I got so good at hiding my psychopathy that I almost fooled myself.

༻𖥸༺

This one was messy. She could just tell with one glance down in the alleyway, red eyes narrowed in a half mast in annoyance as the nicotine smoke swirled around her face. One quick smoke before work, she'd told herself ten minutes ago knowing full well that she was on her third cigar already.

To the idiot who thought that murdering someone in Tokyo was an excellent idea 一she mused blithely, stomping on her finished death pokki一 fuck you.

But like, in a nice, cursive font. Oh, that sounded like a nice idea for a 'the job's done' message.

Throwing away the evidence of her ongoing attempt at killing herself, the woman tugged on her red leather gloves, making sure they were properly fastened before pulling her red and black hair in a high ponytail and covering her face with a respirator and sighing at the amazing end she was about to bring to her week.

"Let's get this shit over with." She said in the most put-out tone she could muster.

She'd already taken care of the body 一dumped in the vat of acid in her van and in the short process of disintegrating一 so that was one headache in minus. Eyes fleeting over the scene and mentally making a checklist, she took hold of the disinfectant and hydrogen peroxide and brought them by the already prepared bottle of vinegar.

Dumping the hydrogen peroxide and vinegar in one bucket, she let them sit and mix as she set herself to disinfect the area.

Walking around the scene and making sure that no blood got onto her heeled boots, the woman sprayed every outside area of the pools of blood littered around the area.

There was so much trash. Fucking idiot. Couldn't he have made the kill nice and swift? No, there had to be a struggle. Just to make her work a little bit of a pain in the backside.

Finishing up with the disinfectant, the woman prepared herself to mop up the blood on the concrete floor. Sometimes, she didn't know why she kept on with this job.

Just as she was about to dunk the mop in the bucket of chemicals, she found herself with her head upsidedown, wrapped up in some sort of scarf as she dangled from the fire escape on the side of the building.

Coming face to face with the source of her current predicament, red eyes closed, shielding away an annoyance equal to the power of a thousand burning suns.

"My job sucks." Were her sudden musings, though she didn't quite know if they were for the benefit of herself or her capturer.

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Aizawa Shota was tired. He was pulling an all nighter for his graveyard shift. Perhaps it had been a little bit too much to hope for a quiet night.

Standing behind the glass of the interrogation room, the tired underground hero looked at the bored woman cuffed to the table.

This was going to be a headache and a half. He could just tell from a glance that this woman was technically the female version of himself. Dry wit wrapped up in a sarcastic package that thinly veils the crippling insomnia一 as the designer bags under her red eyes indicated.

She looked resigned, if anything. As if this was routine by now. Which, by reading the records supplied by the police, it was.

Sighing through his nose, Aizawa pulled at the neverending patience he usually uses with his class and stepped through in the interrogation room.

She looked up at the door opening, glancing at him for just a second before going back to staring at her hands, as if he wasn't even worth her time and her gloves were more interesting. Which, fair. He did turn her into an impromptu mummy on sight. She had cause for her grumpiness. He just hoped she would cooperate with him on this.

Sitting down on the chair opposite of her, he crossed his arms seconds after throwing the folder on the table. "Shigazawa Hitomi, age twenty seven. In foster care since age six. Bounced around the system until after middle school when you got adopted by Shigazawa Kujō."

The woman 一Hitomi一 huffed at his short summary of her life, red eyes peering at him from behind black and red bangs. "Are you going to ask your questions or are we here to braid each other's hair?"

There it was. The sarcasm that he so waited for. Record said that Shigazawa suffered from psychopathy, which he could see right before him, clear as day. Psychopathy, a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, and poor behavioral controls, commonly results in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior.

Criminal behavior was right on the money. Hitomi has had bad experiences with law since before starting middle school. Always getting into fights and stealing, not once showing remorse when confronted for her actions. Somehow, it didn't surprise him that she ended up as a cleaner.

Short of two months before her fourteenth birthday, Hitomi somehow ended up in a less favourable part of Ibaraki where after being assaulted by a man with less than innocent intentions 一a now very dead man一 her teenage self met the late Shigazawa Kujō who later on adopted her.

The records on hand said that her adoptive father taught her everything she needed to know so she could take over the family business after his death, seeing as he had no spouse or children.

The, quote-on-quote, family business was a cleaning service of less than normal dirt, so to speak. Death's Fixer (and what a suggestive name that was) took clean up requests from both criminals and police. Everything was aboveboard too, legalities done and signed by the right people. A legitimate business, if anything.

"Before we get to the questions," She began, drawing his attention from his musings, "do you mind getting these cuffs off?" The inquiry came with the complimentary eye gesture to her hands.

Mentally debating the situation for a second, the underground hero gestured to the officer present by the door to fulfill the older woman's request.

"Thanks." She murmured, no real gratefulness in her voice. After rubbing her now free wrists, Hitomi glanced back up at him as she mirrored his position and crossed her hands. "Let's set the ground rules mister hero. Guidelines and such bullshit."

He so did not like this part. Had the situation been different, he could have vetoed her bull-headed-ness and not listened to the rules. But since the woman before him was running a legitimate company and had paperwork and contracts upon contracts to uphold, Aizawa had to comply with the situation.

"Here are the important ones: number one, I can't give names, provider-contractor policy and whatnot;" She began listing off, her right hand raising as she gradually added fingers to the impromptu tally, "number two, I'm not required, under any circumstances, to tell you the names of my business partners and employees 一 that unless you have a court order signed by a judge; and number three, my personal favorite, I am not obligated to answer any of your questions that I deem inappropriate in regards to my work line."

She gave him a smile. Not a kind one either. This one was full of vicious amusement and radiated smug satisfaction, not unlike one of his cats after they've knocked over a plant pot. It was the smile of someone that knew you had nothing on them that could be incriminating. In this situation, she was just the hypothetical middleman, hired simply to do the dirty work of the actual perpetrator.

He so hated this part of his job.

Sighing out loud, letting her know that she technically had him backed into a corner with the legalities of everything, he proceeded to whip out a small notebook and pen. "Let's not waste any more time than either of us is willing to give and wrap it up."

She smiled once more, no longer viciously but no less smugly, and inclined her head. "Please, proceed."

He was so getting a drink after this.

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She gently chewed on the butt of the cigar in her mouth, momentarily forgetting about it as her gloved fingers glided over her list of contacts, finally settling over one after what seemed to be an eternity.

Listening to the ringing in her ear, she inhaled another lung-full of the toxic smoke as she waited for the call to connect.

It didn't take long before a very familiar voice greeted her. "I'm guessing they've let you go?"

Snorting out loud, she exhaled the smoke, letting it swirl around her almost tantalizingly. "Idiots, the lot of them." She retorted her not quite answer.

There was a pause, some shuffling of papers echoing from the other side, the distinctly male voice returning but a moment later. "I've sent a team to finish your job boss and the money was wired into the account."

That was good news. It meant that no real resources were lost and that her carefully prepared chemicals hadn't gone to waste. "Good. And Araki? Send a car for me, will you?"

"Already on it boss. It'll be just a few minutes now."

Smiling vaguely at her assistant's usefulness, Shigazawa Hitomi puffed once more from her cigar. "See you at the office." She didn't wait for a reply as she ended the call, silently pocketing the phone in her pants.

She stared numbly into the sky as she waited by the curb for her ride. No stars were to be seen, as expected. She was alone outside of the police station, only her and her pack of cigarettes and the lone lighter that should be replaced come next week. She idly though that she ought to upgrade from the cheap plastic shit at the convenience store to a more fancy one. Maybe she should commission for one. She huffed in vague amusement at the prospect of a new lighter to add to her steadily expanding collection.

Humming a song whose name she couldn't quite fish at the top of her head, her red eyes bore into the death stick expertly held between her fingers.

She'd picked the bad habit from her father, of all places. She'd have thought that she'll start smoking sometimes during middle school, what with the shit she'd gone through back then. But at this crossroad in time, she pondered langourously, it was a moot point.

Huffing out another string of smoke as her phone buzzed in her back pocket, Hitomi stomped on the three-quarters of a finished cigar and shoved her hands in the pockets of her back dress pants.

Stepping towards the street just in time for a black car to pull up in front of her, the head of Death's Fixer opened the car door and sat herself neatly on the leather backseat. "Back to the office." She told whoever was driving, not caring nearly enough as she should about his existence.

"Yes boss."

She had paperwork to sign and bank accounts to go over. She'd wasted enough time due to the sensibilities of the police.

────────────────────────

Juninshi Araki was already by the door by the time his boss entered the building, files neatly held in hand underneath a clipboard with his boss' timetable and schedule for the month.

Light blue hair gelled back to reveal a set of slitted golden eyes, Araki was dressed as usual when it came to work; black suit blazer, presses white shirt and black pants一 be they suit pants or jeans depended on the day. Given that he always followed the boss into business meeting after business meeting in his quality as her assistant, he had to look the part as to not embarrass the boss.

Araki was also the most longstanding assistant that Hitomi had hired. Some had just been let go after the probation period, some figured out they weren't a good fit for what the position entailed and some just disappeared under mysterious circumstances after pissing off the boss.

It was a no-brainer that the boss got rid of them in the only way she knew that won't leave traces: the vat of acid to which only she had the key. Very few people that they were required to rid off were buried or cremated, fewer even ending up donated to science. Most just wound up on the coroner's table, what with the usual work they did for the police.

While their business was legal, that did not mean that their clients were of the same crop. Hell, not even boss was supposed to be out of jail, but she was just that good at cleaning up after herself. When it came to cleaning up after others, those on the less legal side of things, it all depended on if they'd pissed off one of their contracted 'friends' or boss herself.

Shigazawa Hitomi might have looked like an insomniac and emotionless little doll, but when it came to the violent side of things, she preferred to avoid pussyfooting around the issue.

So, how did Araki end up being the only assistant that made it? It was quite simple if you took into equation his less than stelar home life from age three to seventeen and how he'd gotten involved with the wrong kind of people from there on. Not that anyone but the boss knew. All employee files were confidential alongside everything written in there, that including the mandatory background check.

Most of the people working for Death's Fixer were ex-convicts and ordinary citizens that unintentionally got mixed with the seedier parts of the city. That was all that Araki knew about his fellow employees. He didn't know what criteria had to be fulfilled for someone to be qualified to a certain cleaning team, but then again, it wasn't his business who got placed where.

Golden eyes glanced over to the right just as Hitomi-sama stepped through the entrance, the doorman's head bowed in respect, not that their boss acknowledged him. But it was what was expected.

They were, in hindsight, somewhat similar to the yakuza. Not that they weren't familiar enough with those dealings. Speaking of...

"The Hassaikai are requesting for a meeting, Hitomi-sama." He announced, silently falling into step behind his boss.

The older woman hummed, clearly noncommittal and uncaring. "On what grounds?" She inquired upon reaching the elevator.

"Something about the contract you have with them. They were awfully vague with the details." The veiled complain was there and it won't take boss much to pinpoint it.

Hitomi-sama hummed once more, this time her eyes narrowed into thin slits at the details given. She was now focused on his words. He knew not why her mind had gone into a rabbit hole of thoughts, but he needed her to resurface and deal with this issue. It didn't bode well that their most proeminent yakuza contact was calling about the contract they had between them. It could be about something good, but then again, their line of work didn't have room for flimsy hope.

Stepping out of the elevator and following after boss towards her office, he paused inside by the door after handing over the files he had been carrying and waiting for her to be seated behind her giant desk. There were already a few small stacks of paperwork waiting for her to filter through them.

Once the files she had been given hit the desk, Shigazawa Hitomi turned her full attention to her waiting assistant. Said assistant was trying his best not to squirm under the unnerving red-hazed gaze bearing into him. It wasn't the first time he had been subjected to the boss' intense scrutiny and the only thing that had him surviving it was the thought that her mind was elsewhere and he was simply the object she decided to focus on. It helped, not that Araki appreciate the fear seeping into him every time it happened.

Turning her red coloured gaze to the wall where her late father's portrait hung just above a table with a large golden vase, his boss finally dignified him with a decision. "Find an empty spot in my schedule later this week and get back to them. I'll prepare a contingency plan on the offside things go wrong and get back to you. Dismissed."

Bowing at the waist, Juninshi Araki bid his boss a good night and left her to her devices. The older woman was evidently in a bad mood and the news that he'd brought to her did nothing to help better it.

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Not even glancing down at the paperwork waiting for her attention, Hitomi raised herself from her leather chair and walked towards her father's portrait. There wasn't much in terms of appearance that denoted any sort of familial relationship between them, not that there was any. They were on opposite spectrums in terms of looks, what with her father's bright hair and eyes being in complete opposition to her much darker palette.

He'd been her father in everything but blood and she would forever be grateful for him saving her that one faithful night fourteenth years ago.

Her eyes carried themselves downwards towards the sealed golden vase on the small table in front of her, gloved fingers gently tracing the rim of the lid.

"The Hassaikai have been our contractors since before you were in charge of Death's Fixer, father." Her voice was gentle, a far cry from the tone she used when dealing with her employees and people trying to poke their noses where it didn't belong. "I'm afraid what future will befall our connection. I'm afraid that the other yakuza syndicates will follow them and cut ties with us should that be the reason of our future meeting."

She spoke her fears into the silent room, eyes never leaving the golden vase before her. She was alone, therefore she could afford a moment of weakness before her late father's memorial.

Her insecurities were high, yet unfortunately not unfounded. The Hassaikai were the most proeminent yakuza syndicate in Japan, it would be common sense for the lesser known ones to follow in its steps should they decide that their longstanding contract with Death's Fixer was no longer of use.

Sighing away her worries, she buried them from another day's perusal. She had no time to waste on frivolous sentimentalities. Seating herself once more at her desk, the red eyed woman swiveled in her chair and looked at the skyline that greeted her from beyond her windows.

It could be argued that Shigazawa Hitomi was the head of an illegal organization.

But then again, there is no concrete proof to back such audacious theories.

✂------------------------------------------

Shigazawa Hitomi
滋賀沢ひとみ

❝ Welcome to Death's Fixer, how may we wash away your sins? ❞

Juninshi Araki
荒木淳忍

❝ Acting out on your emotional overload would be inadvisable. ❞

NOTE
This is just an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. I might or might not continue it. It depends on the response this story will get.