[ WP ] A villian who thinks he 's a hero realizes he 's the villian . What is he thinking ?


 There are thought to be three kinds of People in this world: Those who make things happen, those who watch things happen, and those who wonder what happened. The people who watch things happening are always in control; they ’ re the puppeteers, the people who pull the strings of the Marionette. Then there are the people who wonder what happened; they ’ re though to be dirt under our feet and the much between our teeth…they are an annoyance. This leaves us with one, the puppet, the Marionette, the middleman… They are the ones who make things happen. The man didn ’ t know what he was, but as he committed the first murder of the night, tasked to him by his masters…He wondered, what was he? The women in the street, knife wounds in her chest…who was she? He was told she was a spy, a terrorist... An evil person. However, as she screamed bloody murder to no one in particular, he wondered, was it true, how could she be a terrorist? She was nothing like the others he had encountered. He let out a sigh of relief, as she stopped struggling as her body went limp, with the absence of a heartbeat, and the coldness of ice on her pale skin. He stood, struggling to his feet. This wasn ’ t the first time, the first time he had ever doubted that what he was doing was for the good of the people, but he expelled the thought from his head, as he cleaned the ever so-sharp blade on the woman ’ s pale but vibrant blouse. He walked away, melding into the crowd of people walking by the pitch-black ally-way, and past the murder that no one even witnessed. It seemed to easy, living in a world of mindless sheep, the people didn ’ t pay attention to anything, they led their lives, with the same stupid routine and the same stupid pattern everyday of there existence. He thought to himself, it is too easy, these people don ’ t notice, they don ’ t look, they are too worried that they could ruin there preciously boring lives just for witnessing the wrong. But, he is doing well for these people, he ’ s a protector, run by the corporations and taught by his masters. He is a silent assasin, a killer, a ghost… He was good at what he did, too good, but not the best. He started to think, what was his purpose, to kill? To destory? To be the Vendetta of these masters against the evil and the wrong? That ’ s what he had been told at least…But was it true? Was he really doing the right thing? He didn ’ t think so, but then, what else could he do? 
 
... and at that moment he screamed, as the bullet pierced his head and the skinny detective emerged from the shadows, revolver still smoking an a look of triumph on his bony face
