I am a killer. Note: I do not say murderer. I say killer. I am no more a murderer than every soldier in this city. But it's me that scares people. You want to know why?

You could pass me in the streets a thousand times and see nothing. For I am simply human; a normal teenage girl. Or so I seem.

One moment I may be laughing with my friends, buying a meal, caring for my baby brother. The next I'm sticking a knife in someone. I imagine you're disgusted with me now. Already. It's a shame, really. I'll just have to hope you read on anyway.

The people I'm working from think I am the Gods gift to their cause. I'm not from this city. Unlike them, I don't worry about honour. I worry about getting the result we want.

I've accept my place in the world, learnt my trade well. I became death, long ago. I would stab you in the back with out a second thought. Does that scare you? If it doesn't, it should.

I cherish the memory of my first kill. No, I don't mean how it came out. I do not rejoice in the death; I treasure the memory as a turning point in my life. The kill itself was nothing special. In outward appearance it was businesslike. Stabbed her once bellow the rib cage then got the hell out of there. I gave no warning, offered no mercy. And I felt nothing; no guilt, no fear.

No, that's not quite true. I felt powerful. I could make myself judge jury and executioner over all humanities crimes if I chose. Yet I felt so small, so vulnerable, compared to the all-encompassing power of death. My life, too, could be ended with such ease.

The woman I killed was just nineteen. She didn't deserve to die. But she had made her choice; she was the enemy, so I killed her. She was neither a child nor a civilian. I did nothing wrong, and I refuse to pretend I did. Yet I understand the magnitude of what I did; better than you, probably. All of her potential; every hope, every dream, snuffed out. Lost to the world; lost to her family. I did it; I pushed the knife in, I felt the blood pour. I know that. I wanted to mourn for her but I had no right. I got on with living. For a while I hoped I'd been forgotten, but I'm not that lucky. I am an assassin, possibly the only assassin in the city. There will always be someone to use and abuse me.