Death Dealer

Krveprolití is not my real name. But you don't need to know what my real name is. I can't afford you running to any government and blabbing about who I am. I am truly the deadliest man in all of Europe. I was born in the late 1980's, but you don't need to know exactly when it was. I was born in a shed outside Opole, Poland to a dirt poor family. They already had a daughter, who they could barely feed. They had a horrible plan to get themselves out of their money rut. They planned to sell their own daughter into a sex ring when she reached puberty, which was only a few years away when I was conceived. When my bitch mother got pregnate, they didn't know what to do. They decided that if I came out as a girl, they would double their money and sell me into the same ring, but if I were to come as a boy - Which I did - they would just get rid of me. One night, six months after conception, my parents were in another fight. My father punched my mother in the face, and she fell into the ice-cold stream behind the house. She drug her own self out of the freezing water, and went into labour right on the spot. My sister grabbed her and dragged her into the tool shed that housed the family's single farming horse. She shooed the horse, who jumped the fence and ran away, and help the woman give birth to me right on the spot. My father came running out because of the screams emenating from the shed, and found the scene. He threw my sister aside, and yanked me out of my mother. He held me upside down and found that I was a boy. He tossed me out into the feild, where I was later found by my sister. It was a miracle, alowed only by god himself, that I could breathe. My sister eventually found me and took me back to the shed of my birth. She raised me secretly, giving me goat milk in place of the formula that all of the spoiled americans are drinking now a days. Once I was old enough, she began giving me all of the food that she was given for her supper. It wasn't even enough for me. She was starving. I am still amazed that I was never found. For three years I was never found. When my parents were away or fighting or just not paying any attention, she would train me to ride the familly's horse so that when she was sold off I could ride away. That day came sooner than ever expected. She was sold when she was eleven, three years after I was born. As she was being drug out of the house by my father when she planted her foot firmly in between his legs. He collapsed to the ground and she ran to the back of the house, to the shed. She briddled up the tiny mare and set me on her. She said something, but I don't remember what. She whacked the mare's hind-quarters with a switch, and set her on her way. The horse carried me over the fence, and miles away. I eventually came to Opole. I drew a massive crowd, and then I passed out. When I woke up, I was in this big building with crosses everywhere. It turns out that I was in a chapel in Krnov, Czech Rep. The chapel and the underground tunnels beneath the city had served as a strong hold for the Deutsch Areal Ermordung Organisation for years.(I will continue this soon)

I was put in care of Johan Miroslaviacha, whos father was Czech and his mother was Swedish. He had aparently been the one who found me. He trained me in the way of the kill. We had target practice in the morning, Krav Maga at noon, Tai-kwan-do in the after noon, blade training in the evening, more target practice at night, then I slept for three hours and we began again. He became the father that I never had, all the way up until he was killed by the American CIA in Michagan after a failed assassination attemt of Bill Gates, who had recently created microsoft, which we all know would one day plunge the world back into the "second Dark Ages", which we are still in the grips of now. By the time he died, I had enough skill to enter the society as a full blood assassin. All that remained was my first kill.

Johan Miroslaviacha. His name still echoes around my head. He is the first man that I was sent to kill. His mother was a Sweed, and his father was Polish. He was a frenchman when he deid, though. He was the equivalent of a Sheik. He had way to much money. He controled most of the western hemisphere's oil production, and is single handedly blammed for pushing gas prices over fifteen euros in north Europe in 2009. If he had lived, he would have bought out seventy percent of the middle east's oil companies. He would have controlled most of the whole damn world financialy. Then I stepped in. It was a dark, cold January night in 2010. I was kneeling in the grass of a park, Eifel tower looming before me. I had my PSG-1 up against my shoulder. The scope was a bit frosty, but I could still see the crosshairs. And just what was in the middle. Johan Miroslaviacha, two fine broods in his arms. He was taking them to the top of the tower, and was probably just trying to get laid. He was a hundred meters off of the ground, then a bullet ripped through the front of the elevator, and caught him in the skull. Brain spattered the poor little skanks, and then I was simply gone. After confirmation of my kill, I was allowed into the organisation. I have been killing ever scince. Oh, and never think about trying to stop any of us. My brothers and I will out run, out gun, out wit and blow you all away.