I was woken roughly by guards in the early hours of what I could only assume was morning.

The room I was taken to was cold, all metal and glass, and dark.

Chains clinking with every movement of my wrists and ankles.

Ropes pinned wings to my back, cutting into my bare chest.

The smell of blood and fear, masked by detergent and anger, hit my nostrils like an unwelcome tsunami, along with other emotions.

Hatred.
Interest.
Worry.
Excitement.
Expectation.

"So, you're a Serafer." The man's voice was just as cold as the room, hard and unforgiving. "Will you tell me exactly what that is or shall I ask my friend here, the animal expert?"

"We are no animals." I spat.

"I beg to differ." The woman sitting next to him cleared her throat. Her voice was as cold as his. "Serafer. Noun." It sounded like she had just memorized a dictionary. "Otherwise known as the avenging angels. The Serafer act as almost vigilante type law enforcers, hunting down people whom they consider as threats. No one knows how they know who to kill, or whether they answer to some higher power. Freelance Serafer, though, work for the highest payer as a freelance assassin. They are known as some of the most deadly species in the universe. Am I right so far?"

I stayed silent, unsure of what the response would be if I said 'yes'.

"Not answering? Two can play that game." The man said. He stuck out his hand. "Soldier, get me Blade 5." He was handed a knife, and walked around the table to where I was sat. "This is how we deal with scum who don't answer questions from a higher rank."

He plunged the knife into my back.

Three times.

I managed to numb the pain before it got too bad, but a quick once-over told me the worst of the damage: the tendons that I needed to even flap my wings had been severed.

My only means of escape had been ruined.

Two lucky shots.

"Take it away, we'll try again another time." The man smiled darkly, wiping his knife clean of blood. My blood.

From the lack of burning pain, I knew the blade had not been blue iron, or even celestial bronze. And, because it wasn't blue iron, I would heal, but I had no clue how long it would take. Until then, I was helpless.
My wings were useless.

I could feel my blood trickling down my spine, and by the time I had been thrown back into my cell, the pain was creeping back, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

An angry voice interrupted my thoughts. "What happened to you?" 31 asked, seeing the drying blood on my bare back.

"What does it matter to you?" I hissed.

They would try again. They could beat me until I was broken, cut me until I bled dry.
I didn't care.

Death is preferable.

Death is my future either way.

Death is the future.

Mine. Theirs. It gets us all in the end.

Even the Serafer meet death in the end.

My dreams weren't much solace. They were coming for me, again. Even though I was asleep, I could tell that terror was cascading off of me in waves. The Serafer were surrounding me, binding me, carving into me, telling me to stop fighting and accept my fate.
I woke up with a start.

The dried blood on my back itched. I reached around to pick at it absent mindedly, and felt straw as well.

I was lying on my back.

In straw.

The sounds of life reached my ears, cheering and shouting. Jeering and singing.
I stumbled to my feet, but before I could even begin to register where I was, or what had happened, a bucket load of cold, dirty water was thrown at me, cascading down my body and soaking my prison issue trousers.

"Had too much to drink, mate?" The man holding the bucket said, looking at me thoughtfully. I looked at him, and then at my surroundings. An open stable next to an inn. Both suggested humans. I sniffed the air. Earth.. 1726... Port Royal.

"I suppose you're with the East India Trading Company. You don't look rough enough to be anything else. We'd better get you back to your ship before you get in trouble with your superiors or with the locals. Come on, now, look alive."

I shook my head, disoriented.
What had happened?
A smell hit me like a 9 tonne spaceship going at 50 knots.

A smell I hadn't smelt for a long time.

The smell of a life that needed to end.

"I've got to go." I muttered, shaking my arm free from the man's grip. I hadn't even been aware of him grabbing me.

"Not in your state!" He said, trying to catch hold of me again. His fingers brushed my shoulder blade and I flinched, but sped up and soon left him far behind me.

It took me a while to find the source of the smell. A man, looking ridiculous in a wig and fancy coat, walking along the grime covered streets, headed towards the dock. He carried a sword, and looked as if he was in a hurry.

He would never make it to his ship.

Another man joined him, emerging from the door of an inn. He too wore a wig, and was dressed in what looked like a uniform. They talked in quiet voices, and I cursed myself. I had no weapons on me, so I should have taken him out when he was alone.

I followed them as quietly as I could, all the way onto their ship. Only then did they go their separate ways- the uniformed man joined others who were doing something with ropes, and the one who was to die walked into a cabin.
I followed him quietly.
He whirled around quickly, holding his sword, hands shaking slightly.
"Who are you?" He demanded.

"The last person you'll ever see?" I suggested.

"Well you can tell Swan he needs to employ better assassins. You're no murderer. You're a boy. Now get off my ship."

"Not yet." I said. I lunged at him, grabbing his throat with one hand. Like I had with so many other people, I watched the life slowly drain from his eyes.

Death is your future.

Death is the future.

I could hear footsteps approaching the cabin. My exit was blocked. I glanced around, panicking. The windows. Just as the door opened, I crashed through the window, hardly feeling the glass slice at my skin.
I fell into the water with a painful smack, and it enveloped me.