STRANGULATE | Markicest

1 | STRANGULATE

The man struggled in his hands, choking against his vice grip. Hands grasping. Flailing. Quiet cries for help.

Mark squeezed harder, heaving through teeth. He shoved the man down to his knees. Muscle spasmed beneath his fingers. The pulse of life. The man scratched every part of him, but he kept his grip.

"Just a little more," he hissed. He banged the man's head against the concrete. Blood sprayed on the ground. Crimson. Black in the moonlight.

Mark gasped for breath as the man went limp, giving one last squeeze before pulling away. His heart pumped in his ears, a ferocious drum, and a smile grew on his panting lips. He brushed back his hair with bloody fingers, reaching into his coat pocket for a vial and a dropper.

Kneeling closer to the body, he pressed the dropper into the man's thick blood, letting it ooze into the tiny, gem-like vial. He sealed it with a bit of cork, stowing away the items into his pockets.

"I can see it now," huffed Mark, still breathless. "The press panicking again. The government stressing that they can't catch me."

He pulled out tweezers and plucked out strands of the man's hair, storing them away in a plastic bag that he hid in his coat.

"I'm right beneath their noses."

He pulled out his phone, scrolling down to one of the contacts and pressing call. After a few rings, it picked up, and a voice came through the line.

"Amy," said Mark with a singsong voice. "Care to help out a friend?"

He received a pleased 'yes' and an 'I'll be there in fifteen minutes.' Mark smiled.

"Perfect," he said. "I'm in the third location."

———

Fifteen minutes later, Amy walked onto the scene, clothed in all-black and latex gloves. She greeted Mark with a nod, eyes flitting down to the body on the floor.

"You hit him good," she said, kneeling by the cadaver's head and examining it. Her eyes widened, and she pouted. "Is this Eric Myers?"

"B-List actor and naturalist activist? Yes, he is," said Mark with a grin. Amy groaned, standing up.

"I actually liked this guy," she whined with a stamp of her foot.

"I know," said Mark, walking up to the body. A dark light came across his eyes, and he rose a brow at Amy. "You wanna keep his head? It'd be like his signature but more."

Amy laughed at that, hovering her hands over her stomach. "Oh, I wish," she snorted, gazing down at the celebrity. "But my job is to get rid of evidence. Not keep it."

"And I applaud you for that," said Mark. "Ready to get to work?"

She nodded, and Mark lifted up the body with a grunt, the dead weight taxing his muscles. Amy pulled a few items out of her thick belt to clean up the blood, and they both set to work, removing the scene of any possible evidence and tracking misleads as they left.

As they finished, Mark slipped out his phone and went through his contacts again, finding the name, and pressed call. He waited a few moments for an answer, watching Amy pack up through the corner of his eye, and held the phone up to his ear when the line picked up.

"Ethan," greeted Mark with a smile. "What do you say for some dinner with me tonight?"

———

"This is my twenty-sixth kill," said Mark as he set up the kitchen table, smiling over at Ethan. "A few more, and my collection should be complete."