The man was thrown back against the metal wall, his head cracking nastily against it. He groaned, and looked up at me. He had dark hair, a prominent chin and pale skin, which was now covered in bruises and cuts. He was panting hard as blood dribbled out of a slice across his forehead and dripped down his cheek, onto the cold, concrete floor.
"Please..." He choked.
A swift uppercut to the chin and he was sent skidding across the ground. He whimpered as I crouched down in front of him, so close our noses were almost touching.
"I'm begging you," He said weakly, "I didn't do it. I don't know who did, but it wasn't me..."
I stared straight at him, sizing him up. He didn't look the sort, but orders are orders... Without releasing my gaze, I slid a small black pistol from an inside pocket of my long, tan coat, and pressed it to his head. His lip trembled slightly, and he looked despairingly into my eyes. I pulled the trigger.
His body hit the ground with a thump and a splatter of blood. By the time anyone found him, I would be gone.
