Looper | Purple Guy X Reader

Epilogue

You stopped to admire the beauty of a tumbled-over trash can. Ah, the big city never changed.

They told you something about giving them a call; you were too drunk to remember everything they said; and after a while they left. You sat there, the number saved in your mobile, until the party ended. You went back home, slept, and woke up with an awful hangover. And an even worse sense of dread – you remembered how you told two random guys that you killed people. None of what you claimed about yourself was true. And when you saw the number, saved as "gangstas from party", you almost cried.

You looked at the grey sky, remembering the job interview as clear as if it was yesterday. You swore that you saw grey hairs on your head, when you got back home that day.

Against your better judgement, you called the number. Maybe, you were hoping to explain yourself; tell them that you were just high and drunk; that you just got out of rehab, and weren't in a clear state of mind; that you just came out of a simulation, and haven't really come to terms with your own mortality. But the moment you heard someone answer your call, your heart dropped.

-You're quick on your feet. That's good. I have a job for you; consider it a proof of your skills. Sending you the details. - He hung up.

With horror, you stared at your phone's screen, and as a new message popped up, you almost dropped it. The address... it was a suburban neighborhood. Not a particularly rich one, but definitely not considered dangerous. Even though, a cold, dreadful feeling crept up your spine. This was not looking good.

Against all your better judgements; your bowels aggressively gurgling at you the entire way; you drove to the address. A typical, white bungalow stood in a row of identical houses. You parked your car next to it, noticing one other, black, expensive-looking vehicle.

You stood on the porch, and after a moment of pondering if you should change your name and move to another continent, you knocked on the door. Heavy footsteps immediately approached it, and it soon creaked open. A big, bald man answered the door. He was dressed casually – a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and jeans. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for when you looked at his face, you saw that he was missing his left ear; multiple scars coming from the hole on the side of his head, and creeping onto his face.

-You the cleaner? - He asked in a thick accent. You couldn't tell what it was though.

You stared wide-eyed at him. Then, cleared your throat, trying to stay composed and look casual, you answered.

-Yup. It is I. - That was not casual.

He moved to the side, and let you in. You hesitated a bit, but not wanting to offend him, you entered. Immediately, you knew that something was wrong. The smell of death, sweet and copper hung in the air – still fresh.

-He in the kitchen. Tools also. - The huge man pointed to a hallway, and motioned with his head for you to go in.

And as you did, you almost cried. That was not the first time you saw a dead body; not even the first time you saw a body in such an awful state, but something about this being a non-academic environment made your blood run cold.

There was a man; or at least you assumed it was a man. The head was missing. Cut cleanly off, a pool of blood around the cadaver. On a kitchen island next to him, you saw an array of tools and chemicals.

You almost shit yourself when you felt a presence behind you.

-Clean around him, and pack him. You have four hour. - You whipped around, staring at the man. He looked back at you, his eyes intense and dark in color, scleras almost fully yellow.