Hoodie x Masky One Shot

Hoodie X Masky

Masky

The cellar-like room is cold and uninviting, its cement stairs echoing the weight of my footsteps as I descend towards the center of the room. The make-up is small. Nothing ever meant to impress anyone. There's a couch that lies center-right facing the door and to the left, against the wall, is a twin XL bed. A ragged light brown carpet is torn, lazily underlying the dingy brown, sisal couch. There's no light illuminating the left side of the room, which makes the corners on that side appear pitch black. A makeshift workstation takes up a little less than a third of the back wall, a small window occupying a small area above, just right of the workstation. 

The workstation itself consists of a table with overhead piping that supports a curtain able to enclose the entirety of the station for privacy. When closed, the curtain leaves about three and a half feet of distance between the table and the curtain on the side facing the door. Overall, the area measures to about 44 feet, 8 of which make up the table. The curtain, previously made up of old shower curtains that had been collected over time, has since been replaced with modified plastic industrial curtains. 

There's a coffee table against the wall parallel to the couch, along with a large freezer positioned against the right wall. The lone window is cloudy in appearance and is unable to be opened without breaking the glass. Stains on the cement wall make up most of the appearance around the workstation and freezer. Aside from the main room, there is a connected bathroom with an industrial sink, a toilet, and a rusting standing shower with a metal basin positioned awkwardly in the corner. 

Hoodie and I share the room, but we live separately. Living would be an overstatement, but this is the room we come back to after dual assignments from the suit and tie. When there is time to sleep, I don't take it. The nights have been sleepless for a long time. Hoodie knows this too and so the single bed has never been a problem. That is to say, we don't get in each other's way.

Today there was a hitch in the plan and things didn't go the way things were supposed to. It's exhausting when they run and even now my fingers are having trouble finding a stable grip on the bloody ax used in today's little task. The curtain to the workstation is open. I let the blade of the ax find the table and let the handle fall carelessly. Grabbing a pair of long heavy duty, teal rubber gloves, I slip them on over my jacket sleeves and start preparing the table.

Basic cleanup isn't usually a task I take on, but the overall exhaustion from the situation has eased my mind into auto pilot. It's not my job, but sooner or later it's going to need to be done. 

Hoodie

He acts so normal. The polymer mask suffocates any resemblance of a person, but I know of what's behind that. I've traced it with my own fingertips, and whatever he's doing right now is bullshit. He's doing my job. Maybe he's angry. Maybe I don't care.

 I stride over to the washroom after inspecting the bed, having had debated on whether to peel off the soggy-with-blood black gloves hugging my fingers. I kept them on. I don't bother hitting the light or shutting the door. I look deeply into the wall over the sink, where a mirror should be, and twitch at my non-existent reflection. I tug up at my mask so that only my mouth and the tip of my nose is exposed. Gripping the sides of the sink, I feel the clench in my jaw tighten the muscles connecting to my ears. I spit into the sink and watch as the foamy saliva lands an inch away from the drain.

Masky works away at the workstation, the soft glint of tools catches my eye. He's cleaning them? I stalk my way over to the table. As I reach the brim of the black tape outlining the perimeter of the workstation, I take note of Masky's lack of reaction and loom near him for a second, slowly positioning myself behind him. He doesn't acknowledge my presence and I steady my breathing to mimic the rhythm of his moving shoulders. He's wiping down the ax. A pistol lies on the elevated shelf just above the main area of the worktable.