2 I Am Scorpion

I am a professional assassin. My real name is Scorpion. Well, at least that was the only identity I had - a scorpion tattoo on my left chest - when I woke up chest naked in a cold winter night almost five years ago. At that time I found my self on a huge pile of trashes. Maybe if I were not awaken that quick, I would be buried among the trashes.

I stepped my feet out of the waste treatment plant in confused. No matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't remember why did I sleep among the trash, how did I get there, and more importantly.. who am I. My brain is like a trash can that being emptied and washed. There was no memory left.

Still in a daze, I decided to spend that night by snuggling up in a corner wall of a blind alley. A man who also lived there told me that our district was called H district. He also gave me a clothe. A little bit too small, but at least gave me warmth.

In two days I realized that it was not only my memory that had gone, but also my reading ability. Or was it actually I had never been able to read ? I have had no clue, not even now.

At that time I understood words, but I couldn't spell it. I also couldn't understand a single word on a pieces of newspaper that I used to sleep on. I understood what people said, but when I spoke, my sentences were so messed up that no one understood me.

Despite that, I also began to understand my skill. It was another ordinary night that I spent on the same blind alley. I almost closed my eyes when suddenly someone pointed a gun on my head while three other men surrounded me.

I instinctively twisted the man with the gun's arm so he dropped the gun in the same time with a broken bone sound. Then I kicked him on stomach that flew him to almost the end of the alley. The three men then hit me without knowing that I had the gun on my hand. I couldn't remember clearly. All I knew was I gave them all scratch wounds with only a single bullet. They all ran for their lives after that, leaving me with the gun and blood stained shirt.

I kept wearing the shirt. Not only because it was the only clothe I had, but also because eventually I enjoyed the smell of the blood. Of course I realized that the stain made people squinted and thought a thousand times to hire me. But ... who wanted to hire a guy that didn't even know how to talk ?

In addition, I had a gun, my most precious thing, even until today, a FN Five Seven semi automatic. I knew it right away once thing that had 744 gram weight was on my hand. The same gun then helped me found a more proper home.

A bullet from that gun was nested in a leg of a guy who tried to rob Mrs. Johnson, an old lady who then rented a room in her house to me for free and gave me her late husband's clothes. It was also in her house that I learnt to talk and read. My teacher was Princess, Mrs. Johnson's eleven years old grand daughter.

Without any ID and skill, except to use a gun which of course one thing I couldn't show off to people, I only could have a lowly work. There were two things that gave me advantage. One, H district didn't really concern about ID. Two, my Eastern face. You know, a stereotype that given to Eastern people is sincere and genius.

So, even though they were all dumbfounded to see a slanted eyes guy that was really dumb stranded on that area with no ID, my bosses didn't mind to hire me.

Lifting bags of flour from and to warehouses, picked up the garbage, cleaned the slaughter house, pasted advertisement poster, were some of jobs I had done.

I had never been able to keep my jobs. None of the job I could do well. Usually, my bosses gave me my salary at the end of the week and told me to not come back.

When I thought there was no more job for me at that district, I decided to try to search for a job in another district. For that I needed an ID, or else I might be caught on a raid in subway. From Santiago, my work partner at the slaughterhouse, I got Andy's address at S district.

Andy Vaccaro was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, at least according to my limited memory. He was in his late 20 at that time, he is only about my ear. He has a slender and supple body. His neck-length curly hair is always looked wet, sticks on both sides of his gaunt face.

Andy laughed when I told him my name was Scorpion. But his laughter turned into a frown when I could only shake my head to answer what was my surname, how old I was, when was I born, where did I come from, and what was my ethnic.

"Scott. I think It fits you. You know ... Scorpion .. Scott .. quite similar, right ?"

He then took a picture of me and said that I was good looking. I remembered a guy who lived in his apartment stared at me with a thick dislike gaze.

A couple days later, I was a new man. My name is now Scott Bennet, I was twenty six years old. I born in August the 13th. My father is Martin Bennet. My mother is from country J, Miyuka Kimura Bennet.

Andy, who is a make-up artist, is crazy about Country J especially its fashion. That was why he decided my Eastern face was from country J My mother's surname was taken from his idol, Takuya Kimura.

For all of those and an ID card, I had to give up my 175 dollar to Andy's hand. But it's worth it. His ID card really looked real. When I walked out his apartment that night, I thought it was the last time we met.

My new ID card was actually quite helpful to get me a job. One that didn't help was my self. My skill was increased. Obviously, I was not as dumb as my first days. But there was something else that made me kept changing job. It seemed like my body refused those jobs.

Every night I had to fight with my body. My body was in so much pain and hurt. Literally. Sometimes I even shivered and had cold sweat. I had never been able to sleep so the next morning I often got sleepy at my work. That was why I kept changing jobs, hoping I found a job that was approved by my body one someday.

One day I decided to try to be entrepreneur, being a live punching bag, twenty dollars for two minutes. My first - and last - client was a man in three-pieces suit. At first, I managed to dodge his punches, but then he hit me. Reflectively I hit him back. That one punch of mine took him to ER.

I had to stay in jail for few days. Fortunately, I had my ID back then. Through his lawyer, the man sued me, asking for 2500 dollar to pay his loosen jaw surgery and some fall out teeth.

I refused it with the simplest reason, I had no money or anything to pay him. Finally the court gave me a week to gather the money or threatened me to have a year in jail. I could only shrug at that time. Jail was not that bad. At least I could have three time meals per day, thing that I couldn't even afford daily.

Right a day before my deadline, I met Andy. Without too many words, he lent me 2500 dollar. When I asked him what could I do to pay his kindness, because it was less likely I could return the money, he just shook his head and said in grieve,

"Don't think about it. You don't need to do anything for me, except ... if you are able to kill a man."

From his sight I knew Andy was serious, though he was very surprised when I nodded to undertake it. There was no doubt in my heart. No voice that told me it was wrong or something.

Even when the third bullet from my gun put a hole on the forehead of an extra muscular man with tattoo all over his body. This man bullied Robert, Andy's boyfriend, until he committed suicide.

I just walked to leave the lifeless body while tugging my gun in my jeans without any feeling. No regret nor satisfaction. It's just.. that night I could sleep well, for the first time since I could remember. That was the beginning of my profession now.