Since the time of King Richard and his noble Crusades, my family crest has been synonymous with power and all its trappings. Every other aristocratic clan in the nation - nay, the continent - bowed to our every whim and fancy as if we were descended of God. And with the amount of wealth and influence we had, who was to say we weren't?

However, there was much more afoot than the gossip at court would lead us to believe. In time, the populace rose against us, demanding new leaders to govern them. Fearing retribution, my family relinquished their hold on power to the people, and a new, democratic nation was borne out of the ashes of our fall.

Still, all was not well in the new nation. People starved in the streets as our leaders raped the land for its mineral wealth to earn profit. Countless crimes were committed against innocent lives that soon, a reign of terror was installed beneath the thin veneer of supposed "civilization" and "peace".

And thus, beginning with my grandmother and her twin sons, our family plotted in secret against the ruling government to expose its lies to the world and crush it in a murderous campaign of vengeance.

But the more I was involved in their plans to topple an arrogant government, the more unspeakable acts I saw being committed by my family's behalf. Faceless mercenaries operating as government agents, slaughtering mindlessly as the news of horrific incidents were used to bolster the credibility of my family's private war.

In time, I began to feel as if my family, too, was succumbing to the brutal barbarity against which we supposedly stood. When my mother passed away, I finally found the strength to leave the Organization with which I grew up.

It was then Dad and all his like-minded associates decided to do away with me, now that I had been conveniently termed "a liability".

"So this is my eldest son? The one we were planning to put on the throne? You can't imagine how glad I am that you've turned against us! Saves us so much trouble later on.."

About a week ago I decided it was time to stop running and face my fears. I sure as hell didn't give a damn about ideals like "freedom" or "justice", but to let my family re-assume the mantle of power was out of the question.

I was still thinking the same thing even as Dad stepped into the room to survey the bloody remains of my uncle - his twin.

He knelt close to me and opened his mouth as if to speak, but I cut him off. "Don't even start, dad," I coughed. "You've done worse to people, like-"

He finished my sentence for me, "Like grandma?" He smiled benignly and tilted his head to one side, thoughtfully.

"And then some," I continued. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, grunting as my lungs protested painfully. I twisted into a more comfortable position and turned to face my father.

Dad lifted me up off the floor and slammed me against the wall, cracking a picture frame. I screamed in agony as a bolt of pain ripped through my chest.

"Not even you will be able to stop me from succeeding this time, son," he glowered. "I've waited too long for this moment to let an upstart like you ruin it for me!"

"Don't forget who trained this 'upstart', Dad!" I kicked out and knocked him over. I heard the "oof" as he doubled over from the sudden blow to his belly. I tried to draw my knife but Dad tripped me over and grabbed at my throat violently.

I choked and scrabbled to throw him off. It wasn't easy. Dad quickly overpowered my feeble attempts and chucked me across the room. A flower pot roughed up my descent. Dad cricked his neck and walked over briskly, seizing me by the collar and laughed. I wanted to spit in his face but all I managed was a dribble before Dad sent me flying again, smashing my head into the glass window overlooking the plaza below.

And of all times to feel dizzy, the feeling hit me now. I vomited blood all over the upholstery.

..my breath came in spurts; I was losing consciousness. I was dying..

Dad snorted and declared triumphantly, "So this is my eldest son? The one we were planning to put on the throne?" He kicked me and I cried out in pain, rolling over in agony. "You can't imagine how glad I am that you've turned against us! Saves us so much trouble later on.."

He kicked me again and again until I was a whimpering, crying wreck of a man on all fours. He sighed almost reluctantly and withdrew a gun from his coat, cocking it.

"I'm actually going to miss you, you little prick. Say hello to your mother for me, will you-?"

I didn't let him finish. Heck, interrupting was always more fun, especially since he was gloating. I shot him four times in the chest with the pistol I'd found conveniently next to me while I was convulsing in pain.

He looked shocked, dazed even, and fired wildly as he spun. I blew out the window behind him with a few well-placed shots, watching him careen helplessly over the edge of the building, screaming as he fell.

As the last spent bullet casing fell to the floor, so too did my crumpled, wasted body. My vision was tinted red, my mouth choked with sweet blood. My lungs, hemorrhaging violently as my heart continued to pump at an alarming rate, disgorging liquid ruby all over the expensive office carpeting. My breath came in spurts; I was losing consciousness. I was dying...

But I managed to get the last word in edgewise: "Tell her yourself, asshole."

The last thing I remember before passing out was my mother, smiling sadly as she used to, reaching out with her bony hands to caress my bloodied cheek lovingly. I closed my eyes and whispered, "Mother.. take me away with you.."

I remember smiling before she took my hand in hers, and finally letting that bleak darkness overtake me. Everlasting peace at last..