the kill order Prologue: A Day to Forget =+= His name was Joe Smith. Forgettable, and practically untraceble in any database, buried beneath the weight of other, more notable Joes and Smiths. A long time ago, he was someone else. Then, before that, he was just another innocent. A child named Alder Ghent. Not that you'd be able to find any Alder Ghents anywhere (no matter how unique the name), seeing as all records of such a person had been obliterated. But Joe hadn't any time for dwelling on the past. His future, his end, was bearing down far too quickly. He remembered this tyke. A boy. Slender, wily, with eyes alight in curiousity and disdain. Said boy slunk towards him. The stooped hunch of his shoulders indicated disappointment. "You weren't supposed to bleed." Ah, thought Joe. So that's what it was about. "I'm terribly sorry for inconveniencing you," Joe Smith replied with a gasp. His hand trembled, sending shivers of pain through the torn flesh of his abdomen. It was pressed against the bullet hole in his stomach, attempting to keep all imperative organs within his body. "No matter. Blood will out—has, already. Whatever your choice; whatever you choose…I will kill you." The assassin crept forward, blades flashing in the lowlight. "A knife? How primitive." Joe's father always claimed his smart mouth would land him in trouble. Though, there wasn't much the man could do to worsen his situation—so he felt comfortable letting a few insults fly. "It was supposed to be perfect," the boy insisted. "It was supposed to be clean. To be beautiful." Joe turned away from the child's words in disgust. The boy sounded like an obsessive serial killer, instead of the clinical, emotionless weapon he was trained to be. But Joe was familiar with the consequences of a non-clean kill. He sympathized with his assassin. "I'll tell you a secret." The boy was speaking again. "You are my first." Joe managed to lift his head on a failing reservoir of strength. He exhaled slowly, gazing into the last face he'd ever see. What Joe Smith saw swimming in the dark, dark eyes of that boy terrified him. "Child," he whispered. "They will pay for playing god." A bright, savage grin answered him. "No. That would be you who's paying the price." Joe didn't get the chance to answer, for the boy sunk his knife into the dying man's throat, and twisted viciously, cutting off all chance of speech. He shifted his gaze to the muddy, starless night sky as blood erupted in viscuous spurts around the silver blade lodged in his throat. Joe was dying. He might as well already be dead. Death. The man trafficked in it once. Reveled in it. Craved the hunt, the screams, and the earth-shattering quiet after the deed had been done. And now he was nothing. No one. A shallow, pathetic echo of past glory days, all because of one charismatic little girl. Joe Smith did not believe in dwelling on the past. Even still, his thoughts drifted to the lives he had lived, and the lives he had stolen—until his mind drifted nowhere at all. • • • Ticker perched on the balls of his feet, staring down at the fast-cooling corpse before him. Zombie's voice crackled, coming to #life in his ear. "Good job Ticker. Let's go." Ticker paused, hesitating for a moment. Before he could talk himself better of it, he quickly folded Joe's arms over themselves, and arranged his legs into a stiff-straight configuration befitting of a dead man. One last due, a small act of respect. Ticker backed away from the corpse. Once he was at the mouth of the alleyway, the boy tore off into the night, eager to get home and scub the memories of Joe from his blood-caked skin. • • • In the morning, police would arrive on the scene. They wouldn't linger long. Just another case of gang violence. It wasn't as if he had any family or friends that would question his passing. If anyone decided to inquire further into the man's unfortunate demise…well, they were easily silenced. …as easily silenced as Joe Smith had been, just the night prior. All according to the kill order.