Erased: A Depressing DenNor Oneshot

It wasn't the best job in the world, but Lukas had to admit that the pay was nice.

He was a hired assassin.

Lukas made the perfect killer. When he killed, he slayed in cold blood, never looking back, never leaving a trace, and never missing his mark. He rarely showed or felt emotion, and his facial expression was ninety-nine percent of the time etched into a mask of casual nonchalance. Lukas's eyes were unfathomable crystals of amethyst purple ice; eyes that never gave away what he was thinking.

Until he met Matthias.

Matthias was Lukas's opposite—Matthias's electric blue eyes burned with a dancing blaze, and his face was always vivid with lively emotion. His hair stuck up everywhere, as if he had experienced an electrocution, contrary to Lukas's neat, straight tresses, save for the curl that jutted out to the right of his head. Matthias was never calm, never quiet; he always just had to be doing something.

He was the only person Lukas could feel…emotion for.

It was wrong, so wrong. The unspoken rule of assassins was simple—never fall in love.

But Lukas had broken it, and now he had to pay the consequences. He had been expecting the manila envelope ever since he had fallen into the trap of the monster known as love. The society wanted Matthias dead. Whether they had done this intentionally to torture poor Lukas's soul or not, Lukas did not know. He didn't even know whom the society consisted of—they had selected him from watching his every move from afar. Lukas could still remember the first envelope; they had sent a gun, a description of someone with their picture, and a typed anonymous letter promising rich sums, and subtle hints of a fate far worse than death if Lukas were not to oblige.

He had thought nothing of it at first. They mostly weren't people he knew, and if he did happen to have known them, well, Lukas was highly adept at suppressing his emotions.

Unless those emotions happened to involve Matthias.

But he had to do it; what other choice was there? Lukas grabbed a coat and his faithful .22 caliber handgun, but the trusty weapon felt like a traitor to him now. He trudged outside into the bitter cold that sank its sharp teeth into his skin, but he couldn't feel it. He bravely stormed on, like a noble vanguard in battle, to Matthias's residence.

He arrived and knocked on the door tentatively. Matthias opened it, welcoming Lukas in warmly, oblivious as to his fate…

Lukas walked the short distance from the door to Matthias's warmly lit sitting room, as Matthias chattered on ecstatically, still unaware of the fact that these were to be his last moments in this world…

Matthias's back was turned. Now was the moment.

For the first time in Lukas's life, Lukas's hands were shaking as he held his gun. Now's the chance, before Matthias turns around and sees…

Matthias turned around. He smiled at Lukas, a cocky grin that lacerated Lukas's heart, and then saw the gun. His expression switched slowly into one of wonder, and then his eyes went wide with shock…

Trembling, Lukas's experienced fingers pulled the trigger before he could stop himself. He watched as the bullet found its way to Matthias's heart in slow motion; Lukas never missed, after all…

A crimson pool was forming around the motionless Matthias now.

Lukas fell to his knees, and experienced a new feeling—the hotness of searing tears running down his face, which was chapped from the cold. Now that Matthias was dead…

Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He was so stupid sometimes, so very ignorant…

Lukas took his handgun, and pointed it to his temple. He would join Matthias, and then they could be together forever…

All of a sudden, he was blind. A piece of cloth was tied around his eyes; a hand grasped his hand firmly, stopping him from pulling the trigger.

"No," Lukas gasped, "let me go…"

"I'm afraid we cannot do that, Mr. Bondevik. You are our best employee, after all," a sinister voice replied.

"Let me go…" Lukas was desperate; without Matthias, there was no point in anything anymore, he couldn't live, not without Matthias…

"I'm sorry," the voice said coldly, without any pity whatsoever. To someone else, the menacing voice ordered, "Take him away. We cannot afford to lose him, but he can't possibly continue in this state. Give him the treatment."

Lukas was bound in frigid, weighted chains, and dragged out somewhere, still blindfolded. His handgun was abruptly forced out of his hand. They were in motion now; he must have been in some sort of automobile. He was dragged out of the vehicle, and he heard a manifold of footsteps, including his own, echo across what he supposed was a hall. He made another supposition that they were taking him to some room. Now he could feel the chains being taken swiftly off, but before he could bolt out of the room, seasoned hands firmly held him down, and fettered him to a hard surface.

Matthias… Matthias… MATTHIAS… I loved you… I have to hang on to the image of Matthias, all the memories we shared; I have to remember him forever… Those were Lukas's last thoughts as he felt a tiny needle prick his arm, and the world faded to black.

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He awoke to find himself in a dim room, restrained by ropes secured around his wrists and ankles. From the shadows, emerged a figure, face hidden in darkness.

"Follow me," the figure commanded.

Hesitant, he had no other choice but to comply with his order. Before he got up, the silhouette knotted a blindfold around his eyes, and cut the rope binding his ankles together. The figure led him out, and seated him in an unforgiving, rigid chair.

"I will now ask you a few questions."

He sat there, unable to see anything, listening to the voice.

"What is your name?"

His name? It was… He couldn't recall his name.

"Please answer the question," the voice instructed.

"…I-I'm not sure…" Had he gone crazy? He couldn't even remember his own name…

He heard the scratchy sound of someone scribbling something down onto paper.

"Uncover your blindfold. Do you recognize this item?"

He unknotted the blindfold with some difficulty, and looked around at his surroundings for the first time. It was a dark, windowless room, lit by a single, naked light bulb that cast a small pool of light onto the table before him. His questioner was seated across the table, face hidden in the shadows.

He looked down at the table, and picked up the object in question. It was a small handgun. The weighted familiarity of the weapon felt uncannily habitual, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why…

"I…I think so. I can't quite recall it, but it feels that I was once linked to this gun…"

"Thank you. And now, sir," the inquisitor paused for a moment, "does the name 'Matthias Kohler' mean anything to you?"

Matthias Kohler? …This was a question he felt that he knew the answer to… Yes, he was pretty confident in his answer…

Tilting his head up, he bore his hollow eyes into where he thought the examiner's eyes were located.

"Matthias? I don't believe I am acquainted with anyone of that name."