But, his job offered fulfilment. It is an escape, but in reality its only temporary fleeting for his sins and unforgiveable mistakes, an escape to a darker path, a hall stained with innocent blood he madly, yet gladly takes. David, Dav for short, sat comfortably and eerily calm in his finely cushioned sofa chair, sipping away at the coffee in hand in his desolate distant space he calls, home. He stood. He carefully sets his cup down, as he then prepares for his next contract- Long black concealing coat sat over his back like a crow's wings, a muffling mouth cover and a wide dark hat, to finish atop his gloves and heavy worn out black boots, adjourned with a pair of black and baggy trousers. He steps towards his window, peering out into the vastly dark, and lighted city. He gracefully leaped out from his window. The curtains desperately cling to him in prevention as he escapes into the dark and open world.

Through drawn out alleys and deep dark bends he travels, with speed. Turning like a violent flame to paper. He progresses up, scaling along narrow walls and crumbling scenes, until, he arrives. looking down towards the window of a happily lit home, a father, a mother, and a child. The target you ask? Is the man bearing his sweet daughter in his arms. He will die, he must die, no matter what, no matter the pain, no matter the guilt, no matter, no matter...no matter. He decomposes himself of his humanity, now perched like a predator stalking the weak, ready to stain his knife once more like he has many times before. With one deep breath...he's off, not unequal to a bullet shattering through the glass. He stands, his breath his heavy, but his looming figure remains unsettlingly still. The Father immediately shields his loved ones despite his aching, disheartened fear...pure, delicious fear. It is futile when he strikes, a swift plunge to his now bleeding gut, with a slash along up his neck to the chin before kicking his staggered figure against the wall. His blood curdled coughs pool around him in red, leaving the other two desperately clinging to each other in broken cries of despair. His body twists toward the child, the mania in his eyes spontaneously growing out of his control as he loses sight of the contract. A cackling, and twisted laugh escapes the clutches of his throat, his eyes glazed over with cruel satisfaction and pure, bloodlust. He quickly turns back to the father, adrenaline filling his every fibre like a seductive and warming drug. One he just cant, stop, taking. With a long drawn out raise of his blade, he strikes down, delivering the knife onto the beholder...his skull. The mother's desperate cries break out, begging, pleas shaking out her body as she clings to her scared and confused child, tears grip onto her face just as desperately. he slowly walks over...then just as slowly stops...His smile falters as he sees the kid now crying in pure... Wretched agony. He forces a grin, but he unconsciously steps back in confliction. Why has he stopped? he asks himself...you love this, you enjoy this...no? A strong sense of guilt suddenly stabs his heart, twisting around painfully as he aches to the questions. He was going to kill a child...what man in this world could ever think of such a heinous act. His hands shake, his palms quake with sweat and blood as he grips his knife tighter. He wants to say something, anything to break this torturous tension, But the words get trapped in his dying throat. Torn, torn between his job, his sadistic desires...his life of pure ignorant and selfish bliss...and his remaining humanity. Fear, the fear of stepping back to realise the suffering he's brought out, the fear of losing his mind to the maddening understanding of his sadistic, cruel ways. He tries to convince himself its for the job, for the money but no...it was an addiction, and enjoyed taking lives not for the money...but for the thrill.

After the painful collection of his money for the slaughter, he sits back down in his desolate distant space he now calls a cell. The home is silent, let alone for the slight drip of blood from his gloves...and the silent turmoil of his thoughts. The reality he made, the beliefs that provided him security, now broken like shattered pieces of glass he's given up on cleaning. His grey eyes slowly go adrift into a plane of no reality, his emotions on a thin line of string, the pain slowly waning out as his body, as loses grip of feeling. His attempt to cast the shame out into a cage like an animal... only builds a cage around himself. The numbness solidifies Dav like a stone, cold, statue. The questions that frantically plagued his mind...have silenced, and he sits there alone...his mind shut down in the effort to put his pain to rest.