Girl With a Gun

First Kill

The dark, quiet streets sent delightful chills down my spine. So, I thought, he wants to play hide and seek, huh?

I gripped my Beretta M9A3 tighter in my hands as I searched the alleyways. A cat ran in front of me, but other than that there was no life around. At least, not any visible to me. Not yet.

Finally, I found a clue; blood splatters all across the floor leading into the alley closest to me. I smiled and entered. I kept my footsteps silent as I followed the trail. I heard the bastard's quick, ragged panting. He's still kickin'. That's good, I thought. I always have more fun when they're stubborn.

Just to get him on edge, I made a show - or, rather, a sound - of cocking my pistol. I heard him hold his breath, trying to stay quiet. I couldn't stop myself from giggling at his efforts. "I already know where you are, pal," I said, almost gloating. "You can't hide from me." He was right around the corner. I stepped into his view. 

In the dim light, his pale face was barely visible. His eyes were wide with terror, with the realization that his life was about to end. An open wound in his arm, from where I shot him, gushed dark red blood. I smiled at the sight and walked toward him. He wiggled as far back against the wall as he could. "N-no!" he stammered. "P-please don't kill me, please! Someone, anyone, help me!" I shoved the muzzle of my gun in his mouth.

"No one can save you now."

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I walked through the door of my house, dripping blood. Jack turned and, seeing how bloody my clothes were, asked, "I'm guessing most of that isn't your blood." It wasn't a question. I nodded, grinning from ear-to-ear. Jack sighed and retied his dark poneytail. "Alright. Strip down right there. I'll get some clothes." He walked off, mumbling something along the lines of "I just fucking mopped the floor, you better not move." I did as I was told, knowing I'd be in dangerous waters if I didn't. 

He came back after I was just in my underwear and tossed the new clothes and a towel to me. A simple t-shirt and shorts. "You know me so well," I cooned. He just left with my bloody uniform and gun. I got cleaned up and dressed as I stepped into the kitchen and was instantly hit with the smell of meatloaf in the oven. I inhaled the scent greedily.

"I figured you would want some." That was Jack's voice, behind me. I nodded. He knew how to cook, for a butler. I knew I could count on him. I was about to grab some water when a knock interupted me. I groaned and walked by Jack to answer it.

"Is it someone from work?" he called after me. 

"I hope not," I replied as I opened the door.

My hopes were in vain - Calico, a rookie, was there, shocked that I was who answered. Though she was taller than me, you could tell she was afraid. "Speak," I said simply.

"B-Boss!" she stammered, instantly straightening her posture. Blood leaked from a gash on her forehead, staining her ginger bangs. Her ponytail was messy. "So sorry, Mrs. Fang, when I saw the symbol, I thought- I never would have-."

I raised my hand to silence her. The symbol, a red cross that was painted on my mailbox, was a sign that whatever house it marks is safe for my crew to hide in until the coast clears. People outside think it's a religious thing, or just for decoration. We only really look out for them if the Blues, or cops, are on our tail, or if we need medical attention. Since Calico seemed physically OK, I assumed it was the first option.

"You're fine, Calico. I have that painted on for a reason, don't I?" I stepped out of the way. "Come in. I'll get you cleaned up, and then show you to the spare rooms." She reluctantly stepped inside.