We passed four heavily guarded doors before reaching a blinding white room. In the center sat a wooden chair, connected to a strange contraption with a helmet hanging above it. A smile crept onto my face. Today was finally going to be the day this torture I call an existence came to an end.
They pressed me down into the chair and unlocked the handcuffs, only to secure my arms to the sides of the chair with Velcro straps. I felt my legs being fastened the same way to the chair's legs. The guards then fitted the helmet snugly over my head, wrapping Velcro around my chin to hold it in place. After that, they exited the room and sealed it shut.
The lights above me were blinding, but it didn't matter. I could only see out of one eye anyway. A few minutes later, the warden walked in with a man dressed in black robes, holding a Bible, a brown rosary hanging from his neck.
"You're just fucking with me now, huh?" I managed to say through pained laughter.
The priest approached and stood beside my good eye, bending down to my level. "If you believe in God, young man, now is the time to make your peace with Him," he said, his tone grave.
I strained to lift my head, meeting the old priest's gaze. "If there were a God, there's no way He would listen to me let alone want to hear my confessions," I replied weakly.
The priest held my stare for a few moments before the warden gently tapped his shoulder. They both turned and left the room.
Moments later, a guard entered with a wooden stick. He forced my sore mouth open and shoved the stick between my teeth. Apparently, they didn't want me biting my tongue off. Ridiculous. I was about to be electrocuted to death, and that was their concern?
The blinding white lights finally began to dim, revealing what I'd thought was a wall—now clearly a large, transparent glass window. I squinted to see inside. From what I could make out, there were four men, three grown women, and one teenage girl watching from behind the glass.
As the warden stepped closer to the window, his face came into focus. He spoke into a microphone, his voice echoing into the room.
"On March 27th at 2:00 PM, we will witness the lawful execution of prisoner 626, known as Ivan Mikhailov. He has been found guilty of 102 confirmed counts of first-degree murder across four countries, including the United States. He is charged under the Patriot Act due to the severity of his acts of terror against our country. Additionally, he is responsible for the murder of the Prime Minister of Sweden, committed on U.S. soil during the Intersessional World Summit. The witnesses present today are the families of the victims—brought together by the heinous actions of this individual."
Unfortunately, most of the charges against me were true. Though I'll admit—the kill count was somewhat understated. I had been a hitman trained by the Company since the age of six. Death and despair were all I had ever known. This charade, as theatrical as it was, felt both justified and deeply unfair.
I never chose this line of work. Who would? Who would choose to be molded into an assassin and spy before they could even understand what life was? Who would willingly lose their manhood at fourteen? Who would choose a life of isolation, knowing no companion except violence and death?
I always knew this day would come. I thought I was prepared to face the consequences. And yet... my heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Sweat trickled down my face. My mind raced with thoughts—of everything and of nothing.
Fear?
I hadn't felt that in decades. Hell, I was praised for my fearlessness. Within the Company, I was a legend. One of the infamous "three numbers." I was the best. The highest rank one could achieve.
Number 999.
The one who never failed a mission. Until I did.
I failed to make a clean getaway after assassinating the Prime Minister. That was all it took.
The Company moved fast. They disavowed me within hours, cutting all ties. I knew too much. My face had been exposed. The golden rule was absolute: failure is never tolerated, regardless of rank.
So yeah, I had accepted this fate. Then why couldn't I calm down? Why couldn't I slow my heart rate? Why was my mind spiraling?
I took a slow breath, exhaling as the realization hit me.
It wasn't fear. Not at all.
It was frustration.
I was frustrated that I had spent my entire life serving the whims of others. From the beginning to the bitter end, I had been nothing more than a pawn for those in power. I had never truly done anything for myself. I lived, ate, slept, and killed for the mission—so the rich and powerful could keep climbing their gilded ladder.
I lost count of how many public officials I killed to fulfill the Company's goals. And for what? In the end, they discarded me like a broken tool.
But I can't pretend I didn't know this was coming. I've known for a long time.
Still... if there is a God, I resent Him. I resent Him for casting me into a world where my life was never mine to begin with. Where my entire existence served the pleasures and ambitions of others.
I blame Him for making me nothing more than a tool—one with no joy, no peace, not even love.
For God's sake, I've never even been with a woman in any way that wasn't strictly transactional or surface-level. Never experienced affection or warmth. Just cold, mechanical intimacy. That was my life.
Some of my fellow operatives believed they were doing God's work. They were devout. But in the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is what's waiting for me on the other side.
Honestly, part of me wishes I had believed. Maybe then I could've earned those 72 beautiful virgins waiting for me in paradise. Maybe I could've known what it felt like to be loved—worshipped even.
As the warden finished listing my crimes, he sighed. "The time is 2:34 PM," he announced in a somber tone before reaching forward and pulling the lever.
A hot burst of electricity surged through my body, making every muscle contract at once. My limbs seized, my back arched, and I bit down hard on the stick between my teeth.
The pain was indescribable.
It was like every cell in my body was set ablaze. It was relentless—my nerves screamed in unison, my muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Every part of me burned, not with fire, but with something far more violent.
It felt like eternity.
But it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds.
Then, slowly, my vision began to fade. The dark spots dancing before my eyes grew larger until they swallowed everything.
And then—
Silence.