3. Mark, killing a man
Blood splashed a terrifyingly beautiful pattern across the outside window. Mark was in a daze. He looked down and dropped the gun robotically. There was a crumpled being on the floor, and unless it could survive a bullet through the head, it was dead.
“Not too bad,” said a figure in the shadows, shocking Mark out of his daze.
“Thinking about Lucy are we?” Teased the woman’s voice. He recognized it.
“Don’t talk to me, I’m a monster.” He replied, after a pause.
“Well. If you’re a monster, then what am I?” A match lit, It made enough light for mark to see a heavily made up eye wink.
Mark had no idea honestly, although he did recognize her voice, he had no clue where from. A wave of smoke hit him, and he realized how long it had been since he had a cigarette. Mark only had a vague idea of how long he had been here. It had to be a matter of weeks. Mark was in pieces over losing Lucy, he must have been drinking or something because next thing he knew he had joined some mafia gang or something. And here he was, shooting people for accommodation and food. He didn’t expect anyone to understand, not even Lucy, because even he didn’t really. He wondered where Lucy was now as he slumped against a wall.
“Mark,” he looked up sullenly.
“Get up.” So he did.
“New assignment.” He sighed and took the file that he wished would be stamped ‘For Your Eyes Only’ to lighten the mood a bit, he flicked through the pages of personal information and a particular picture made him stop in his tracks.