He walked down the depressing street with a skip in his step. His black, leather dress shoes made a steady clip-clop sound that echoed down the alley of houses on Athens Street. The houses were sorority houses; few people outside of the sorority or fraternity groups passed down that particular street for they had no need to. This man, however, though not of any fraternity, continued on his way to the end of the street. He had a purpose here; it was an unconventional purpose, but a purpose nonetheless. At the end of the street, there was a cul-de-sac, and on the far side was the perfect house. It was a small Tudor with pale blue siding and crisp white trimming. This house stood out from all the rest despite having a similar façade. It almost seemed to glow brighter than the other houses, as if it were beckoning the man and his deeds. The man eyed the house.
"Perfect," he said to himself.
He continued down to the end of the cul-de-sac and onto the path that went across the front yard. The grass was well kept, and it was obvious that someone meticulously worried over the landscaping. In any other environment, the property could have been passed off as a family home, but the sign reading Alpha Beta Gamma made it clear that the house was occupied only by college students.
The man ascended the three, wooden steps that led to the front door. On his way up, the top step creaked. Leave, the creaking step said, or, at least, that's what the man thought it said. He hesitated for a moment; was his plan compromised? After a short time, the man simply laughed.
"How funny that I should be scared by a step that's seen little more than the sky and the bottom of people's shoes all its life!"
He continued to the front door, and, after straightening his tie, he knocked thrice on the knocker. There was a moment of silence before someone opened the door. Behind the threshold now stood a girl, obviously young and rather frail looking. She had blonde locks pulled back behind a face that could only compare to a mouse of sorts. She wasn't ugly, just small.
The man looked down on the girl, literally and theoretically, for she was minimal in size and apparent character.
"Yes," she questioned. She even squeaked like a mouse.
"Good evening. I am here from the university Clubs and Sports Administration," the man explained.
The girl stared at him blankly, and for a moment she seemed a force to be reckoned with. The man started to et nervous again. Would she let him in? Just how tough was this girl who appeared so fragile?
"And?" she questioned.
"Wh-what?" the man stammered, his heart racing.
"You're with the university, so what do you need?" she asked.
There was now a slight coldness in her face.
"Oh," the man started, "well, one of our interns messed up and lost all the official information that we had on our clubs and sports teams. Would you mind helping me get that information back?"
He sounded so innocent and honest.
"Yeah, sure," the girls said.
The little bit of the coldness left her face, and she moved to the side so that the man could enter the house. The man nod his head as he walked into the bright foyer. A vintage chandelier hung regally from the high ceiling and cast a golden light through the entry. To the left was a gathering room, and to the right was something close to a sitting room of sorts.
The man took a seat on a couch on the far wall of the sitting room. He placed his briefcase on his lap and carefully opened it. The first thing that he saw on the inside was his machete; it sat on top of everything else. The machete was a go to weapon for the man. It was easy to carry and use, yet still retained a healthy talent at precisely separating a body into many pieces. Beneath the machete were guns, an assortment of pistols to be exact.
