A lot of things depend on our choices. Not just mine, but also people around me. No matter, how much I try to control their actions... I can't control them. I can't do anything.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Rain hammered the narrow alley like a thousand angry fists, turning the cracked pavement into a slick mirror of neon lights from the street beyond. My mission had gone sideways—faster than I expected—but the job was done.
The high-profile businessman lay crumpled at my feet, his once-pristine suit soaked through with blood and gutter water. He was no saint; this fucker had clawed his way to power through extortion, human trafficking, paedophilia, rape, and worse. I'd been paid a fortune to end him, and now the weight of that cash felt heavier than the knife in my hand.
I am an assassin by profession. My job was to kill my targets and get money for the 'job well-done.' But I am not like other assassins, who blindly kill people. Nope, I kill only the scummy people of the society—those who shouldn't live in this world at all.
He wasn't done yet. With a guttural gasp, he scrambled up, his polished shoes slipping on the wet asphalt. Blood streamed from countless shallow cuts across his cheek—souvenirs from my earlier blade work—mixing with the downpour in pink rivulets.
This bastard is one of them. It's a way of me giving something back to the society by cleaning these pieces of trash.
"You can't run! It's futile!" I yelled, my voice echoing off the graffiti-scarred brick walls.
He bolted anyway, legs pumping with desperate might, splashing through shallow puddles that sprayed up like shrapnel. His breath came in ragged bursts, fogging the chill night air. I smirked in the shadows; prey always thinks it has a chance.
No time for games. I yanked the steel chain from my coat pocket—cold links heavy and familiar in my grip—and whipped it forward with a practiced snap. It whistled through the rain, coiling like a serpent around his ankles. He pitched forward mid-stride, crashing face-first onto the unforgiving ground. His palms slapped the pavement, scraping raw; a low moan escaped his lips as he clawed at the chain, fingers trembling.
I stalked closer, boots splashing steadily, the rain drumming on my hood like applause. Towering over him, I savoured the fear twisting his face—eyes wide, cheeks pale beneath the bloody gashes.
"It's over. You should say your prayers, Mr. Henry."
"Please, d-don't... kill me..." he wheezed, twisting to look up at me, rain pooling in his open mouth. "I'll give you money! Anything—d-d... double, t-triple what they paid!"
I crouched low, letting the knife gleam under a flickering streetlamp. Water dripped from its tip. "Money? They already gave me a lot to kill you. Besides, I don't take money from people like you." My voice was calm, final, like the click of a loaded chamber.
In one fluid motion, I drove the blade home—straight and true into his throat. His body jerked once, a gurgle bubbling out, then went still. The rain washed it all away, as if the alley had never known him.
"Bye-bye," I whispered. Cutting off his thumb, I put it into my pocket—before you judge me, I would like to say it's my personal ritual. Every killer has one ritual that they fall especially serial killers. But I am not like them.
The rain hadn't let up, drumming relentlessly as I wiped the knife clean on the dead man's sleeve. A prickle crawled up my spine—instinct, sharp as a blade. Something shifted in the shadows behind me.
I spun on my heel, dodging just as a knife slashed through the air where my neck had been. The blade whistled past, nicking my coat with a faint rip. Heart pounding, I whipped around to face my attacker.
Mia. My rival, all sleek leather and predatory grace, rain-slicked hair framing her smirking face. She twirled the knife casually, eyes gleaming with mock surprise. "You dodged?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" I growled, circling her slowly, feet sliding on the wet pavement. "Have you gone mad? How dare you to attack me?"
She laughed, low and mocking, stepping into a puddle that splashed up her boots. "The society wants you out now, Leon. You've fulfilled every contract, sure—but you're too damn impulsive. Killing only the ones who 'deserve' it? That's boring. You're not Batman."
"Batman doesn't kill anyone, you stupid woman!" I growled at her. "If you have to compare me, then Punisher would be the best."
"Whatever."
I clenched my fists, chain still dangling from one hand. "So, you want to kill me?"
"Not me." Her smirk widened. "Them."
She lunged first—knife thrusting low for my gut. I parried with the chain, metal clanging against steel in a shower of sparks. We exploded into motion, trading blows in the cramped alley. Her boot snapped toward my knee; I blocked with my forearm, pain exploding up my arm like fire. I countered with a wild haymaker, grazing her jaw—she twisted away, impossibly fast, and drove her elbow into my ribs. Air whooshed from my lungs.
Rain blurred my vision as we grappled. I swung the chain overhead, forcing her back; she ducked and slashed upward, slicing a shallow line across my bicep. Blood welled hot and fast, mixing with the downpour.
We circled again, breaths heaving, fists and feet flying in a brutal dance—punch to her shoulder, knee to my thigh, knife glancing off my chain. She was relentless, pressing me against the wall, her free hand clawing for my eyes.
Then it hit—a searing twist in my gut, like acid bubbling up my throat. I staggered, swinging clumsily; she sidestepped and hammered a fist into my jaw. Something burst inside me. I doubled over and puked, hot bile splattering the ground, tasting metallic and wrong.
"What?" I rasped, wiping my mouth, vision swimming.
"Your food," she sneered, circling like a shark. "I poisoned it back at the diner. Wasn't about to take you head-on fair and square."
My legs buckled; I dropped to my knees in a puddle, the world tilting. Poison clawed through my veins, fire in my belly. She sauntered forward, boot slamming down on my chest, pinning me. Rain poured over us both. "Bye-bye, Leon. Time to choke."
Her hands shot for my throat, fingers like iron vices squeezing down. Black spots danced in my eyes, lungs burning. But as she leaned in—smug, too close—I took out my dead target's thumb, severed clean from his hand earlier, which was in my pocket. With a surge of fading strength, I jammed it upward into her open, taunting mouth.
She gagged, eyes bulging in shock—muffled scream vibrating against my skin. Her grip loosened a fraction. I exploded upward, wrapping my free arm around her head.
One savage twist—bones cracking like dry twigs under the strain. Her body went limp, knife clattering away. She slumped into the rain-soaked filth beside the first corpse, eyes staring blankly at the sky.
I slumped against the wall, puking again. "Fuck... I can't close... my e-eyes... maybe... I-I s-should b-blink a-away t-this... feeling... like I do with p-pain..." But as soon as I blinked once, I found myself somewhere entirely else.