When you die, you are given a choice. You can either be reincarnated as someone else, or learn the secrets of mankind. Those greedy souls who choose to know man’s hidden truths are forever tortured by the hatred for humanity that this knowledge creates. Despite this hatred, the souls are sent back down to Earth, and reborn as the people they were when they died. Such people who have been reborn can never be reincarnated, as their souls have already been consumed by the path of darkness they have chosen to walk, and remain forever as one person, trapped in a continuous cycle of death and rebirth. People who can never really die have been widely considered as a threat to normal humans, and the task of removing them from this world has been given to groups of specially trained assassins. The living dead usually aren’t identified until they reach the age their body was when it originally died, and from that point on, their lives are in the hands of the people who get paid to take them.

==========Owarinai Kibou==========
===============I==============

   Kibou, 16 years old. My last name was never told to me. I enjoy smirking as my victims laugh and say that kids like me can’t do a thing to hurt them, along with proving them wrong. For as long as I can remember, I have been either training to do the work of professional assassins, or doing the work of professional assassins. I can’t imagine doing anything else. My life has always been a list of targets, and a predictable routine of tracking down and killing one, then moving to the next. I don’t ever expect it to change. Getting paid to kill isn’t as fun as ordinary people think it is, but I’m not intended to be useful for anything else. Someday, though, I know that’s going to change.

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   “How can anyone expect an ex-gang member to be around here?” I said to myself, looking around. Supposedly, my victim was in this area, but all I could see was a high school, a day-care, and a bunch of runny-nosed children.

   I must have been sitting on the street corner forever when the high school students got dismissed. Formal school was something I had no experience with, since I had been in the care of the ORI for what I have always assumed to be my entire life. I was often told that my training was far better than the education normal people receive, and now I could see that was true. These people were nothing but a bunch of weak fools, tricked into believing that their educations even come close to satisfactory.

   Countless students passed me, and I could feel rather than see their stares. I didn’t really blame them, seeing as it was mid-summer and I was wearing a ground-length, long-sleeve crimson dress, black leather gloves and boots, and a crimson trench coat. My black hair, knee-length and tied back at my waist, wasn’t cooling me down any, but I have never minded extreme temperatures, so I thought nothing of it.

   Most of the girls glared at me like I was human filth, and most of the boys stopped to take a good long look at me. I only stared coldly back at their miniskirts and shorts, imagining them in my clothes and laughing inwardly at the thought of each one collapsing from the heat. There was one boy, though, who wasn’t like the rest.

   Instead of goggling at me from a distance until his eyes fell out, he ran right up to me and said, “Hi! I’m Takehiro Eien. What’s your name?” I guess the reason why I didn’t just pull out my gun and point it at his face was that he looked like someone I had seen before, I just didn’t know who. He had short, messy brown hair and brown eyes, and was wearing a school uniform. I thought for a second that he reminded me of someone important, and I wasn’t about to kill people who mattered without a better reason.

   I looked away. “Kibou,” I said. “I don’t have a last name.” “‘Don’t have a last name’?” he repeated, his face twisting into an interesting expression. “Everyone has a last name! Maybe you just forgot yours. That’s alright! When you remember, please tell me, ok?”

   At that point I really wanted to tell him that all his pointless chatter was getting annoying, but I just couldn’t get him to shut up long enough. I decided on giving him a cold, hard stare, and hope he gets the message. It didn’t work at all. “I’m 15,” he said. Actually, he had been talking for a while, but this was the only thing I could understand out of all the babbling. “How old are you?”

   “How old am I?” I said, smirking. “Who are you to ask such a question?” “I’m Takehiro Eien, like I said. But you can call me Eien. I don’t mind,” said the boy happily. “I can call you Kibou, right? After all, that is the only name you told me.” “That’s the only name I told you because that’s the only name I have,” I said through gritted teeth, my smirk completely gone. “Didn’t you hear me when I said I didn’t have a last name?” “Yes, and I think you just haven’t used it in so long that you don’t remember it. Say, that’s strange, why haven’t you used your last name in a long time?”

   I got to my feet. “Shut up,” I said, effectively cutting through all the meaningless words that were coming out of his mouth. “If you must know, I’m 16. Don’t forget it, since you’ll probably never see me after this, and therefore won’t be able to ask me again. If you’ll excuse me, I have more rewarding things to do.”

   “Alright!” he said, as I started walking away. “I hope I do see you again, Kibou-san!” I looked back, and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was waving energetically at me. No matter how hard I try, I will never understand normal people.

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   Four hours later, I was back at the ORI, on the receiving end of yet another lecture from my superiors. For the most part, I was tuned out, although I did catch occasional snatches of the mindless yelling and scolding. At this time, I wasn’t interested in hearing about how I failed terribly to even find my victim, let alone plant a bullet in him.

  For once in my life, I had my mind on an ordinary human. I just couldn’t figure out what it was about me that made that Eien guy want to talk to me. Was it just some annoying quirk that normal people had, or was he unable to recognize dangerous people who get annoyed by endless chatter? Was he insane, or did he think he knew me from somewhere? Why did I think he looked familiar? Why couldn’t I stick my gun in his stupid face and tell him to beat it before I pulled the trigger?

   I have no memory of being soft at any point in my life. Not even in my earliest stages of training. Why, then, did it seem I was going soft now? I made a mental note not to spare anyone who looked important before I had confirmed that they actually were. I wasn’t about to let this happen again. After all, I’m an assassin. I’m not supposed to be particularly sociable.