#/ honestly its more drabble than verse info but ajhsabdjbask WHATEVER

[lachalaine]

&& between heaven and hell (assassin au)

In coordination with the verses of @naenqdam & @proxiist , this verse explores an alternate reality of what it would look like if Jackie had never truly been able to leave her past self behind. warning for rape, torture and murder below the cut. please skip if needed.

It follows roughly along the same lines as her main verse, wherein she’s left her ex behind and has started a new life as a music producer, just trying to get back in touch with what she’d once left behind before all the shit had blown up. 

And so far she’s done well, remarkably well even, that it should be enough for her to settle into her new role with nothing more but a sense of accomplishment and a further drive to succeed. She has her new life, built it up from scratch – far away from past lover and her list of contracted kills – far away from pretending she has no guilt. And she shouldn’t miss it. She doesn’t want to. The pain of that life had been far too much for her to bear should have been thrown under a bridge and forgotten. But that’s where this verse diverges.

She does miss it, and that’s the problem.

A taste of power was all she’d needed.

She tries to ignore it, the lingering darkness brewing beneath her skin. She attempts to drown it out, with music and work and sleep, sleep, sleep. But it’s in her dreams, and it awakens every time she has a slight moment of peace.

There is an urge for something dark within her just begging to be let out, to run rampant on the city streets and take the most worthless of its inhabitants down into the depths, so they could at least be used to feed a hunger she didn’t know she’d possessed. Maybe then it wouldn’t get so loud. Maybe then – she wouldn’t be so violent, so emotional, so unstable. Maybe then, maybe she could have just one clear moment of peace, please.

But she cringes away from it, tells herself to ignore the bad thoughts that threaten to make her sick. Because she doesn’t want it, she’s certain. Not the blood, not the guilt.

Not the secrets.

She’s not meant for that kind of life. And she’s not that kind of girl. She’s not, not, not, not, not –

But then that changes.

One stormy night, a friend is found – floating in the river. A homeless girl, age sixteen. Jackie had met her a few times while she’d worked at the local 7-11. She’d slept in the back while she was off her shift, in a supply closet that her managers had been kind enough to let her have. Saving up her cash so she could make it to America and make it big in Hollywood, so she could walk on all the red carpets for all the biggest premiers.

Her name had been Kana.

Found raped. Drugged. Murdered.

Tortured even, to add further insult to injury.

There is a smile on her face, etched into her skin by a knife. Serrated blade, the doctors had said; a possible rendition of the Joker. It’d seemed like the sick fucker had gotten creative.

But there was no evidence. And there was no suspected culprit. And thus, there would be no justice.

The police force – though she’d know they’d tried their best – she couldn’t help but feel like sometimes, sometimes – it was a real fucking joke.

And she’d known that, felt it that day at the funeral, on a day which had felt like one of the darkest in a long time. Jackie had gone so very numb at that point, that she’d apparently forgotten how to cry that day. She’d apologized to Kana, bent at her grave after the guests had finally left, whispering her prayers even as the deluge of rain had soaked through her hair.

She didn’t know if she’d be forgiven for that, but she’d gain her apology another way.

Because right after that, the murders had started. All homeless. Not all women. And not all young. All with a smile carved into their face. Someone was ridding the city of the less fortunate, and the police were – for lack of a better term – utterly useless.

How could she have possibly ignored that?

So she’d taken up sleuthing the crime scenes when she’d could, hacking into nearby cameras and following leads, searching for evidence where the police hadn’t. It’d helped that she was so well known in the underground scene.

It made information so much easier to get a hold of.

A few months of digging later found her tagging a few renowned drug rings as the main connections to the series of deaths, all headed by one man that’d apparently never even been caught in a mere photograph. She’d had his initials – H.K. – but that was it. Getting any more in depth would be risky, and she needed more connections that this.

Then, rumors of the organization had popped up. Underground and in the dark webs. Gossip whispered along dark corridors, or passed off as drunken ramble. It was an urban legend. Tall tales. Crazy talk.

On a whim, she’d taken notice. Started watching. Tracking. Just as intently as she had the murders. And finally – after what’d seemed like forever, had eventually found a trend.

Apparently, there was more to the rumors than most people would have thought. Though their actions did seem to be somewhat… contradicting, there was no doubt that they seemed to be doing it for the right reasons. They’d seemed to be a fairly bigger group as well, meaning their resources and contacts would be more abundant than if she were to work on her own.

If she was right, they’d find her new target as one of particular interest to their goals as well.

So she’d made contact, and before long – had received the requirements to join.

Blow up a building? She’d known just the place.

Guilt had not been in her vocabulary the evening she’d set up those explosives. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. Instead, she was running purely by what perverse ideas the darkness in her mind had whispered to her throughout the last few months, focusing on the numbness, on the self-satisfied feeling of vengeance that’d flooded through her when those charges had gone off in the building a few buildings across from where she’d stood.

There was no need to worry. The men converging in that building had all been rich men with a history of pedophilia and the like, left to walk around free after some underhanded bribery. It’d been easy enough to lure them all in, with a few well-placed invitations here and there. Hell, she’d even made sure the janitors had left for the night. They were small fry, all things considered – so it was easy, but still all the most satisfying.

That was one thing she’d have to thank Garry for at least.

She knew how to make a strong statement.

As she’d hoped, she’d passed their little test, and as such had gone through her training – once again finding her strength and prowess in all the talents that’d felt natural to her but hadn’t been able to practice in what’d seemed like too damn long.

Eventually, she’d learned how to be one of them, settling into the role with an ease that scares her; in the few times she’s shaken herself out of whatever cloying stupor she’d fallen into with doing this kind of work again. The guilt has eased somewhat on her part however, knowing that those she takes down now are some of the worst scum on earth. It feels somewhat reminiscent of her old life, though with another kind of darkness still very much prevalent – just far easier to deal with.

It’s when you convince yourself you’re that doling out justice that it makes it all that much easier to sleep at night.

On her own, she works as both assassin and spy, and sometimes as mere backup to those partners who temporarily require a third member on their missions. Her marks that mark her as one of the organization are hidden along her body, with one interlaced with another tattoo to draw off suspicion if required. The O is along the inside of her wrist, connected by a thin band and feathers that comes off looking like nothing more than a permanent charm bracelet, whilst the X is about the size of her thumb and placed along the upper left side of her chest, settled just slightly above and right next to her beauty mark. You’d only be able to see that one if she wore a very low cut top, which she admittedly does a lot of the time – but it’s easy to write that one off as just another random tattoo.

Jackie takes on the smaller targets on a regular basis, which is just fine with her because it leaves her more room to move around after her kills; more room to investigate, and a higher chance of keeping her illegal activities silent. It makes it far easier to keep that part of her life separate from her career as well, so that she can do her part without necessarily getting tagged by too many of the big time crime rings for her efforts. Her activities sate her need for power, and rid the world of filth while she’s at it too. Otherwise a vigilante.

It also makes saving of innocent civilians caught in the fray much easier for her. Which the organization would severely frown upon, if they ever caught wind of it. So far however, she’s managed to keep her actions nigh untraceable, though the higher ups have started to notice quite a few things from watching their new recruit...