How did I learn how to kill? One might ask.

But how did I learn not to?

Killing is a very easy thing to do physically. But mentally it’s a whole different ball game.

I’ve killed only once.

And it’s a confusing feeling.

It’s a feeling of accomplishment.

Pride.

Sorrow.

And sometimes even remorse or happiness.

But when I killed that day it was a feeling of relief I had.

No more people would be hurt by this sicko. No more rape no more death.

Ever heard the term “Kill one, save a thousand.”?

I believe in that term. Especially when it comes to living in a bad area.

It’s easy to say I’ll probably kill again. But I prefer to give my victim’s a chance.

A chance to change.

Some do change. Other’s try to change me.

None have succeeded so far.

Though one man came close. His name was Drew.

Drew was a highly skilled mercenary thug.

I hate his guts; but that won’t change anything.

I gave him a scar, and he gave me one in return.

He’s the one man who’s ever bested me.

And that’s why he gets to live.