I walked in different places that night in search of a place where I could live for the night. I soon found a cheap room and decided to stay in that room.
I reached a man, probably a servant, who asked me if I wanted him to volunteer me until we reached the room.
"Thanks, but I can go alone." I sent him back as I took the bag from his hands. I slowly opened the wooden door with a golden door handle.
The room was dusty, as if it had never once been clean!
"Ougghhh!" I coughed as dust infiltrated my lungs.
There was a small bed in one of the corners.
I lay on it. There was a window in the room through which the sky was visible.
"Magnificent," as I looked towards the beautiful night sky.
As soon as I closed my eyes, my tiredness conquered my consciousness, and I slept.
"Letter!" my mind reminded me.
"Oh yes, I forgot to read the letter the boss gave me."
I quickly took the letter from my coat pocket.
The letter was sealed. But the letter was not delivered to me by normal postal services; a disciple of the boss gave me this.
I opened the seal. Inside the envelope, there was a folded letter.
Oh, so this is what I need to do now.
I didn't get the mission yet, but I got the new code.
A poem was written in it.
Judge not a petty volume by its leather on the shelf.
Nor judge a passing soul who strives to write one himself!
We trip along the paths beneath the dawning sun.
With light and merry footsteps, shedding joy for the one.
We wander through the Whitechapel lanes, so ancient and so grand,
Where chimneys pierce the yellow fog that chokes this sombre land,
We trace a hidden mystery; we find a secret clue.
And marvel at the curious world disclosed to me and you!
We voyage over a wondrous map across the ocean deep.
To view the mighty monuments while all the cities are asleep.
We hail the noble effigies where marble pillars gleam.
In Washington dominions, where we live a splendid dream!
This time, they are giving messages via poems! If I have to decode it, I just have to find the names of people. As I am in the hitting squad, I just need the names of people to kill.
I read through the letter again carefully.
Found it! Washington—he is the one I need to assassinate this time, but who is he? Are there any more details?
A judge! Yes, it has to be Judge Washington on Whitechapel Street!
A voice again came into my mind.
Oh, so the murderer will strike again?
My eyes widened.
No, I am not a murderer. I am just helping him to get rid of evil by killing the corrupt people.
But—w…
No, shut up!
I kept the pillow on my ears. Slowly and steadily, that voice faded away, and I fell asleep.
In the early morning, I woke up and freshened myself in a public restroom, and started walking towards the street. I pierced the fog, which glimmered yellow from the early sun.
I reached an alleyway.
This is—this is the alleyway in which I murdered that fat noble!
I started walking towards the home of my target, but I stopped in front of the house of that noble, dark, and grimy, as if it was left abandoned for years.
The house looked terrible, like all the light had vanished. It was the true definition of 'ruins', looking at the house, I felt an emotion, an emotion that I couldn't comprehend.
From outside the house, the voices, or rather the screams of a few people, were audible.
"Get out of the house."
My heart ached, my brain trembled. But it was interrupted by a man kicking and lashing the woman out of the house.
He kicked the woman continuously, and her son, not so old, watched the brutality quietly, but his expression was telling a story I have heard before that I don't want to listen to.
"I will pay the debt, I swear!" the lady swore.
"Huh? It is not about the debt alone, your husband was proven guilty, and your status as nobility—
"Noooo!" she screamed.
The scream pierced through my skin, my hair, and my ears.
She sat at the gate crying, hugging her son. Everyone gathered around her, gazing, but no one came forward, let alone to help; rather, they created a mockery of her by standing there.
I gently took out some money and handed it to her.
"Miss, I am sorry for your loss. Here are 2 pounds; it's all I have for the moment. Please accept it."
I started walking through the crowd. I wanted to hide my face, but there were no masks that could have done that; it's not that they know that I am responsible for this, but rather I just wanted to run, run away far.
I reached the front of the judge's house; it was a remarkably good house for that area's condition.
He used to travel in an open car from the house to the court. I quietly sat down in the nearby restaurant.
I stalked him—the routine was what was important for me. Two days later, I got what I wanted: a perfect chance.
He was going home from court. When the car arrived, a beggar jumped on the car and started begging.
"Sir, for God's sake, please give me some money. I have not eaten the food."
The judge was smoking the cigar and calmly said.
"Don't be such a pain. I am leaving you this time, but next time—" He was continuing his speech, and he held his hands.
"Please, sir, one pound will help!"
The judge's jaw dropped.
"What, one pound? Get off the vehicle," he kicked him off the vehicle. The beggar fell on the street, slowly stood up, and started walking because his work was done. At some distance, the judge touched his face and died of intoxication.
He might be a good man, who am I to decide? But sadly, he was corrupt and lacked the honesty to be worthy of that position. I am not the murderer but the restorer who is trying to balance evil by deleting the sinner from existence.
In the end, morals are for those who don't want to fight but convince themselves that they are right not to punish evil.