Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

The thought spun around Frankie's head as she dipped into an alleyway. She was following a man, if you could even call him that. He was more like an animal, a monster dressed in the loose amalgamations of human skin. She had been tailing him for weeks, and today was the last day she would follow him. She would kill him today and put this entire mess behind her.

It all started a few months ago. She was on the job, nothing serious. She had been contracted to kill a group of mercs who had fucked with the wrong organization. They styled themselves as virtuous and honorable, but that was bullshit. Frankie had been in the business long enough to know that no one takes a life honorably or virtuously. When your target has curled up in a corner, begging for their lives, blurting out why you should leave them alive, and you still pull the trigger? You've lost all right to honor.

That is not to say she was particularly honorable or virtuous, but at least she owned her sins. It made her better than these posers who preach that good shit but still kill fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters.

Frankie blinked. She had to stay focused. The man slipped behind a corner, and she let her breath go. Calm and quiet had been her modus operandi as of late. Her last loud gig went south, and she was dragged down along with it. She didn't think much of it when she started killing off the Golden Dragons. It all seemed to be going well with a grenade beneath the pillow here, a bullet to the brain from a half a klick there. That is until she tried to blow up a meeting they had. The man she was following, their leader, was no joke. The bastard jumped on top of the pile of grenades and walked away from it. Of course, Frankie didn't expect this, so when the grenades went off, she went in to clear any survivors, and there he was, chest blackened and still standing.

In the next few seconds, the bullets took up more space than air. Not a single moment went by without a shot ringing out. They weren't bad shots, but they didn't expect her to be better. She took out three of the seven before she took a shot to the shoulder. The leader stood defiantly, firing at her like he was shooting at a paper target. She locked him in her sight, but every shot seemed to miss him. Maybe it was luck or some new stupid tech he grabbed after one of his contracts. The bullet that hit her was big, and he knew what he was doing. A hollow point turned her humerus and clavicle inside out. She dropped, and they cornered her fast. It should have been her end, an assassin dying on the job like a damn amateur. But then "he" stopped them. Their leader, who had watched three of his friends get gunned down, spared her life.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

That's what the prick said before he let her go. It made Frankie furious. This wasn't just another job now; it was revenge. She killed the other three over the next week, slipping into their homes and cutting their throats. No trace, nothing to lead back to her, and the leader of the assholes still didn't seem to care. But now it was her turn. She would show this idiot what it meant to leave her alive.

Frankie waited a moment and followed the man around the corner. He still didn't seem to notice her as she swept up behind him. In a moment, she had flipped out her butter-fly knife and held it ready.

"Bum a smoke," The man pointed at her breast pocket. Smoking was a dirty habit, one she picked up after the job went wrong. Her hands shook as his finger inched closer.

"Ah fuck it, I got my own." His hand disappeared. It didn't move. She would have seen it move, but there it was, reaching into his coat. She readied her blade at him. A straight-on fight was not what she wanted, but she couldn't back down now. He removed a black box and flipped it open. He took the only two cigarettes left and crumpled the box, slipping it back into his pocket.