At this point, you probably think I’m some kind of deranged serial killer. It’s not easy to change people’s preconceptions, so please bear with me as I continue.
I’m a hitman. In the business, they call me “Ray.”
If a profession exists, it must have a reason to exist. In this world, people kill each other all the time—some with power, some with love, some with the law, and some even with morality. Sometimes, it takes just a small thing—a curse, a shove, even a dirty look—for someone to want another dead. This era is like a boiling cage; everyone’s on edge.
But I digress. My point is, because the desire to kill has never disappeared, our profession has survived through the ages. From ancient assassins to modern contract killers, the rules have evolved: pay double, and you can choose the method; triple, and you get extra services—like the video I just showed, which helps the client feel even more satisfied.
It’s nothing to be proud of, but nothing to be ashamed of either. That’s how I see the hitman’s trade.
Until I met a very unusual client.
“You’re really a hitman? You’d kill someone for this little money?” Across the table, a handsome man with a pale face—whether from nerves or excitement, I couldn’t tell—sat fidgeting. On his right hand was a striking red ring, and on his left, a strange leather glove.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“And you let people choose the method of death? Is your service always this… considerate?” He gulped, dabbing sweat from his brow with an expensive handkerchief.
“Of course. Who do you want dead?”
He pulled a photo from his pocket and pointed to a man in it. “Start with this one.”
According to him, his good friend’s girlfriend had been attacked by a vicious dog while jogging in the park. She screamed for help, but the dog’s owner actually encouraged the dog to bite harder. The woman ended up in the hospital, and his friend asked him to “take care of it.”
The photo was blurry, but the dog owner’s arrogance was unmistakable.
“All this, and you want him dead?” I frowned.
“Getting rid of scum like this is a public service, isn’t it?” He stared at me intently.
“Half up front, the rest when it’s done. Transfer it to my account.”
“No need—I’ll pay in full now. Consider it a gesture of friendship. I’m sure we’ll work together often.” He grinned, signaling his assistant to transfer the money.
Chapter 02
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