[Author's Note: Viewer Discretion Advised! Work contains depictions of blood and gore that are not for the weak stomached!]

There's something about the way that the cold air blows while the season threatens to change from fall to winter. There's a silence that envelopes the city at night. Animals and humans alike wish to flee from the chilling wind that surrounds the area. It's a particular occurrence that happens in the beginning of November and never dares to linger longer than a week at most. The early-morning skies swallow the city in a veil of temporary darkness; shielding the peaceful atmosphere from the beams of sunlight that will soon awaken a bustling atmosphere. It's in these moments, when the city sleeps, that the scent of death reveals itself.

There was an indisputable silence engulfing the alleyway. Nothing more than the gentle sway of the wind dared to challenge it. Crisp leaves fell to the ground; and whether they land in shallow puddles or softly touch the concrete is a matter of chance. The moon was full, yet somehow it still maintained a hollow aura. It was awfully cloudy, which caused the place to be shrouded in a thick darkness that made navigation difficult without the help of the mostly-broken streetlights. The streets were relatively empty, save for the headlights that would occasionally assist in lighting the dim area.

Sounds of drawn-out footsteps added a bleak layer of noise. Soles of heavy boots clashed with the rough ground. The irregular noise was just enough to alert the hooded figure that stood alone, shadows preventing any distinguishable features from being seen. The figure belonged to that of a man in his late thirties. He stood firmly, fully anticipating the source of the footsteps to soon reveal itself. His appearance was disheveled; green eyes were dilated, and a rough, messy stubble covered his chin in a typically distasteful way. He frantically reaches for something in the pocket of his jeans, still not being able to locate the owner of the consistent sounds.

He suddenly becomes overwhelmed, and it seems as though there are disruptions in the silence coming from every direction at once. The wind reverberates through the trees, and the leaves delicately scratch at the high walls of the alley before they hit the ground. His ears pick up on the crunches of leaves, and he realizes a second too late that the noise is coming from behind him.

He pulls something out of his pocket; and, based on the way it shimmers in the moonlight, it's some sort of knife. He backs away, eyes adjusting to make out the person who has now stopped a few paces in front of him. The first thing that enters his sight is long, light-colored hair that sways gently. His eyes widen a fraction as he stops in his tracks. It's a girl, a young woman even, she couldn't be any older than twenty years based on the youthfulness in her face. Her hair is a shade of blonde that almost appeared to be pure white against her pale complexion. There's a mole under her right eye, and even though it's small, it manages to be distinct.

Her most defining feature, though, was the bright red color of her irises. She wore a black, leather jacket that had some sort of white symbol embedded beneath the collar and over the chest pocket. A pair of dark pants were tucked neatly around the grey shirt that hardly showed itself from underneath the jacket. The black boots that made such a blunt noise against the ground were particularly hard to see at night, however the man could see them if he focused.

The man held his blade firmly, looking her in the eye as he pointed the blade towards her in an awfully aggressive manner. His gaze was firm, and overly threatening compared to the disinterested stare that met his own. The girl shrugs, raising her empty hands to face level and showing her palms as a means of demonstrating that she intends to do no immediate harm. However, the man doesn't give her actions a second thought. His guard remains high and unwavering. She sighs, speaking after noticing his lack of cooperation.

"Seriously, you already know you're going to die so stop with the tough guy act."

She says nonchalantly and observes the way the man's expression doesn't change in the slightest. Her voice is quite low, and the way that the wind interferes almost makes it difficult to hear. Not that she seems to mind, though. He's clenching his jaw; eyes narrowed as if he's looking at the devil's incarnate themself. She puts her arms down in exchange for warming her hands in the pockets of her jacket instead. The girl speaks again.

"Fine. Fine."

By the time her words enter strained ears, there's the unpleasant sound of metal scratching against the coarse ground. There's a moment of silence, and it's now when tense green eyes truly meet laxed red ones. It takes a fraction of a second for the man to notice what has happened; or rather, what hasn't happened. Nothing has happened. Neither of the two had done so much as to twitch a muscle, yet his knife had fallen to the ground. His fingers now clenching the air rather than an object. He eyes the subtle shine of the weapon on the ground, but changes his line of sight to the one in front of him when she speaks once again.

"You won't need it."

Her tone is akin to the way a heart beats in its final moments; it practically reminds him of death itself. There's a particular expression on her face, one that's somewhere on the bridge between amusement and excitement. A smile threatens to crawl across her lips, and it makes the man's blood run cold at the realization.

He starts to pivot his body in a way that would give him the best opportunity to run away, but she's suddenly inches away from him. He feels the way he sets her hand on his shoulder gently and freezes. It's a motion that's similar to the one a person would use with the goal of aiming to calm someone down. The girl lets out a form of a low laugh when she feels soft trembling beneath her fingertips.

"Where are you going?"

She whispers just loud enough for the man to hear; and he can practically sense her excitement based on her voice alone. He swallows deeply, too frightened to do anything except attempt to plead.

"Please, give me one more chance! I..I have a son to take care of!"

He stutters and she laughs fully in response.

"Another chance? Do you really think you deserve it? Plus, I couldn't care less about your children."

She replies. The man begins to visibly shiver as his brain runs rampant and nerves get the best of him. She removes her hand from his shoulder; maybe as a last act of kindness, or maybe just to fuck with him. She continues to taunt him without a second thought.

"I've been wanting to kill you for the longest, but they wouldn't let me. I had to ask so many times to get rid of you. I'm disappointed that it took this long for me to find you. You know, I just thought about it. I'll give you a chance to run away."

His expression shifts, and he almost immediately begins to move. But he halts when she says more.

"Let me finish."

She speaks sternly. By this point, small beads of sweat have begun to form on the man's forehead despite the chilly weather. He knows that a single movement out of line could cost him his life, so he instantly ceases movement.

"I'll let you go if you can tell me what you did wrong. How's that sound?"

She asks the question rhetorically; his input wouldn't truly matter. He shudders, opening his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Her gaze becomes harsh instead of disinterested; he thinks that it's similar to the disgusted look someone would give a pile of trash. She reaches down to grab the knife that's near her feet. There's an even redder glint in her irises that glows as her blood begins to rush in some kind of devious excitement. It doesn't take more than the refocusing of her eyes to push the man backwards. She hadn't touched him, yet a force triggered by her intense gaze caused him to stumble and helplessly fell to the ground.

She looks down at him before crouching next to his torso. He tries to do something, anything; but there's nothing he can do, really. At least not while there's some invisible force keeping him pressed against the ground. He can't move an inch, not that it'd make a difference. Fingers loosen their grip on the knife and direct the blade towards the skin at his neck.

"I'll help you remember."

An innocent smile travels its way across her face, and flesh is torn by the sharp metal in an instant. At first, it's shallow cuts across his neck, which cause him to groan.

She leaves several cuts on his neck, and then she's dragging the blade down to his chest. She thrusts the knife deep into the area right next to his heart, blood instantly spattering in every direction. He makes a noise that's something akin to a wail, but it's pointless. She twists the weapon while it's still lodged inside of his chest, making a gash large enough for blood to pool into it.

And then she removes the knife altogether. He would certainly die like this, but she's not quite satisfied yet. The deep red color of her irises is inhuman, it's nearly the same shade as the liquid that's now begun to bleed into the concrete. She moves her hand until it's right next to the hole created in his flesh. Her fingers slowly move inside of the laceration, making it as painful as possible.

The main is begging at the top of his lungs, though the sounds he's producing sound more like distorted gurgling than anything. He feels the movement of her hand and passes out from the mixture of pain and blood loss. She's feeling for a particular area and basks in satisfaction when she finally finds it. It's his heart, still beating, albeit much fainter than before. She wastes no time before she pulls the organ out of the cavity, threads of veins and arteries trailing with it. He's dead now, of course.

It continues to vaguely pump while in her grasp, and it's undoubtedly gross. She eyes it for a moment, wondering what to do with it. A thought crosses her mind, but it's quickly dismissed almost as soon as she thinks of it. She decides against doing anything unnecessary and puts it back where it came from. The sound of footsteps nears from next to her, and she sighs. There's a voice that travels soon after she registers the steps.

"Are you finished?"

The voice asks, and she doesn't even bother looking up to see who it is. She takes a deep breath before speaking.

"Give me a napkin or something."

She speaks while reaching her hand out, a paper texture grazing her fingertips as if it was waiting. She wipes away the blood from her hands and face, not bothering to clean up the smears on her clothes before standing up. Her eyes meet familiar deep brown ones.

"Is this really the reason you wanted to kill him so much?"

The person asks after looking at the bloodied body on the ground. It's a man in his early twenties. He's dressed in casual attire, carrying a backpack loosely on one shoulder. His eyes are a dark brown, matching his overall tanned complexion. His hair is a jet black that curls into short coils on top of his head. There's a laid-back expression on his face. Not particularly happy or angry. He begins to speak again, not giving her a chance to answer quite yet.

"Why did you ask for him to come here if you were just going to kill him anyways?"

The girl responds to his question after standing up.

"I wanted him dead because he's a terrible person, and there aren't any cameras here."

He sighs disapprovingly in response, not wanting to linger on the topic any longer than necessary. He's grown far too used to scenes like this. He speaks after grabbing something out of the side of his bag.

"It's AB. Don't waste it, you know this stuff is expensive."

He holds out a clear bag of a red liquid. She glances at it, before reaching to grab it. He's slightly shorter than her, so it's easy for her to take it from him without having to make any unnecessary contact. The bag is just small enough to fit into a pocket on the inside of her jacket.

She talks in a soft voice.

"I'm going home, don't follow me."

She doesn't say it with malice, and he nods in response. She speaks one last time before walking past the corpse that has started to run cold. And it's necessary for her to go out of her way to avoid stepping on one of the paled arms that's flailed about.

"Get someone to clean this up."