DISCLAIMER: Graphic description of blood/death.
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Firey watched Leafy leave, he watched until he was certain she was no where near the apartment.
He took the bag out of its hiding place, taking out the box and staring at the gun.
The mere sight of it put him on edge, he felt tingly.
The metal was cold and clean, it felt heavy in his hands.
Holding it felt so wrong but so right at the same time.
He shoved it into a duffel bag, along with the cleaning supplies he had been given by Four, everything was ready.
He dress in very basic clothing, unremarkable, no one would give him a second glance.
He wore a medical mask and a hoodie, hiding most of his face, his baggy clothes hid his body shape and he wore gloves so there would be no finger prints.
He left the apartment, checking the address as he stood on the path.
It was in a rich area of the city, as he expected.
He hopped on a bus that would drop him near the location but not directly there, he couldn't raise any suspicion.
Yes, he had a higher authority than a police man since he was doing work directly assigned by Secret Service but it was still illegal and it would reveal too much information to the public of word of this got out.
He wasn't above the law persay, but if he was taken to court, he would get off scot free, as he said, it would just give away too many things the service tried to keep hidden.
The evening had a pleasant warmth, he was way too warm with the hoodie and he would look out of place in such a well off area but it needed to be done.
He watched the people on the bus, none of them knew where he was going, what he was going to do and none of them knew he had a gun.
The idea of that was scary, someone just having a gun and not knowing.
He sighed as he imagined the people and their lives, living the, blissfully unaware that he was going to end a life.
He felt sick and tired, he wanted to go home.
A while later, the bus pulled into his stop, he thanked the driver as he got off and walked down the street.
The houses got bigger and nicer the further he went and he could tell he was close.
He saw a playground, the equipment was clean and we'll maintained. He watched the parents with their kids, none of them knew their neighbor would be laying in his own blood.
He wondered if they would tell their kids that their neighbor was dead or would they just ignore it? It probably depended on how close they were he assumed.
He pushed these thoughts out of his mind as he entered the building, using a key that had been stolen from Loser's bag a few weeks ago and as quietly as possible, he walked into the apartment.
It was fancy, to say the least. Everything was sleek and new and it looked really expensive, it suited Loser perfectly, he had never been shy about his "refined tastes".
Firey stood in the living room, fiddling with the gun and loading it, he ran his fingers along the cold metal and felt that disgusting emptiness he was becoming all too used to.
How was he going to do this?
It needed to be as clean as possible and it needed to be a surefire shot, in under no circumstances was Loser able to survive.
The gun was better suited for close range, he needed to get close and he needed to hit something vital.
Point blanc range, in the head.
He had three bullets so he could shoot a second time if needs be but he hoped he wouldn't.
Firey waited for an hour, he didn't move at all, he stood there and counted the minutes as they ticked by.
Everything felt so slow to him and his throat was dry, he needed water or something.
He felt a strange sense of anticipation while holding the gun. He could rant about how killing felt weird to him now and all that bullshit but he knew the truth deep down.
He itched to pull that trigger, so much so that his body twitched.
He wanted vengeance for the last five years, he wanted vengeance for X.
He wanted vengeance for himself.
He wanted to see this man slump over in pain.
He wanted to see this man dead.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror across the room, noticing he had a sick smirk on his face and a weird look in his eyes.
No, that couldn't be him...
He wasn't some trigger happy psycho, he didn't look forward to killing people.
He was a normal person! He was just in a bad line of work.
He was normal, he has a wife, he has a good life and good people get good lives.
Why was he lying to himself...
....
He was taken from his thoughts when he heard a key twist in the front door and he moved just behind the door of the living room and took his position.
In those moments, Firey could feel everything around him, he felt his blood pumping in his veins, he felt his heart beating faster than he had ever known, he felt his chest raise up and down as he took slow, heavy breaths, attempting to calm himself.
He heard Loser's footsteps grow closer and closer.
His hands trembled slightly as he placed a finger on the trigger.
He watched the door handle turn downwards and the door open slightly.
One.
Firey raised his arms, positioning his shoulders so they wouldn't be damaged by recoil.
Two.
Loser opened the door, one foot over the threshold.
Three.
He didn't even have time to turn his head before Firey placed the muzzle against his temple.
Bang.
Loser's body fell against the wall before it slid down against the ground, his blood on both surfaces.
Without thinking or hesitation, Firey shot him in the chest, creating a bigger mess but ensuring death.
He stared at the lifeless body before him, the once handsome man was almost unrecognisable.
"So much for that comeback movie, huh?" Firey shrugged as he glared at the guy.
Somehow, someone Firey had admired for years, someone who he had looked up to, was now someone who filled him with hatred.
He went to his bag and took out the cleaning supplies and got to work.
It wasn't fun, he had to hold himself back from gagging everytime he mopped the blood.
Movies are always wrong, it's never just wet blood that wipes away easily, it's thick, there's remnants of whatever body part was damaged, it all clusters together in a sickening way.
The blood doesn't simply go away.
It'll be on his hands, for as long as he lives.
Loser's phone buzzed and Firey took it and checked who it was.
It was a text from a person who's contact was called Cake.
Hey Loser, thanks for dinner tonight it was wonderful, it really means a lot I know work has been tough lately,
I love you.
Firey inhaled sharply as all of a sudden, he felt a wave of guilt crush him.
Despite who Loser was, he had family, he had loved ones.
He mattered to people.
And he had just taken him away from them.
He looked around the room, at the photos in it and saw there were multiple of Loser and Cake, they both looked so happy in them, Cake looking at Loser with such love and admiration.
Firey blinked back tears that formed at the thought of what he had done.
Everyone he has ever killed had family.
Every life he had ever taken was just as complex as his own.
He killed people who were just doing their job like he was.
He cried, without a sound, the tears simply fell as he thought about everything he has done.
Why was all of this only dawning on him now? Why didnt he feel any remorse until this moment?
Was it because of Leafy? Was it because he finally had a "normal" life going for him? Was that why he finally thought about this properly?
He had never confronted the idea that he was killing other people, everytime he killed, he just didn't think.
He was doing his job, bring things closer to an end.
That's how he justified it, time and time again.
He trying to get back to Leafy, anyone that stood in his way was an obstacle that he got rid of, he followed orders.
Tunnel vision, blindly killing.
Now that he had what he wanted, he no longer experienced the cold, lack of emotion mindset that allowed him to do this so many times.
All of this weighed on him, somehow it physically hurt him.
He held his breath as he placed Loser's body into the bodybag, a struggle because he was limp and didn't take a breath until it was zipped up.
It was done.
Once more.
He called Four and told them the job had been completed.
When Four answered, they told Firey to carry it out to a van that was waiting outside, it would take him to where he could dispose of the bag.
Using all of his strength, Firey placed the bodybag on his back, his heart beating nervously as he walked out into the hall and got into the elevator.
No one saw him leave and go to the van just across the street.
He knew the agent driving the van, the man in charge of clean up.
"Hey Tree," he sighed as he got in.
"Hello, Firey," he replied.
Tree was related to Leafy, he was her uncle, although they were fairly similar in age, Tree was five years old when Leafy was born, his parents hadn't even expected him.
They didn't talk much though, Tree was always working and after some time, Leafy stopped trying.
They drove in silence until they arrived at the docks where they both got out of the van.
They were near a slipway, Tree walked to a small storage unit, opening it to reveal a Rib, a large engine powered dingy.
Tree rolled it down the slipway, setting it up for launch, using the surrounding lights to help him.
Firey could hardly see anything through the darkness, Tree must have some good eyesight.
Tree called him down, Firey carried the body but slipped due to the wetness of the slipway.
Tree rolled his eyes and helped him up, putting the body in the Rib himself.
A few minutes later, Tree was driving out of the docks, out into the dark, murky sea.
"How do you know where we're going?" Firey asked as he watched the lights of the city and the docks grow smaller and smaller behind them.
"Ive done this too many times," Tree shrugged.
"Where are we going? Are we just going to dump the body?" Firey questioned.
"No, we aren't but we're bringing it to a boat a few kilometers off shore, it'll take the body to international waters out in the middle of the ocean and it'll be dumped there, if it ever gets found, it'll be unrecognisable," Tree explained.
Firey sat back uncomfortably, the waves causing the Rib to go upwards the crash down as it sped along, it made him feel a bit sick.
Tree didn't seem to care, he seemed tired and almost empty, there was no light in his eyes.
Firey wondered if his years of service were taking their toll.
He decided to keep his mouth shut, it was the best option.
Soon, in the distance, he saw a boat, Tree increased the speed and Firey clung to the seat for dear life.
Within a few minutes they arrived, Tree radioed the boat and slowed to a halt beside it.
Tree hopped aboard, turning back toward Firey to take the bag.
"Do you need me to get on?" Firey asked, heaving the bag toward Tree.
"No, you can sit there for a moment, we have a long drive back to the docks," Tree said as he walked away.
Firey thanked him, waited until he was gone and then threw up over the side of the Rib.
He hated water and he hated the sea.
After 10 minutes of waiting and feeling nauseous, Firey heard an engine start up and then Tree hopped back into the Rib.
Once again, there was silence but Tree handed Firey a bottle of water and a tablet that would stop him feeling sick.
Once the got back, Firey helped Tree roll the Rib back up the slip and lock up the storage unit.
They stood for a moment in the howling wind, both of them aware that they were one in the same.
Two people who pushed too far when they started and were now paying the price.
Two people who ruined their own lives.
"Tree," Firey called as he watched the other walk away.
"Hm?" Tree responded, turning slightly.
"Leafy is doing well, she's got a good life going for herself," Firey said.
"Good, at least someone I know isn't doing dirty work,"
"She has a kid now, I'd say she'd love for you to meet him,"
Tree stopped, fully facing Firey now and for once there was emotion in his eyes.
Sadness? Regret? Firey couldn't place it but it was one of the two.
"You and I both know it's too late for that,"
And just like that, Tree left.
Firey stood under a flickering light of a lamppost, he felt bitterly cold and his shoes were soaked.
He walked into the city, away from the docks so it didn't look suspicious when he called a taxi.
He had the money now, he could spend a bit.
The fare was expensive and Firey remembered why he didn't like taxis.
He got dropped fifteen minutes from the apartment, he didn't walk straight home though, he was still too messed up.
He walked into a 24 hour store and bought himself a beer, it was cheap and it tasted horrible but he didn't want to go back to whiskey or vodka.
He stood on a random street corner, it was almost one in the morning and everything was still.
He heard a hum of people in the distance, car horns beeping and alarms sounding, city life at its finest.
Once he finished the beer, he put the can in a bin and made his way home, he was no longer shaking but he still felt sick, not physically just mentally.
At long last he was home, there were no lights on, no one was awake and he was greatful for that.
He went to the bathroom, washing his hands, though there was nothing visible on them, physically and he put his clothes on the drying rack.
He didn't go upstairs, he could lay down beside Leafy after what he had done tonight.
He didn't deserve to that's for sure.
He rested on the couch, unable to get comfortable no matter what he did, he knew he wasn't going to sleep that night.
He checked his phone and saw a text from Leafy saying that she got a bit carried away and was going to stay at Golfball's house tonight.
There was another text that had been sent twenty minutes before he got home.
I love u Firey i don't kno if i say itt enough but i love u and im glad ur backk.
She was clearly drunk but regardless it but a small smile on Firey's face.
Tears began to spill as he read the text over and over again.
He dropped his phone on the ground, curling up into a ball, clutching a pillow to his chest as he sobbed quietly.
The apartment was completely empty, no one would hear him, he was embarrassed, he had no right to cry.
And what's worse, is that he wanted comfort more than anything else, there was no way in hell he deserved it.
Firey had never felt so alone in his life.
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Who shall have a little fishy on a little dishy, who shall have a salmon, when the boat comes in?
Hope you enjoyed that chapter!
XOXO
LeafCake.