CHAPTER 5: First job

Marc sat in his cell, staring at the gray walls that increasingly felt like a prison for his soul. The first few days in prison had been a nightmare, and every hour dragged on like chewing gum. Despair and fear gnawed at him as he thought about his future. He had been convicted of murder, and the hope of freedom seemed like a distant star, never to be reached.

The nights were the worst. The creeping, unbearable noise of the other prisoners penetrated the deepest recesses of his mind. Sometimes, when the light from the dirty bulb flickered, he heard the muffled screams of the desperate, fighting for what was left of their souls. He could practically taste their anxieties, the putrid stench of fear that had settled within the prison walls. In those moments, he wished he could just disappear, leave all memories of his old life behind, and escape to freedom.

One day, while walking down the prison corridor, his gaze fell on an old man leaning against the wall. His gaze was piercing, as if he could see Marc's deepest secrets. The old man had a long, gray beard that reached his chest, and his eyes were as dark as night. He wore a worn suit that must have once been elegant, but now looked dirty and wrinkled. "You're not here to stay, Marc," he said in a croaky voice. "I can help you if you do me a favor."

Marc was skeptical. "What kind of favor?"

"I need someone willing to do the dirty work for me. If you work for me as an assassin, I promise you freedom. I have people working for me. They will help you get out of this place."

The old man's words sounded like a siren's heaping melody. Marc felt the fear of prison paralyzing him. He knew he had no other choice. The thought of dying in that cell was unbearable. "What do I have to do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're going to kill the president," the old man replied, smiling mysteriously.

Marc swallowed. The thought of committing such a crime terrified him. Images from last night, when he had committed the murder, flashed through his mind. He remembered the shock, the screams, and the blood. But the thought of being trapped in that cage forever was unbearable. He nodded, and that was the moment his life took a turn.

The old man led Marc through a hidden exit. The guards weren't looking; they were working for him. Freedom felt strange, almost unreal. Marc was confused but grateful. The old man gave him a bag full of weapons and showed him a hidden place where he could meet the president. "Here's your chance," said the old man. "Do it quickly and accurately. You know what's at stake."

Marc sought a good vantage point. His heart pounded in his chest as he checked the weapons. It was a risky gamble, but the fear and adrenaline rush made him lose his mind. He knew what he was doing was immoral, but at that moment, freedom was all that mattered.

The night was gloomy, and the moon was just a pale speck in the sky as Marc walked down the street. He had chosen a secluded spot to carry out his task—a small park where the president regularly took his evening strolls. The streets were empty, and the shadows of the trees seemed to be watching him.

As the president walked through the crowd, Marc held the gun firmly in his hand. Time seemed to stand still as he aimed. The shot rang out. A deafening boom echoed through the air, followed by chaos that engulfed the crowd. The president fell, and Marc felt a mixture of shock and relief.

Chaos erupted. People screamed, and sirens rang out in the distance. Marc tried to flee, but he felt paralyzed, his gun still in his hand. He had done what he had to do to escape the prison, and with one last look at the chaos behind him, he fled into the night.

As he ran through the dark alleys, his heart pounded wildly in his chest. The freedom he had longed for was now within his grasp. But what had he been thinking? He was not a hero, but a murderer—a tool in the hands of the old man who had saved him. 

Marc had plunged himself into a spiral of crime, and the shadows of the past haunted him. The thought of having taken another's life gnawed at him. But in the deepest corners of his heart, he also felt a dark sense of relief. Freedom came at a price, and as he ran into the darkness, he knew he would live in the shadows forever. The old man had kept his promise, and Marc was no longer a prisoner, but a man with a dark past and an even darker future. Every step he took plunged him deeper into darkness, and the fear of being discovered was like a constant shadow at his side. He had allowed himself to be seduced by freedom, but the darkness he had embraced would never let go.