Jay
Sinners will never lose opportunities;
I will never lose one, especially if it can lead to a patch of blood.
And I will never lose one, because I am a sinner.
The atmosphere crackled with tension as I seized the opportunity to assert dominance, swiftly seizing my target's wrist and wrenching it behind his back. The sudden twist sent a jolt of pain through his body, forcing him into a position of vulnerability and powerlessness. I like powerless people. At that moment, it became starkly evident that control had slipped from his grasp.
Deck.
The fucker hissed when the small knife entered his side, sending searing pain throughout his abdomen. Do I know this man?
No.
But I was paid to kill him. I play people like I play cards.
The knife met flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make him scream in pain instead of pleasure. I twisted the blade in his hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. His skin was torn to shreds as the knife rotated, the sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, I jerked it into his back, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside him and the black handle was pushing against his broken skin.
His stomach ached, his arms lost tension, and his legs began to weaken.
"I-I hate you," my target for the day tried to spell under the hard pain he was feeling.
"No problem, now it's time to discard you," I spoke against his ear, I like to discard bodies like I remove a card from your hand and place it in a discard pile. His hisses were a brilliant sound, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. I smirked and pulled the blade out of my now deathly white victim. He sank to his knees, continuing to scream, convulsing and trembling like a rabid animal, and thick blood flowed freely from the gaping hole in his back.
His grip tightened upon his wounded chest, his nails digging into flesh, marking both the external scars and the internal struggle. At that moment, a sliver of defiance emerged, and an ember of strength drowned through me. I like it.
Whether I would succumb to the seductive call of my bed of blood or find the strength to resist remained uncertain. The dance between sin and salvation unfolded, with me caught in a fragile balance between my desires and the yearning for liberation from this treacherous embrace.
I watched with cold eyes the scene before me, my eyes never shining in this world where I preferred to dance with the devil. I hid like a figure that reveled in the shadows, finding solace in the company of darkness rather than the light. My eyes, void of empathy, surveyed the scene unfolding before me as if I were a spectator in a twisted performance.
I thrived in the realm of temptation and indulgence, finding pleasure in the forbidden.
They say nobody joins a gang without being a lost soul first. No one goes to a monster for guidance unless it's their only option. This world is where hunger bites. Fear of eviction stabs. Watching your loved ones suffer is torture. Expecting the broken to fly is cruel. To act as if the reality of an assassin is a shock is stupidity.
Face Card.
I wasn't a good person, and I didn't try to act like one. I was quite the opposite. I worked in a shady world, surrounded by people who weren't always doing the right thing. I got used to this world where it was hard to tell what was right and what was wrong.
