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And yes, some unfortunate people like his slightly older sister call him 'RoRo'. It annoys the snot out of him. It's about three kinds of not dignified.
Poison has a terrible reputation as being a very feminine, rather unmanly murder weapon, which is ridiculous. The important thing is being able to use the right tool for the right kind of job - be it knife or poison or wrapping a wire around someone's neck. If poison is the most appropriate tool, then poison it shall be.
The first murder I had to commit was a poisioning, as a matter of fact. I was a very young agent that was only recently drawn into service - eighteen? It's been so long now I scarcely remember, the days bleed together as they turn like sandstorms - but in any case I was dispatched as the young and freshfaced so often are to take care of a political situation in the far south. On the one hand, it was a fairly high-profile target. But you do have to understand, I was not only young, I was expendable then. Were I caught and tortured I knew little and could tell less. There was a certain understanding there.
It also made things very simple to take care of; to pose as a waiter and to sprinkle some innocent looking powder around the table and on the great man's napkin; an incense that burns with the sweet scent of nightflowers, but has a very different effect as soon as it gets wet.
He died three days later, his face frozen in the rictus of agonizing pain, but he was truly dead the moment the napkin touched his lips.
Some might say I was weak for following orders, and some might say I was right to do so. Personally, I have no regrets. What is done had to be done. Perhaps that attitude is why I can still sleep at night, while some agents suffer questions and doubts.
I can usually sleep, anyway.
Poison has a terrible reputation as being a very feminine, rather unmanly murder weapon, which is ridiculous. The important thing is being able to use the right tool for the right kind of job - be it knife or poison or wrapping a wire around someone's neck. If poison is the most appropriate tool, then poison it shall be.
The first murder I had to commit was a poisioning, as a matter of fact. I was a very young agent that was only recently drawn into service - eighteen? It's been so long now I scarcely remember, the days bleed together as they turn like sandstorms - but in any case I was dispatched as the young and freshfaced so often are to take care of a political situation in the far south. On the one hand, it was a fairly high-profile target. But you do have to understand, I was not only young, I was expendable then. Were I caught and tortured I knew little and could tell less. There was a certain understanding there.
It also made things very simple to take care of; to pose as a waiter and to sprinkle some innocent looking powder around the table and on the great man's napkin; an incense that burns with the sweet scent of nightflowers, but has a very different effect as soon as it gets wet.
He died three days later, his face frozen in the rictus of agonizing pain, but he was truly dead the moment the napkin touched his lips.
Some might say I was weak for following orders, and some might say I was right to do so. Personally, I have no regrets. What is done had to be done. Perhaps that attitude is why I can still sleep at night, while some agents suffer questions and doubts.
I can usually sleep, anyway.
