Achilles..
Legacy Name: Achilles..

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How could he be so emotionally detached? The thought never left my mind as I watched the kid complete his tasks without even blinkin’ an eye and without a trace of emotion in his heart, if he even had one. He killed with such ease it made me sick. Not even I could look a man in the eye and pull the trigger without feelin’ either pride or horror, but it was never that mechanical. What was it that made him so disgustingly appealing, other than his habit of carrying out his jobs as if he were possessed by orders?

When he wasn’t enveloped in his work, he was a concrete wall- unmovin', never mutterin’ any needless remarks or thoughts. He claimed efficiency, but everyone saw his idiosyncrasies. He was ruthless, yeah I’ll give him that, but we all knew he was full of shit to some degree. “It must be quick, neat and organized,” he’d say, but he still found time to make sure that the fear of the damned was instilled into the hearts of every single one of his victims before he delivered the killin’ blow. He’d waste a moment or two to wipe the blood off the barrel between kills, and when he was done he’d leave the petals plucked from a fresh white rose scattered among the lifeless bodies along with a note, which was remarkably well written in calligraphic letterin’: “From Hermes, with Love.” Where was the logic in that? Was he so arrogant as to tread on the toes of Karma herself with all his nonsense of carryin’ himself like a harbinger of death? Just what did he think of himself?

I saw him as he walked the halls of Boss’ place in his off time, straightenin’ picture frames on the walls, dustin’ lampshades, changin’ light bulbs because one was a different wattage from the others, rearrangin’ the silverware in the drawers of his kitchen so that the forks and knives of the same style were all in the same basket, with his favorites to the left instead of the right. Just who the hell did he think he was? Thinkin’ he could just come in and take over like that… I’d been Boss’ favorite once. ME. Before this supercilious son-of-a-bitch knocked me outta the spotlight. It wasn’t fair. I’d worked hard for my position and my respect— then along comes some young debonair hotshot, and everyone starts trippin’ all over themselves like he’s some kind of celebrity. I don’t care if he was Boss’s kid, I had’ta work for the respect I got, and he shoulda too.

“Achilles” wasn’t really his birth-given name, just a nick’ he’d got after he’d been around long enough to be considered valuable. I’d heard the name before— Achilles had once been a Greek icon: a god or somethin’... right? Well he was not a god by any means, except that it seemed like life never “caught up with him”; the bastard hadn’t ever had a streak of bad luck in his life, at least of what I’d seen and heard; he’d been trained too perfectly. Never once had he come back from a job beaten or bruised, or with even a single spot of blood on the shirt of his damn perfectly tailored suit (except on the days he wore red, which I suspect he may’ve done to hide the blood when he knew the job was goin’ to be more'n a walk in the park). And he was always on the move— too many people were interested in havin’ him be their errand boy because he had friends in places lower than some of the Dons that he ran with wanted to admit. His connections were frightening: he had his nose up in everybody’s business like he had ears all over the world in every place at once. They’d’ve been embarrassed to have anyone think him more capable than them, but he didn’t mind the secrecy, and that's just it.

See- what I never understood about him was how in spite of all his respect, intelligence, efficiency, diligence, and loyalty, he had no desire to hold a position of power. He didn’t care if people stepped all over him— in fact, he was fine with it. The bastard had been turning down offers of higher authority left and right because he “didn’t want the responsibility that came with it.” So the guy was a tool, simple and true, and that was another thing in a long list of reasons why I hated him. Hold that thought, I got another one for you.

Tonight had been an interestin’ night so far. Boss had taken us both along for a job that had really only needed one man to finish. The point of the job was to send a message, so gettin’ rid of bodies wasn’t gonna be on our list of priorities... so God knows why he decided to take me along when he knew he was just goin’ to have him do all the work while he did all the talkin’. The storm, the stun, the interrogation, and then the killin’. Boss just stood behind him and made me watch with onna them neutrally annoyed looks that that made you think they wasn’t thinking about anything, unless you knew em’ well enough to know otherwise. I guess he just liked showin’ him off, or figured I’d enjoy the show, but still it pissed me off more than usual that he hadn’t acknowledged me all night. Jealousy was drivin’ me mad. This'd been goin’ on for a year already and I’d gotten sick of it a while ago, but it wasn’t until tonight after the job was done— after the men were dead and boss had ordered us to “get goin’ afore the ress of da family shows up,” after the bastard had performed his ritual with the flower and the note, after he’d wiped clear the splatter from the berretta, then turned to follow and made the mistake of tryin’ to force me to move with his height (Ha! all five four of him..) and his glares— that I put my frustrations out into the open, to spell it out for the both of em’. When I resisted he spoke, for the first time all night.

“Move,” he growled, without lookin’ up from my shoulders.

“Make me,” I sneered in crooked reply. Like I was gonna yield that easy… The kid didn’t move a muscle. He looked so bored just standin’ there, starin’ at my uneven tie..

Before I realized it, his hands were at my throat— adjustin’ the thing cause it was a little loose, then smoothed out the shoulders on my suit and brushed a few more pieces of lint offa my jacket. After tuggin’ out the folds in the handkerchief in my pocket so they were more symmetrical, he looked me over for about fifteen seconds more, scrutinizin’ the levels of the fabric to make sure it was layin’ across my chest correctly, and frowned at the asymmetry in the slump of my shoulders; he tucked my collar under on the left side, then finally dropped his hands to his side and tried a second time. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Or you’ll what…?” I challenged, emphasizing the fact that I didn’t plan on givin’ into his demands.

He stepped back and pressed the gun to my brow firmly till’ I could feel the weight of it. We’d done the dance like a couple of wolves, fighting for dominance, because that’s what we were after all, when you got right down to it: Wild dogs, animals controlled by our masters, pitted against each other on the streets of some of the most dangerous cities in the world, which had only been properly dubbed as dangerous because of “thugs like us.” I smirked as he stared me down with one of his angled, sickeningly black sleep deprived eyes, through the line of the sight. I knew that if I said the wrong thing, I’d be sleepin’ with the fishes before I knew it— but for some wild, irrational reason, the idea didn’t stop me. I wanted to see him disobey orders, I wanted to see him snap on some poor defenseless sap like me, and I wanted to see the look on his face when I kicked his ass in front of the Boss. A sardonic chuckle erupted from my throat as I watched the kid stand there and play his little game. Tricks like that only worked on the streets with wannabe thug gangsters. This was organized crime. Shit like that didn’t work on guys like us, didn’t he know..? “Am I supposed ta be scared o'dat little B-B-gun..?”

There was no reaction again and it was dead silent in the room— I imagined the gears were slowin' to a stop in his mind, and expected the pathetic mumblin’ of an eight year old as he counted backwards from ten, but what I got instead was a riddle. "The maker makes it but doesn't use it.. The buyer buys it but doesn't need it... The one who needs it never knows it..."

I frowned visibly, disappointed by where this was goin’… until I heard Boss mumble something under his breath from beside me. I hadn’t even bothered to notice that he’d stopped in the doorway and stood watching as I, his protégé, sized up this lump of young blood, knowin’ this wouldn’t end well; but like hell he’d’ve stepped in and told me to “knock it off, or he’ll really kill ya, idiot.” Playin’ mommy wasn’t in his character. “It was nice knowin’ ya, Silvio,” I heard him say, and that’s when I knew what I had really gotten myself into. All I knew was I didn’t wanna know the answer. Ain’t no way I was gonna’ let him make a joke out of my death.

Just as I heard the trigger start to click I ducked and let the shot ring clear over my head, then braced myself flat against the floor as I heard the familiar pingin' of spiraling lead ricochet offa somethin' metal, then hit the the chandelier; it hit a couple of other things afore it finally penetrated something cause I didn’t hear it again, but when I looked up I saw the horror on the bastard’s face. What was he staring at…? I looked to my left just in time to see the light go out of Boss’s eyes as his body buckled and collapsed to the floor.

Shit. “B-boss..?” I couldn’t believe that had just happened! Of all the dumb luck… I scrambled over to his body as the initial shock wore off, around the same time that the kid dropped his arm to his side, dropped the gun and took a step backwards.

“Boss!” I picked his limp body up off the floor out of his own blood and propped him against the wall, lightly smacking his face to try and incite a reaction, but there was none. “Ey’, Marcio! C’mon damnit, wake up!” When I glanced back at him the look on his face was loud and clear. W-what have I done..?. That was the first time I had seen him show any emotion at all, but it wasn’t regret, or sadness, or anger, or anythin’ it shoulda been, it was the realization of his failure to follow protocol: good ol’ fashioned terror. Panic was settin’ in fast. The kid swallowed hard.

When it finally sunk in that he was dead, my anger got the best of me. I wanted to disembowel the kid. That was my boss, my master, his father… he’d betrayed us all, he shouldn't be allowed to live. There was no place for disloyalty in this family, and now that Marcy was dead it meant I was acting Boss. And well, I wasn’t about to let this go unpunished, accident or not.

The decision to end him was swift and final. I stood to my feet and my shaking hand drew a five inch switchblade from my hip as I approached him in haste, my pace quickening the closer I got and the more clearly I could see his emotionally dead face. Hatred blinded me, rage drove me forward. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, but there was somethin' else in his eyes I'd missed.

God his draw was quick, and that was somethin' I could actually admire him for in spite of everythin' else I despised about him. He snatched the pistol off the floor, took aim and fired while I was still a good three steps away. I saw the look on his face (terrified and immature, like the confused eighteen year old he was) through the line of the sight as I watched path of the bullet come into contact with my eye, then felt the burn of it drill right through the left hemisphere of my head and out the back of my skull; everything went black. In my final moments it dawned on me how ridiculously ironic it was that I was now dyin’ at the hands of my enemy. First I lose my family, my respect, my Boss, then just for a split-second life seems like life's gonna throw me a bone, then I’m out. My life had meant nothin’ in the end after all, I was a joke… but at the same time, it was all so horribly poetic. If there were a God, he'd certainly had mercy on me today. I felt no pain as I felt my grip on reality slip away, and the last thing I remembered hearing as I sank to the ground was the sound of my skull cracking against the tiled floors of the Machavello family mansion’s kitchen floor... and that was the end for me.

It took em' a few minutes to catch his breath and calm down, but the kid staggered to his feet, hand still shakin' on the trigger as he plucked another flower from his coat’s pocket and crushed the bud over my body with a dejected look on his face. “What a mess…” he mumbled as he fumbled clumsily with a cell phone in his pocket. This was the first time something had gone so wrong, and a year of street-cred runnin’ with the boys couldn’t help him now; he was alone in enemy territory with a quickly shrinkin' window of opportunity to escape. He lifted the phone to his ear, trying to shake the twitch out of his arm as he loosened the tie around his neck so he could breathe. “Chaz, Bring the car around, would you..? I’m going to need a little help. Silvio threw a benny and took out Marcy, and we need to-… no, the prick’s been taken care of. And get on it, they’ll be calling out the five-o’s any minute...”

Name / Nick: Yong-Su Lee-Davenport / "Achilles"
Nationality / Language(s): British-Korean mix / English (Primary), German, Russian, Korean, Chinese, Italian, and French; speaks with a distinct English accent
Age / Birthday / Sign: 25 yrs. / May 23rd, 1988 / Gemini
Height / Weight: 5'4" / 130 lbs.
Species: Decrox (dormant)
Eyes: Brown-Black
Hair: Black- long, combed over to the left, usually covering his left eye
Skin: Fair, slightly tanned- pinky peach undertones
Build: long and lean, juvenile- has the appearance of a fourteen year old boy
Scars: Though he never shows his arms in public, Achilles' forearms are littered with razor blade and knife scars from years of self-mutilation
Tattoos / Piercings: None / None
Wardrobe: Extremely clean and orderly, professional; at work, wears tailored black two piece suits, colored dress shirts, black belt and oxfords, and a black tie; when not on the job, he wears mostly sweaters and/or long sleeved shirts, and skinny jeans with a pair of Converse hi-tops or Classic low-top vans; especially fond of scarves because they cover his neck

Orientation / Status: Heterosexual / Single
"Squish": Juliet
Parents: Marcy Davenport and Mei Lee-Davenport (both deceased)
Family: Lily (Younger, half sister), Aerie (Older, Brother), Hieu (Cousin), Lian (Cousin), Wilde (Second Cousin), Lexus (Second Cousin), Tanner (Second Cousin)
Friends: Lucy, Lian, Antonio, Cole, Juliet, Jesse, Sienna, Hieu, Allen, Michael, Molly, Luke
Occupation: Consigliere and "Mediator" for the Moretti crime family; former hit-man for the Davenport family
Location: Chicago, IL

Vice: Sloth, Self-hatred
Virtue: Patience, Service
Strong Points: Hard working and always willing to please; protective of those that he loves and is loyal to; not one to betray someone he is loyal to; finishes tasks in a timely manner and gets the job done right the first time
Faults: Too submissive at times; can't seem to stop working; doesn't know how relax or have a "good time"; unable to relate emotionally to others; often lets his pride get in the way of his relationships with others
Religion: Agnostic
Quirks: Obsessive Compulsive by nature- will assign himself mundane tasks in order to occupy his mind; Quiet but mouthy- sharp witted and bitterly sarcastic; Always composed, even when aggravated; Antisocial, but doesn't mind crowds; has a smoking problem and a history with drugs and self-mutilation- cuts himself when feeling overwhelmed (or rather, guilty about what he has done in his past)
Traits: neat, organized, takes initiative, responsible, quiet, serious, disconnected, obedient, attentive, efficient, hard-working, educated, intelligent, calculating, cunning, manipulative, distrusting, reserved, weak-willed, submissive, loyal, apathetic, closed-off, obsessive-compulsive, self-loathing, violent, cold-hearted, self-destructive, self-reliant, tough, planner, thinker, prideful, resolute
Likes: clean and orderly environments, cleaning and organizing, reading, classical music, playing the piano, proving his intelligence in conversation, feeling superior, collecting information, studying, learning, tea over coffee, people with class, theater and opera, museums, history, pointing out the shortcomings in others, spending time with his little sister, peace and quiet, cats
Dislikes: abrasive personalities, disorder, drinking and drunkenness, loud music (rap, rock, electronic, etc.), comedy (movies or skits), immaturity, stupidity, recklessness, loud environments, sports, "e-books", "finger-food", dogs and most other animals, being "in command"