The Merc A Reason To Kill

I always knew my purpose. I found it in my family.

My mother’s warm smile when she called me “my love.” She made everything feel safe, like

home wasn’t a place but the sound of her voice. My father’s deep laughter when he told old

jokes—ones we’d heard a thousand times but still pretended were new. He was our anchor, our

strength, the kind of man whose presence alone made the world feel steady.

And then there was my twin brother. My reflection. My second heartbeat. We had our own

language, a silent understanding in just a glance. He was my best friend, my partner in

everything.

Our home? Love lived there. Laughter lived there. And I? I belonged there.

It was supposed to be just another night. A road trip to celebrate our university admission. The

car was full of stories and inside jokes, the scent of my mum’s homemade chin chin mixed with

the faint new-leather smell of my dad’s car seats. Music played in the background—Olamide’s

"Triumphant"—fitting, because that’s what we were. Triumphant. Young, full of dreams, with a

future waiting just beyond the horizon.

I was in the back seat, half-listening to my dad as my twin brother nudged me, whispering some

nonsense about a girl he had a crush on. Mum laughed at one of Dad’s terrible jokes, and for a

moment, I wished we could freeze time. Hold on to that second where everything was perfect.

Then it happened.

BOOM!

A blinding light.

A scream—mine or my mother’s, I couldn’t tell.

A sickening sound of metal tearing apart.

The taste of blood in my mouth.

Blackness.

***

I woke up to white.

A white ceiling. A white blanket covering my body. A white bandage wrapped around my

forehead. The beeping of a heart monitor. The sterile, suffocating smell of disinfectants and

drugs. I blinked. Once. Twice. My throat was dry, my mind still foggy. My body felt… off. Heavy.

Numb.

Where was I?

I tried to sit up, but something was wrong.

I couldn’t move my legs.

Panic clawed at my chest. I willed my legs to shift, to do anything. My brain screamed the

command, but nothing happened.

They weren’t moving.

The door creaked open, and a doctor walked in, his face too calm for what he was about to say.

I hated him immediately.

"You're awake," he said.