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Kasperov once had another name. A name that belonged to the person thon's parents thought they had. It didn't fit Kasperov, so thon left it behind, like thon left behind ill fitting clothing and toys, labels and expectations. Thon broke all the carefully laid out rules that were meant to shape thon into the person thon's parent's wanted.
Kasperov had never been that good with rules anyway.
Which might have been a contributing factor to thon becoming an internationally acclaimed assassin.
Kasperov was good at getting into places that other assassins couldn't. All thon had to do was change into a disguise and suddenly everyone thought thon was a woman. A different disguise, and passersby would see a man. Nobody ever saw thon for thonself, and that made casually building a life on bullets and blood easy. Everyone looked for the pretty man in the sharp suit seen going into a side room with the deceased, and nobody paid attention to the handsome woman in the blood-red dress and evening gloves leaving the servant's exit an hour before the body was found.
The costumes were draining, though, and Kasperov started to train in sniping, killing from a distance from the comfort of snug combat pants and bulky sweaters that remained genderless, like thon.
The work was harder than before. Finding a perch was as important as picking the costumes had been, and twice as risky. Getting clients was easier, with the changes in how people talked to each other. The Dark Web was a killer's Christmas, a hundred angry, bitter souls with money begging to be taken in exchange for an ounce of lead. The internet was also a gift for people like thon, whose souls refused to line up neatly with boxes for 'Male' or 'Female' no matter how hard their parents tried.
And parents did try.
Kasperov gave steep discounts to people looking to get revenge for gender trauma. Angry men who wanted payback after years of being told to 'be a good girl' and shoved in dresses and lectured on the importance of being lady like. Weeping women who had scars from the abuse intended to make them grow into men, mean and hard and everything these ladies were not. And people who shifted, sliding from man to woman and back again, who hated the people who tried to tether the mercurial winds of the human soul to one idea. Kasperov still had a hard time convincing people thon was neither, but at least the people who knew thon now were willing to play along.
Slowly, Kasperov built a family on the dark recesses of the internet. Sillisandra the poisoner, who hid her kit under the impressive false bosoms meant to fill in for what nature neglected to give her, and her lover Zephyr, a tom-boy of a girl who could play anywhere from sixteen to twenty seven with a touch of make up and a wig over her inch long hair. Martin the bodyguard, who had scars from a back-alley surgeon removing his breasts and tattoos of his poetry along them in arching rows, painstakingly inked by Kyle, his husband under Martin's real name and Kyle's dead one. Cyrano the hacker and his sprawling set of spouses. Mouse the spy, with her shy guile that got her out of so many scrapes and capers.
And it was good for a while.
And then it was great.
And Kasperov fell in love, and her name was Mirana and she was everything thon wanted. Beauty, brains, humor, and her own arsenal stocked from her family's gun business. She gave thon grenades for their anniversary. Thon gave her hessonite earrings, that sparkled like her eyes with a rich red brown like her skin. She wore them every day, and thon was never happier than with Mirana.
Mirana did not force thon to be a man, simply because she was a woman. She did not force thon to be a woman simply because thon was not a man. They were just Kasperov and Mirana, and that... that was enough.
Kasperov had never been that good with rules anyway.
Which might have been a contributing factor to thon becoming an internationally acclaimed assassin.
Kasperov was good at getting into places that other assassins couldn't. All thon had to do was change into a disguise and suddenly everyone thought thon was a woman. A different disguise, and passersby would see a man. Nobody ever saw thon for thonself, and that made casually building a life on bullets and blood easy. Everyone looked for the pretty man in the sharp suit seen going into a side room with the deceased, and nobody paid attention to the handsome woman in the blood-red dress and evening gloves leaving the servant's exit an hour before the body was found.
The costumes were draining, though, and Kasperov started to train in sniping, killing from a distance from the comfort of snug combat pants and bulky sweaters that remained genderless, like thon.
The work was harder than before. Finding a perch was as important as picking the costumes had been, and twice as risky. Getting clients was easier, with the changes in how people talked to each other. The Dark Web was a killer's Christmas, a hundred angry, bitter souls with money begging to be taken in exchange for an ounce of lead. The internet was also a gift for people like thon, whose souls refused to line up neatly with boxes for 'Male' or 'Female' no matter how hard their parents tried.
And parents did try.
Kasperov gave steep discounts to people looking to get revenge for gender trauma. Angry men who wanted payback after years of being told to 'be a good girl' and shoved in dresses and lectured on the importance of being lady like. Weeping women who had scars from the abuse intended to make them grow into men, mean and hard and everything these ladies were not. And people who shifted, sliding from man to woman and back again, who hated the people who tried to tether the mercurial winds of the human soul to one idea. Kasperov still had a hard time convincing people thon was neither, but at least the people who knew thon now were willing to play along.
Slowly, Kasperov built a family on the dark recesses of the internet. Sillisandra the poisoner, who hid her kit under the impressive false bosoms meant to fill in for what nature neglected to give her, and her lover Zephyr, a tom-boy of a girl who could play anywhere from sixteen to twenty seven with a touch of make up and a wig over her inch long hair. Martin the bodyguard, who had scars from a back-alley surgeon removing his breasts and tattoos of his poetry along them in arching rows, painstakingly inked by Kyle, his husband under Martin's real name and Kyle's dead one. Cyrano the hacker and his sprawling set of spouses. Mouse the spy, with her shy guile that got her out of so many scrapes and capers.
And it was good for a while.
And then it was great.
And Kasperov fell in love, and her name was Mirana and she was everything thon wanted. Beauty, brains, humor, and her own arsenal stocked from her family's gun business. She gave thon grenades for their anniversary. Thon gave her hessonite earrings, that sparkled like her eyes with a rich red brown like her skin. She wore them every day, and thon was never happier than with Mirana.
Mirana did not force thon to be a man, simply because she was a woman. She did not force thon to be a woman simply because thon was not a man. They were just Kasperov and Mirana, and that... that was enough.
