GUN MAN

Chapter 3

The interesting thing is that I was unable to locate anything.Although there is nothing to track, I am able to guess which hits are yours.Offering the agreements, instead of ready to be reached is extremely shrewd.I never had time to find you because of this.If someone can get in touch with you, they can find you if they work hard enough, no matter how much security you use.However, no one can reach you.It's a great idea."

"So, assuming I'm George, what do you expect from me?"

George is not a nickname; rather, it is a title.Because it refers to an apparition or phantom, I understand why it is used.Because you are a ghost, it is clever.But it's just a name.Can't I refer to you by name?I can come up with one or you can give me one.

"Make one up, and let's keep the theme going."I smiled once more to encourage her.I didn't want to give anything away.

Let's call you Fagin then, okay?Thus, you have a variety of skills.There is no pattern to your hits that I believe to be yours.by hand, guns, rifles, bombs, poison.The only characteristics they share are that neither the hit nor any other casualties are ever credibly claimed.Although various groups make claims about some, global security agencies have methods for determining whether or not those claims are true.Therefore, you must be a former member of the security services or special forces.You could be from anywhere because you don't have an accent.Medium form, tall yet not better than expected at six feet, not exceptional in looks, but rather not ugly by the same token."

"I think thanks."

You wouldn't be noticed because you would blend in.You are likely third-generation mixed-race, so you could almost appear to be native to any country other than Africa.I'm assuming you followed in my footsteps, but I'd prefer security services over special forces.I'd have speculated about English yet the total absence of anything about you implies that can't be correct.Ex-kidon is my guess because Israel is the only other nation that might be able to safeguard an identity similar to yours.

With narrowed eyes, she sat back and studied me, looking for evidence that she was correct.It appeared as though she was trying to force the truth out of my mind.

From underneath her gaze, I reciprocated her smile.It was excellent.The kidon appears frequently in books and on television.They are still very secretive, but Operation Wrath of God brought them to prominence and attention.Mossad carried out this operation to eliminate PLO and Black September members responsible for the Munich Massacre.

In a sign of submission, I spread my hands.I declared, "You've got me all figured out."

It was excellent but completely incorrect.Strangely, my first name was the only thing she had correctly spelled, even though it had been so long since anyone had used it that I had almost forgotten what it was.

Simbine said, "Liar."In my time, I've conducted a brief interrogation, and you're not even trying.

Of course, she had been correct.I had deceived her.I could rely on so many different legends, but none of them were true.They weren't even close.

Since I was not a reflective person, I rarely considered my past.Although it wasn't necessary, I was aware that a psychologist would probably have a field day.I was completely aware of who I was and why I did what I did.I was pleased by it.Counseling was not necessary for me to come to terms with it.I just didn't give it much thought.

However, Simbine and a great number of other people would adore to know who I was, where I came from, and how I became George.I would never reveal the beginning to anyone.I didn't because I didn't feel ashamed.I was the only one who cared about it.

The beginning is crystal clear.My father had abused me for a long time.It started when I was about eight years old, from what I can recall.He sexually abused me before blaming me.He would beat me out of shame for what he thought I had made him do.

I told my mother when I was ten years old, but she didn't believe me.She subsequently beat me for lying and calling me a wicked child.I know now that she knew reality and couldn't confront it, so in her forswearing she needed to respond the manner in which she did.She may have received some repentance for that.I haven't.

At school, my intelligence set me apart, but I quickly learned to cover it up;in fact, in primary school.What was going on at home also bothered and tortured me.My entire life was influenced by that sense of shame.I cultivated the middle ground and gave the impression of being an average student by the time I started at the local grammar school.I wasn't friendly or friendly at all.Neither bullied nor sought out for friendship.I received no attention for my grades.I was aware of the benefits of attention.I didn't have anyone to turn to for help.

I finally found the courage to tell someone else when I was twelve.After my argument with my mother, I turned to religion for help, and I eventually confessed to the priest.He behaved admirably and spoke the right words.He was the first person to take me seriously and believe me because he listened to me and didn't make judgments, which seemed very comforting. I responded well to him.

up until the point when he started abusing me as well.He was aware of his grip on me.After a night at the bar, the priest took my confession and made me suck his dick for my sins, if not my drunken father.

I decided enough was enough when I was fourteen.I had practiced martial arts for a while, and through it, I had grown strong without being bulky.By that time, I had decided that their god didn't exist.That had prompted me to examine religion and see it for what it is because I knew the priest's behavior was wrong.Fear and control.I wondered about the stupid people who believed the nonsense, and then I wondered even more about the people in charge.There was no doubt that the clergy and priests were intelligent individuals.They preached it despite knowing it was absurd.Were all of them perverts?I knew who the person who raped me was, despite my ignorance.The other people might need to wait.

When I turned fifteen, I was George.Of course, at the time, I didn't realize it; it was just the first step on the way to where I ended up.My first legend, a passport, was my birthday present to myself.a brand-new era and name.I was also stated to be eighteen.

I gave the priest a present by making one last confession.I cut off his penis and choked him with it as he entered my confessional to absolve me of my sins by releasing his sperm into me.I left him there with the rapist carved into his torso and his own penis in his mouth so that everyone would know.

I was surprised to see more blood.The artery sprayed blood all over me when I cut his throat, covering me in the sticky, wet liquid.Even though I once spilled a pint of milk on the kitchen floor, it paled in comparison to the eight pints that make up the human body.That sum covers a substantial area.Due to my lack of preparation, I had to turn my coat inside out to conceal the worst parts.In the font, I washed my hands and face.There was no such thing as holy water or sacrilege to me because I did not believe in God.I washed the pervert's blood out of it with just water from a bowl.It seemed appropriate to me.In the apse, apt.

I immediately went to my parents' house after leaving the church.It was not home to me.I hadn't done in a while.It resembled more of my prison, where a wicked individual executed me for a crime I had no idea I had committed.That's how I had envisioned it.However, I was about to break out big.

When I got home, my parents were eating at the kitchen table, looking like everyone else.On either side of the red Formica-topped kitchen table, they were enjoying pork chops, mashed potatoes, and peas.The HP sauce was in the middle of a glass of water that was placed in front of each of them on the table.As I stood in the hallway, they both gave me a high-five.It had always bothered me that it was so routine.Naturally, my mother lived in total denial, so I never saw anything in her face other than a strained, pinched expression that she always wore, as if she had written her guilt in deep lines on her face.My father acted as though nothing had happened between the rapes and beatings he had done to me.Despite having a slightly eccentric son, they were a perfectly normal family.

My father continued to eat his dinner, but I noticed that my mother was frowning because she must have noticed that my jacket was upside down and that there was blood on my shirt.If I hadn't approached behind my father, pulled back on his forehead to expose his throat, and drawn the specially sharpened knife across it, she probably would have also forgotten about it.The initial expulsion of blood sprayed across the table, just like the priest did.She silently looked down at it as some of it splashed onto her apron.I held my father still as he passed away before letting go of him. Blood was pouring out of the gaping wound in his neck as he remained seated at the table.His face landed on the mashed potato on the plate as he slumped forward.One pork chop fell to the ground as peas skittered across the table.