Status: making it up as I go along...
The Three P's
The First Kill is Always the Worst
Percy
________
Every 1 in 358
Every 7 in 10
Every 4 in 5
Odds. Propability. The chances of getting caught.
My family is a group of crimminals. Well, what's left of my family. My two brothers and I. That's it. Paris, Pierre, and I.
I don't mind, actually. My parents were inadequit. I love my brothers, and together, we are te best crimminals I have ever come across.
Paris Arsen Aristo. The first born. The strong. He can seduce anyone or anything. He's extremely competent, even if he oesn't act like it. He's determinded and he learns easily. I've often asked him if he has a photographic memory, but he always avoids the question. I've realized a long time ago I really know nothing about my brothers.
Pierre Deacon Aristo. The last born. The messenger. He was born seven minutes after me, fifteen minutes after Paris. Pierre is someting special. I don't know if he knows that Paris and I know, but there is definetly something about him.
And there's me. Percy Gene Aristo. The second born. The nobleman. An IQ so high I'm considered a genius. I create all of our plans. Make sure there aren't any flaws in them. Pierre notices things while we're executing a plan. Things I can't see because I'm so focused on making sure everything goes perfectly, thanks to my damned OCD. Things Paris doesn't notice while he's making sure no one will intervene.
There's another thing about Pierre. He's never killed. Paris and I have, but not Pierre. I think unconsiously, Paris and I have been doing everything to keep Pierre from his first kill.
My first kill didn't effect me as much as I thought it would. I didn't break down or do anything like what I've heard it does to certain people. The first time Paris saw me after my first kill, he called me a cold heartless bastard. Jokingly, of course, though once Paris had his first kill, I saw how one would normally react to killing another human being.
I will remember it forever. Pierre wasn't with us. He had fallen ill, so he stayed at our "home" while Paris and I had gone out to take care of business. This was also the time when we realized we needed Piere with us to execute a successful mission.
Paris and I were almost finished. I was just about to go into the room where our target was. I wasn't thinking straight, completely focused on obtaining our target. I ran to it, and I was caught off gaurd when someone put me in a chokehold and pressed a gun to my temple. I wasn't exatly sure what was going on then. My mind was a frenzy. I couldn't think straight.
The man, or woman, about to kill me then leaned and spoke into my ear.
"You'll call your partner in here, like you've got the painting. Like nothing is wrong. You try anything funny, and I'll shoot." The voice was raspy and a little deep, indicating male. His hot breath grazed my ear.
I nodded and acted like the gun idn't effect me at all. Cool, calm, and collected.
"Paris, I've got it, lets get out of here." I called. I could hear Paris' footfalls and the door opening. The man had turned me around by this point so I was facing the door. Paris ran in with a smile on his face, though as soon as he saw me, it dissapeared and he whipped his gun from his holster.
"If you shoot, I'll shoot." Our attacker said, a wicked smile evident in his voice.
Paris froze right there. HIs eyes were wide. He had never killed before, but he'd shot someone. I could tell he was aiming to wound. This wasn't wounding time. If we were to get out of here alive, Paris would have to kill. I could see his eyes searching the room, looking for something to help get me out of here safely.
I spoke softly and made eye contact with Paris.
"You have to kill him, its the only way." I said in Greek, our native language.
"Hey! What are you saying!?" the attacker yelled, shoving the barrle of his gun farther into my head.
"You should really keep your voice down. That is, unless you want someone to find us." I said calmly and slowly.
"You little punk," he growled, turning me around and throwing me against the wall. My head hit the wall hard, making my head start to swim. He grabbed my neck and force the barrell of his gun into my mouth. I could taste the cold metal pressing on my mouth, but the attacker had made the biggest mistake of all.
With the barrell still in my mouth, I yelled "Paris, now!"
Paris nodded and his brow knit. I heard the first shot and I could see he aimed for the heart. At this point, the hunter had become the hunted. The attacker ducked, and I tried to move out of the way, but Paris' bullet caught my shoulder. I gasped and fell to the floor, my head bursting from the pain. I tried to keep moving. I got up again, grabbed the painting with my one good arm and turned around in time to see Paris standing over our attacker, finger on the trigger.
"Paris, we have to go!" I yelled in greek, through clenched teeth. Paris frowned and pulled the trigger. The gunshot wasn't too loud, I'd modified our guns, though blood started to pool around the man's head. I could see Paris' adams apple bobbing, his eyes watering. His chest didn't rise or fall.
He was breaking down.
"Arugh! Paris! We have to go! Do you want to get caught!?"
Paris coughed and turned around. I sighed and ran to the dead man and searched his pockets. Once I got everything, I picked up the painting, and ran out.
I'm laying in bed as I think of this. Paris is next to me, Pierre on the other side. I know it still eats away at him. He acts like it doesn't bother him, but I know it does. I don't think Pierre knows, but I can't be sure.
I really can't be sure about anything when it comes to my brothers.
________
Every 1 in 358
Every 7 in 10
Every 4 in 5
Odds. Propability. The chances of getting caught.
My family is a group of crimminals. Well, what's left of my family. My two brothers and I. That's it. Paris, Pierre, and I.
I don't mind, actually. My parents were inadequit. I love my brothers, and together, we are te best crimminals I have ever come across.
Paris Arsen Aristo. The first born. The strong. He can seduce anyone or anything. He's extremely competent, even if he oesn't act like it. He's determinded and he learns easily. I've often asked him if he has a photographic memory, but he always avoids the question. I've realized a long time ago I really know nothing about my brothers.
Pierre Deacon Aristo. The last born. The messenger. He was born seven minutes after me, fifteen minutes after Paris. Pierre is someting special. I don't know if he knows that Paris and I know, but there is definetly something about him.
And there's me. Percy Gene Aristo. The second born. The nobleman. An IQ so high I'm considered a genius. I create all of our plans. Make sure there aren't any flaws in them. Pierre notices things while we're executing a plan. Things I can't see because I'm so focused on making sure everything goes perfectly, thanks to my damned OCD. Things Paris doesn't notice while he's making sure no one will intervene.
There's another thing about Pierre. He's never killed. Paris and I have, but not Pierre. I think unconsiously, Paris and I have been doing everything to keep Pierre from his first kill.
My first kill didn't effect me as much as I thought it would. I didn't break down or do anything like what I've heard it does to certain people. The first time Paris saw me after my first kill, he called me a cold heartless bastard. Jokingly, of course, though once Paris had his first kill, I saw how one would normally react to killing another human being.
I will remember it forever. Pierre wasn't with us. He had fallen ill, so he stayed at our "home" while Paris and I had gone out to take care of business. This was also the time when we realized we needed Piere with us to execute a successful mission.
Paris and I were almost finished. I was just about to go into the room where our target was. I wasn't thinking straight, completely focused on obtaining our target. I ran to it, and I was caught off gaurd when someone put me in a chokehold and pressed a gun to my temple. I wasn't exatly sure what was going on then. My mind was a frenzy. I couldn't think straight.
The man, or woman, about to kill me then leaned and spoke into my ear.
"You'll call your partner in here, like you've got the painting. Like nothing is wrong. You try anything funny, and I'll shoot." The voice was raspy and a little deep, indicating male. His hot breath grazed my ear.
I nodded and acted like the gun idn't effect me at all. Cool, calm, and collected.
"Paris, I've got it, lets get out of here." I called. I could hear Paris' footfalls and the door opening. The man had turned me around by this point so I was facing the door. Paris ran in with a smile on his face, though as soon as he saw me, it dissapeared and he whipped his gun from his holster.
"If you shoot, I'll shoot." Our attacker said, a wicked smile evident in his voice.
Paris froze right there. HIs eyes were wide. He had never killed before, but he'd shot someone. I could tell he was aiming to wound. This wasn't wounding time. If we were to get out of here alive, Paris would have to kill. I could see his eyes searching the room, looking for something to help get me out of here safely.
I spoke softly and made eye contact with Paris.
"You have to kill him, its the only way." I said in Greek, our native language.
"Hey! What are you saying!?" the attacker yelled, shoving the barrle of his gun farther into my head.
"You should really keep your voice down. That is, unless you want someone to find us." I said calmly and slowly.
"You little punk," he growled, turning me around and throwing me against the wall. My head hit the wall hard, making my head start to swim. He grabbed my neck and force the barrell of his gun into my mouth. I could taste the cold metal pressing on my mouth, but the attacker had made the biggest mistake of all.
With the barrell still in my mouth, I yelled "Paris, now!"
Paris nodded and his brow knit. I heard the first shot and I could see he aimed for the heart. At this point, the hunter had become the hunted. The attacker ducked, and I tried to move out of the way, but Paris' bullet caught my shoulder. I gasped and fell to the floor, my head bursting from the pain. I tried to keep moving. I got up again, grabbed the painting with my one good arm and turned around in time to see Paris standing over our attacker, finger on the trigger.
"Paris, we have to go!" I yelled in greek, through clenched teeth. Paris frowned and pulled the trigger. The gunshot wasn't too loud, I'd modified our guns, though blood started to pool around the man's head. I could see Paris' adams apple bobbing, his eyes watering. His chest didn't rise or fall.
He was breaking down.
"Arugh! Paris! We have to go! Do you want to get caught!?"
Paris coughed and turned around. I sighed and ran to the dead man and searched his pockets. Once I got everything, I picked up the painting, and ran out.
I'm laying in bed as I think of this. Paris is next to me, Pierre on the other side. I know it still eats away at him. He acts like it doesn't bother him, but I know it does. I don't think Pierre knows, but I can't be sure.
I really can't be sure about anything when it comes to my brothers.