"Alejandra Depalma," a man said as he walked around a girl sitting in a chair, she was bound to it, her lip was bleeding and fresh bruises were starting to appear on her flesh. Her big brown eyes showed only fear and anger.
"What do you want with me, I am useless to you!" She cried, her voice showed a facade of bravery, well to him it did.
"I want to know your real name, because it sure as hell ain't Alejandra." He growled, a huskiness overflowed into the anger, arousing something deeper into her heart that spiraled out of control. She groaned as she imagined telling her name.
"It's Sybyl," she said softly, adverting her eyes from him. "Well, what's yours?" she asked, looking at the ground, sliding her fan out of her sleeve as he leaned torwards her, his hands on her shoulders.
"It won't mat-" he was cut off by her slicing his throat with her fan. She slid it back into its wrist holster. She stepped over his bpdy and preceded to the table, where she grabbed a needle and thread and the note. This is what it said:
Dear Mr. Medlov,
I am sorry to inform you that we have need of your services once again, There is a child that needs to be taught...A lesson, and you are the only person who can teach her to stay out of our... business...mostly because you do not kill your victims, she cannot die, and you cannot do anything sexual to this girl, but you may do anything else.
Signed, Tesla Hellagie
YOU ARE READING
The Assassins of Steampunk
RandomRust will bear the consequence of killing an interrogation target while searching for someone.
