BEYOND THE KILL

This world is full of bastards. And I’m the biggest bastard of them all.

My name is Maclovin. I’m a hitman. I kill for money. No hesitation. No guilt. No second thoughts.

I don’t believe in principles—just one rule: finish the mission at any cost.

People always ask me the same stupid question:

How can you be so cold? How can you kill without feeling anything?

I always give them the same answer:

“I don’t know.”

And I only say it after they’re dead.

Sometimes, when those voices echo in my head, I try to understand myself… but there’s nothing there.

I don’t remember my parents. Not their faces, not their names. Just the stench of garbage, the cold metal of a dumpster, and a rough hand pulling me out.

That hand belonged to the old man—the only person I ever had.

He taught me how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill. He trained me like a weapon, polished me into a professional hitman.

And he drilled one thing into me:

“Work for money. Earn more. Never stop.”

We were rich—filthy rich. But we lived like ghosts in a rundown countryside house, cooking our own food, not needing anything.

I never understood why he wanted so much money.

Then one quiet night, he died.

No gunshots, no screaming. Just silence.

On his final breath, gripping my hand with a strength he shouldn’t have had, he rasped,

“Maclovin… promise me… become the wealthiest man in the world.”

And then he was gone.

No explanation. No answers. Just a dying wish burning inside my skull.

So here I am—sitting in the office of Dr. Michael Hayes, target number 1472, gun aimed at his head, ready to finish another job.

But instead of pulling the trigger, I’m talking.

Telling him everything. My past. My old man. The promise that controls my life.

He listens, his expression shifting from curiosity… to terror.

“Why did you tell me all this, Kratos?” he whispers, his voice trembling.

“You asked why I’m so cold. Why I kill without hesitation,” I say, tightening my grip on the gun.

“I wanted to answer you—before you asked.”

His face collapses in panic.

“And now? What are you going to do?”

I raise the gun.

“Finish the mission.”

He jumps from his chair, shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh my God—no! Please don’t kill me! I can help you! I swear! You don’t have anyone else, do you? I’ll listen. I’ll be whatever you need—a therapist, a friend, anything! Just don’t kill me!”

That stops me.

No one has ever said that to me.

No one ever offered to listen.

I lower the gun slightly.

“Alright, doc,” I say. “You’re coming with me. We’re blowing this place to hell—and then you keep my secrets.”

Before he can think, I drag him to the basement where explosives wait.

I light the fuse.

“Run.”

We bolt through the hallway and burst into the night.

The building erupts behind us—fire, glass, and smoke clawing into the sky.

We don’t stop until the ground stops shaking.

Panting, terrified, Hayes turns to me, eyes wide and shining.

“Kratos, that was insane! I’ve never seen anything like that! I’m going to write a book about you—no, wait, I’ll listen first, I’ll listen to everything—your feelings, your thoughts, your favorite food—”

I stare at him.

“Just shut up, doc.”