"Hello, good sir. Good evening," I said patronizingly to the filthy man crouching in the alleyway of the city. MJ and I had positioned ourselves on the roof of a building nearby, so it had been really easy to spot him. The man sprang up, surprising me, brandishing a thick kitchen knife. I looked over his body. Bruises and burns covered him. Ash coated the scraps of his clothes that were left, if they had not yet been burned away. His eyes were desperate and disconsolate, afraid and furious. They were already dead. He was too late to be saved. He was more brusque than the most vicious of wild beasts. I gave him a small smile.
"You needn't be afraid of me, my good sir. I come here with the promise of a new life," I told him. His gaze didn't waver. "That's what the bank told me! They gave me a large money so I could buy my Loretta a nice home—!! Now look at me! I'm poorer than the dirt under my nails! Don't you smirk at me, you bastard! I've had enough of your people—smiling at me because you have nothing to lose! Is it so wrong for me to want to care for my family?!" he snapped at me furiously.
I looked at him slowly, politeness fading off of my face. I gave him my small smile again. "And where is your Loretta?" I asked him. The knife clattered out of his hands as he pressed his palms to his face. I could see tears pouring from his eyes.
"G—gone...they—they took her....Gave her to a different family....I'll never—see her again!" he sobbed into his hands. "My—my wife insisted it was for the best...that I shouldn't try to come and visit—it would only make things awkward between her parents and I...." He glared at me. "Is it so wrong to wish for the best for the people you love—so much so that it lands you in the gutter?! Tell me an answer and I won't gut you right now!" he commands me. His eyes are mad, unable to tell the difference between a cop and a teenage boy.
"People are cruel. It's just how things are," I told him bluntly. His eyes fell back into despair. He turned from me, rubbing his hands together. He muttered to himself madly, his pupils wide and frantic. He began to cry again.
"Gone...never to see again," he whispered. He sunk to his knees and clutched his head in his hands.
"I don't want to live like this....I'd rather be dead!" he screamed at me. I looked at him. On the verge of madness, his heart was stuck in a rut of depression. Yet there was still a weapon at his side, abandoned but lethal. This man was the perfect pawn to my will.
"You know....mass murderers can face up to 21 years in prison," I said slowly. The man looked up at me incredulously.
"What the hell are you talking about, kid?!" he asked me malevolently. I smiled at him. "Prison has health care, food, bedding....you'll have a roof over your head and a full stomach. Prison wasn't meant to torture people, it was meant as a place for the mentally ill to seek refuge," I told him. I shrugged. "In a way, it's better than the asylum because they don't give you any pills...unless you need them."
The man glared flatly at me. "What's your point! Hurry up before I lose it and I kill you!" he snapped. I smiled at him. "Oh, just one kill won't guarantee your imprisonment for a decade or two," I told him. I glared at him, crossing my arms at him.
"Use your brain. You've got nothing to loose. Your wife and child are safely away from you. You have no neighbors to endanger. You have no home, no wealth, no food to go back to. Your friends have abandoned you." I raised an eyebrow at him. "If you have no where to go and nothing to eat, isn't prison sounding good in contrast?"
The man's eyes were confused. I picked up his knife and held the handle out to him, making sure not to let my fingers get in the way of the blade in case he took back the knife and cut me in the process. I noted its extreme sharpness with interest. I looked towards the building where my target was, ignorant of his death sentence.
"Past this alleyway," I began, and the man looked up at me, still in disbelief, "there will be ten people coming out of this building next to us on your left. All of them will have a badge on the right sides of their suit collars. The badge will be shaped like a crown, holding the company's emblem on it. The men will be wearing neutral colors. Considering the badges are bright, neon yellow, you'd have to be a blind, poor man to miss it," I told him. I handed the knife to him carefully, taking a step back so he could ponder his decision. "Kill these men, and the police will cart you away to prison. I guarantee this," I promised him, starting to walk away. A hoarse cough made me pause and turn to see him. He looked up at me with wonder in his eyes. I started forward again, but his voice stopped me once more.
"W—will I get to see my daughter?" he asked me softly. I stopped in my tracks, and I turned to look at him. "Only if she wants to see you," I told him gently. The man took his knife, looking it over as if it were a time bomb. Then, I pulled out my extra gun and handed it to him. I would get it back, I knew it.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked me shakily. I laughed, a vicious and humorless sound.
"Do you really think that I would waste time on someone like you when I could be doing something quite useful today?" I asked him coldly, the grin staying on my face. The man looked down and away, and then slowly shook his head in disbelief.
"I was sent to kill these men. I just thought you would gain more than I would if you did the job for me," I told him. He looked up at me in surprise.
"Isn't revealing your plan to your victim a bad idea for a villain?" he asked me. I shrugged, crossing my arms. "On cartoons it is. In real life, it doesn't matter. If you die, I don't care. If I die, at least I gave this damned living thing a try," I told him. He swallowed hard.
"Thank you...for helping me," he told me gently. He shook my hand, leaving the knife and gun in his other one. "You are a true saint, though you do not appear like it. I had completely lost hope until you arrived and gave me promises of a new existence. A criminal is better than a bum.” His eyes widened at me as he asked me the most ridiculous question I had ever been asked. “Are you an angel?" he asked me. I rolled my eyes, withdrawing my hand from his as if he was nothing more than a cockroach.
"Please...your old age has made you senile, old man," I told him. I had no emotion for him in my voice. I turned from him, but gave him a dark smile over my shoulder.
"If you fail to complete the job...well...I know enough about you to hit you where it hurts," I told him. I left him to his mission, to win or to fail.
I knew his decision before he did. His life wasn't riding on this, his daughter's was.
And he knew I would kill her if he didn't do exactly as I said.
* * *
"So? Did you do it?" asked MJ curiously. I sat back against the stone chimney of the business building. "Just watch," I told him. I slowly heard the growing chatter of approaching people. I knew that the work hour was over. Soon, the competition for Keenan's business would suddenly drop down dead. I saw the men before MJ did. I knew who the ten men were when they were exiting the building just from seeing their distant, aerial appearances. The man with the bald spot as large as a plate was Jackson Alberts, head of the King's Rings parlor. The men next to him were Jerry and Colbert Cullen, his body guards. They were also twins. They too wore emblems for the company. Next to them were two women, the Gertrude sisters. Both had beautiful blond hair and startlingly unusual eyes that almost the same shade as silver. Next to them stood a sullen man and his partner. Edward Vann and Trenton Holl were both skinny men with big appetites. Edward had a kind of twitching profile with a paranoid glance around the street before he stepped out into the open, as if he would be killed at any moment. He didn't seem to realize how close to the truth he was, however. Trenton was not so suspicious and aware. In fact, Trenton seemed to think that everything around him was made of gold from how much he smiled and fingered his platinum watch. Way in the back of the group was a woman named Felicia Black, the beautiful secretary of Jackson Alberts. She had shimmering black hair and brown eyes the color of mahogany. Behind her stood a man of tall stature and little personality, Xavier Zone, the accountant of the group. He didn't speak much, only ran errands and side jobs for the company. Next to him, least of all, was a very short and pudgy man by the name of Kelvin Cooper. His personality was big, loud and bossy, whereas his height and status contrasted it by being excessively small. All of them were happy and chatting, as if the day wouldn't end in bloodshed. The pampered business men and women had grown fat of lies and happiness that would soon end, showing how horrible the world truly was. I stared at them unflinchingly.
"So, where's our main player?" asked MJ curiously. I smirked cruelly as the man came out of his alley way calmly.
"Right on time," I narrated. I watched slowly as the man looked around and spotted the group. They saw him as well. He rushed at them, wielding his knife wildly. I must say, he played the part of the insane asylum escapee quite well. He cut down the first two with quick stabs to the gut. The body guard on the right of Jackson Alberts was caught unaware and was killed when his head was cut off. Edward and Trenton were next, both of them trying to run and were trampled by the mob rushing past them, making it easy for the man to reach down and cut them clean through the throats. The women went next. The Gertrude sisters both screamed as they were both stabbed clean through the heart. I saw disgust pass over the man's face as he pulled out his knife with a sickening squish that I could hear from atop my building. Still, his mind was set. He was a killing machine. Felicia Black at least tried to defend herself with her purse. She was cut through the stomach with the knife, and lay there twitching for a couple seconds before the man had enough mercy in him to slit her throat, ending her pain. The homeless man was suddenly caught from behind by the remaining bodyguard, Jerry Cullen. They struggled for a second. Jerry hit the man over the head before attacking him with brutal punches. Just when I thought I would have to kill all three of the remaining humans in the mob pit, Jerry made the mistake of aiming for the man's head to knock him out. The man ducked under his arm and managed to land a stab between the man's ribs. The final body guard fell against the concrete without further complaint. The man stood over his final victim with blood splattering his clothes and face. Jackson took a fearful step back before getting caught in the crowd. Even being buffeted by the running crowd, my serial killer creation still managed to stay near the fleeing Jackson. Police cars suddenly swarmed the area. Men in black popped out of their cars and rushed towards the man. He cut a few down with his knife, but I knew those wounds were too thin to kill them. He slashed with his knife a bit before his arm was caught by a skinny man who looked a lot stronger than he was. He struggled with both hands, trying to regain possession of his body. But he was pinned. He was forced to the ground, unable to get a good grip on his knife to cut down the man holding him. I saw his other hand come up, and it in was my gleaming gun. He fired one shot, aiming past the police man who restrained him. The bullet hit its target head on. From the blood spurt and the screaming, I could see that the man had managed to shoot Jackson right between his eyebrows. Jackson dropped death silently.
"Lucky shot," commented MJ. I nodded wordlessly. The man had done his job. He had killed a few, and then some. He would be fine in prison. I knew it. A cry came from the crowd as Jackson fell to the floor with a thud.
"Daddy!!" came a scream. I watched with a poker face as a girl of only fourteen emerged from the perimeter line of police cars and officers. She rushed to the side of her fallen father, yelling his name as she searched him for any signs of life. I saw a police officer throw himself at the serial killer in rage. He grabbed for the gun. The trigger went off. The shot fired through the streets. Silence followed, and then a thud. The daughter of Jackson Alberts fell to the floor, her blood mixing with her father's.