the gun.

There he was, kneeling by the fire in front of a victorian armchair that hugged around his gorgeous wife and something I hadn't planned on. Upon her knee sat a young boy, he was learning to tie his shoes from his father.

I knocked a vase, and they looked at me in tandem, shock smeared their once joyous faces. I couldn't back down now. I raised my shotgun and cooked it with a loud, CHICK CHICK, I looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Do you remember killing my father? Do you? Huh, Santa Claus?"

And like his reindeer, the bullets flew.

A rugged-looking man with a scar over his right cheek was sitting with a group of men and women, laughing with them as they ate. They were the man's closest friends...and sitting right beside him, with his arm over her slender shoulder, was his blonde-haired wife. Soon, a child with a party cap sauntered over to their table and approached the man's wife.

"Mom, when can we eat the cake? I want to eat cake now..." The child asked.

"Maybe later, honey. Mom's still talking with her grown-up friends." The blonde-haired woman replied as gently as a loving mother could.

"But I want to eat cake now..." The child whined lightly. "I already finished my dinner."

At this juncture, the rugged man got up from his seat and approached the child.

"I guess my little birthday boy should get the first slice, then."

At the man's words, the boy beamed.

"Yay! Thanks, dad!"

"No problem, bud. Come along now, Dennis."

The rugged man then led his son towards the massive chocolate cake situated on a long table as the other guests continued enjoying their night, completely unaware that someone else was watching them all...and was not pleased at all, with what they are seeing.

I felt my veins bulge as I looked at this sickening sight before me. My anger....my only true companion...began to bubble up as I looked through the scope of my rifle...as I looked at the man who killed my father enjoy a life that he should never have gotten. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves...relax my body. I have to make sure I plant one right between his eyes...return to him the wound he gave my father that fateful night 16 years ago...

exhale

I've never forgotten that day since...and I never planned to until I finally see him dead and bleeding at my feet. Now...after over a decade of training and preparation, it's finally time. "Say goodnight, you filthy animal." I sque-

"Hold it."

I freeze. My crosshairs were knocked a few millimeters off-target, and I quickly lost my opening.

"Fuck." I swore as I turned to face the man who threw me off. "Why the hell are you here?"

A large man wearing a brown trench coat and a brown fedora was standing just beside the sniper. He had a muscular build, and half of his face was obscured by an unnaturally dark shadow cast by his nondescript fedora. The vengeful sharpshooter looked startled as he realized how close the man was, but his shock was quickly replaced by annoyance.

"I thought you wouldn't interfere with my decision, Kurina." The sniper harshly spoke.

"I didn't." The large man named Kurina then folded his massive arms over his chest as he looked at the same thing the sniper was looking at. "I simply gave you time to truly make a decision, Erebus."

"Well I was about to, damn it! You nearly made me miss!" Erebus angrily replied.

"But you didn't." Kurina smiled. "As if one of ol' Gungnir's students were nothing less than excellent snipers."

Erebus snarled as he re-adjusted his weapon, aiming it at the rugged man's head yet again as he spent time with his boy. Kurina unfolded his hands and pulled out an ornate pocket watch made of gold and flicked it open to look at the time.

"Why are you really here, old man?" Erebus spoke rudely. "You finally decided to go back on your word to help me?"

"No. I promised to help you get rid of this problem of yours and that's that."

"Tch. Then fuck off and let me-"

"I'm not finished yet, Erebus."

Whether out of fear for the sudden change in tone or out of habit, Erebus flinched and did as he was told. Kurina shut his pocket watch and squatted down so he'd be closer to the sniper.

"The problem with you, Erebus, is not the man in your scopes right now." Kurina then turned his head towards the sniper laying prone on the ground. "It's your decade-old hatred."

Upon hearing this, Erebus sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Oh great, I'm being lectured by the world's greatest assassin like I'm some fucking child. Please, let us hear the wise words of Kurina the saint, a man who is totally not guilty of the blood of thousands and definitely does not have a seven digit body count." Erebus mockingly said as he stabilized his weapon.

"You are a child. Even after 16 years have passed, you're still the same child as I found you all those years ago...when you cried for your father as he lay dead and bleeding in the living room of your home-"

SMACK!

Kurina effortlessly blocked a backhanded punch from Erebus. His gloved hand didn't even flinch. The massive man moved nimbly, taking a few steps away as the furious sniper left his nest and stood up to face him.

"You better shut the hell up and leave me alone, old man. I'm going to kill this fucker for what he did and you can't stop me!" Tears were now streaming down the cheeks of Erebus. "Don't make me fucking kill you too."

"You can't kill me even if you tried and you know it." Kurina spoke so calmly and confidently, as if he was speaking facts. You're just saying things you don't mean out of anger at this point. Simmer down and think this through, Erebus."

In response, Erebus quickly pulled out a gun and aimed it at Kurina. The man simply stood still, unbothered and lightly fiddling his pocket watch with his thumb.

"You think I won't do it, old man?! Do not deny me my revenge!"

Kurina sighed. "Look at you. You are so pitiful. So consumed with anger..."

Erebus quickly cocked the hammer of his gun.

"That you can't even think straight anymore." The man's voice was filled with nothing but pity for Erebus.

"This is your fault, Kurina! Stop pissing me off and just get the fuck out of here before you regret it!" Despite his attempts to sound threatening, Erebus' quiet sobs and shaky hands betray him. He was on the verge of breaking, and Kurina knows it.

"I'm not leaving because I don't want YOU to do something you'll regret, Jacob." Kurina addressed Erebus by his real name.

Erebus flinched, and Kurina continued speaking.

"Frederick is no longer the same man who killed your father, Jason. He's changed. He's no longer someone who deserves to die. He regretted killing your father. It was why he let himself be arrested. It was why he became a family man, beloved by many. If a horrible person like that could change for the better, why can't you?" Kurina spoke gently as his left arm entered his coat's pocket, fiddling with something beneath.

"What the fuck are you trying to make me do, then? Forgive and forget? Forget the shit that fucker did to me?!"

"...It's the only way this will end well for you. For everyone involved." sighs "You're still young, Jacob. You still have a life ahead of you. That is why you should no longer be shackled to the past. Just let go...and move on."

Erebus continued crying in silence while Kurina remained motionless.

"I...I can't...I can't, Kurina, I-"

"Just make the choice, Erebus. Whatever it may be, know this: I will be here to help you get what you need to finally bring yourself peace of mind..."

Erebus sobbed as he thought long and hard on what to do, his gun still shakily aimed towards Kurina. Eventually, he finally reached a conclusion.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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