7 - In His Blood

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7 - In His Blood

After nearly two months now of desperately trying to get into contact with anyone to get him a different than usual job, Michael was given a time and place to be at. At the corner of 125th street at 2:30 A.M. on Sunday.

So here he was, keeping himself alert as he watched his empty surroundings of pure darkness. The streets were empty with only the evil lurking out, being him himself.

Michael believes that he was born to be evil, that it was in his blood. His destiny of sorts.

Growing up with a single mom and without any siblings, he was alone a lot of the time while growing up. His mom was a prostitute by night and a drug dealer by day, and not that good of a one with the fact that she got arrested just before his fifteenth birthday. He's never seen her since and he doubted that he ever would again.

By that age, he already knew how to take care of himself and how to live in the illegal life. Instead of being taken away and put in some orphanage where he'd never be adopted away from, he carried his life to the streets. It was only a few weeks after he went on his own when he killed his first victim. It was to be initiated in as a test, proving that he had the evil guts take lives away.

He's been in the hitman company ever since, being one of the youngest recruits. It was his life and the only thing that gave him purpose as the days, months, and years go by. Blood, death, and murder was his life and that was never going to change in his books.

His empty zone of evil and violent thoughts were interrupted when he saw a woman start approaching him once she turned the corner from down the street. She casually walked towards him with violent, confident eyes laid right onto his own. She had to of been the one meeting him tonight with her cocky grin and stature.

"Michael Clifford. You've caused a ruckus lately." She grinned at him as soon as she stepped only a few feet away from him.

The woman oozed confidence with a tight, black shirt hugging her chest alongside black, leather pants and a red, leather jacket that only those who owned themselves could wear. She was like a badass woman out of a movie or a video game with her seemingly being unaffected by the tall, shiny red heels she was wearing and strutting around in.

Only small hints of mascara and a clear lipgloss crossed over her face alongside her long black hair that stopped mid-back. A small smirk never left her face.

"And who might you be?" He asked with gritted teeth, not in the mood for any small talk.

"The person here to give you the instructions for your next job."

"Why not just send me a message through the burner phone like usual?" He quirked his eyebrow in confusion.

"Because this isn't some usual job. This is tough shit here. You want to walk around claiming that you're some tough, big boy? We have a job for that."

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