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Monthly Horror & Thriller Challenge for March.
You've been abducted. When they uncover your face in their compound, you're handed a knife, and instructed to hunt and kill the group of seven before daybreak. It's exactly 11 p.m. For each person you don't kill per hour, you will lose a finger, not a thumb, and if all seven are alive at dawn, then you will also lose your head. You've never been in a fight, let alone killed anyone. They want to be murdered by you, but they want you to earn your life at the same time. So much so, one of your fingers is cut off before they run. You hunt, or you die. How strong is self-preservation? Take us along. Winner is decided by likes, and will receive a crisp $10.00 -Go get them, or don't.

Monster

I've accepted my fate by now. I have no illusions of what I am. At this point, I have chosen to become an assassin. A killer. A monster that people can use at their will. Am I proud of it? Not entirely. But I don't lie and tell myself that I am simply a good person doing the will of bad people.

I have six targets left, one finger already gone. If I imagine them as targets and not people, that makes it easier. Easier to kill them. I don't deserve being able to soothe my conscience. But I will if that makes my assignment easier.

Five left. The sixth target didn't scream, didn't beg for their life. He just watched me with sad, pitying eyes. He pitied me, the person who was going to end his life. Daniel Hargrove. No children, no wife. Nobody to miss.

I got Four and Five down this hour. They tried to run away, which was a bit irritating. A game of cat and mouse. Well, if they wanted to play, then we'll play. My gun aim has gotten better, unfortunately for them.

I have thirty minutes, and one target left. I hate the last name on my list. Hate the thing I'm going to do to her. Liliana, my clever older sister. I don't know what she could've done to draw my captors' attention. I knock on the door, partially hoping she won't answer. Will I really kill my sister to ensure my life? I already know the answer to that, which is why I hate the second the door opens.

"Hello?" My sister meets my eyes, hers widening in surprise. We haven't talked in years since Mom died.

"Lil," I whisper, hating the tremble in my voice. "I've missed you," I tell her. Her eyes get watery and she pulls me into a hug. Before I know it, I'm sitting in her living room, drinking coffee. Only, she doesn't expect what's in hers. She pales, looking sickly. She chokes on her saliva, and now I'm done.

Branwell addresses me with pride. "Good job. You will be part of our revolution. You will go by Volatile."

I nod my head, saying nothing. I killed the human part of me when I killed my sister. Now I am Volatile. Now I am a willing weapon to be unleashed on unsuspecting victims.Volatile. I guess the name suits me.

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