As soon as I stepped inside I heard a floorboard creak. Besides the obvious deep shit that making any noise would get both of us into, I also felt it was unfair that I was the one who had to step wrong. We both held our breath, but nothing else seemed to move or make any sound.

Then we heard another creak.

And another.

And very soon it was clear that somebody else was up. I looked around for a sign of life, maybe a distant light, but this house was so tiny that if anything was moving I should've been able to see it by now. I shifted my gaze towards Max and signaled him to stay close by. He nodded, slowly closing and locking the door behind him.

"Who's there?"

A loud, gruff voice broke the silence and almost made me jump—a rare occasion, I'll have you know. Just by hearing it I could see our newest victim now: some stubby, forty-year-old loser with an alcohol problem, who had nothing better to do with his time than sit around. Old habits told me to find this guy ASAP and finish the job. But part of me was curious to see what he would do if he found two elusive nobodies both dressed in white, tiptoeing around his house like they were trying to sneak out to a party past curfew. I stuck to the wall near the doorway, trying to locate where his voice was coming from. A few more calls of "answer me" did the trick, and I found that he was on the stairs to the basement, following the same path Max must have led to open the door.

What's he doing down there in the middle of the night?

"...ugh. I'm probably going nuts. Why would anyone be here."

By now, I'd moved to the corner just by him, and could see him scratching his head and looking back towards the stairs with resent.

"Stupid...fucking..."

He muttered a few more cusses and incoherent phrases under his breath and made for the other stairway that led to the second floor. It was a miracle it was far too dark for him to see us; I even managed to catch a whiff of his breath, and tried my hardest not to gag. It should be impossible for me to smell anything! Why this? Why now?

After I heard a door slam shut from above our heads, I crept over to where this guy had come from and leaned into the basement stairs. There wasn't a chance I'd spot something from all the way up there. Max started walking back down, maybe to see if there was anything he'd missed. His tracks could have been noticed; I wouldn't have put it past him to leave something behind for anyone investigating.

Or maybe this guy had some other business Max didn't see.

Either way, I followed him this time. The basement was actually divided into two rooms; we walked into the larger one, which was almost completely empty save for a couple of tiny shelves on one wall. I saw the window he'd come through, near the ceiling and apparently unnoticed. There was nothing much else. Maybe a cobweb or two. I looked to the chain-locked door on my left, and opened it to a far smaller room with a child laying on the ground, close to tears. It looked like a boy. He was pretending to be asleep, if not very convincingly; his hands were twitching nervously, his eyes were shut tight, he was almost shaking. The poor thing. With every step I took closer to him, he only curled up more into himself. He couldn't see me, but he was still afraid. I wasn't sure if he even knew that I wasn't his dad.

Then I caught sight of the countless bruises, peppered onto this kid's arms, legs, face, everywhere. Something in me seemed to wake up at that. I felt a new sense of fury rise in my chest and into my throat, but I stifled it for his sake.

"Oh...looks like he's sleeping," I said, loud enough so he could hear me but careful not to raise my voice above regular speaking level. "I guess that means we can skip over him...but are those marks I see? Did that lousy father hurt his own kid?"

I looked at Max and glared, signaling him not to say a word.

"Maybe if he hears me in his sleep, he could let me know somehow."

I waited a minute. Then, almost like he doubted himself, the kid slowly nodded, a single tear beading through his shut eyes. He was trembling now, and his hands curled up into fists. Mine did, too. I tilted my head. "I see. Well, come on." I stood up and tapped Max on the shoulder briefly as if to check that he was still there. "Let's put an end to all that, shall we?"

"Yes," he said quietly, with a hint of realization in his tone. "We'll make sure he never hurts anyone ever again."

—

"Wakey, wakey, dipshit."

The man's eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed, looking wildly around like a frightened animal. As funny as it was, I didn't allow myself to laugh. He still couldn't see me, somehow. I noticed that recent blood stained the edges of his sheets, and my disgust grew.

"If you're making me go this out of line with my style, then we definitely have a problem."

"Who are you. Who's there. I'll call the police, I can fight you off."

I let out a disapproving grunt. "Funny. I've heard those all before. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you can fight a guy like me off for a while. After all..."

I stepped into the stream of moonlight the window gave off, and drew my knife.

"...you didn't seem to have any issues throwing a little match with your own son. Did you?"

He paused, then slowly raised a fist. "The hell do you know about me and my kid. He...he fell. That's it."

"On his arms, and legs, and face? From every angle possible? You're going to have to be a better liar than that if you want to get away with your life."

Of course, I was lying. I was going to kill him either way. But just for fun, I wanted him to believe that he could have easily survived if he'd put on a more convincing charade. I only hoped Max could tell; he didn't question me, though it might have been to hide himself just a little bit longer until my say-so.

The guy, after almost a minute, couldn't manage to find something to retaliate with. It looked like he was considering shattering a small medicine bottle laying on his night table, which was pathetic in and of itself. When he hesitantly stood up and waited another five seconds for me to charge, I realized that this was all he had to offer. He wasn't going to beg for his life. He wasn't going to try and deny anymore what he did to his son. He was either ready to fight, or ready to die. It was almost sad, but who would I be to deprive him of that?

"...gut him quick, and we'll leave."

"Wh-who are you talking to...? What are you doing—"

"Quiet now, you sick fuck. We're having a little test run is all."

Before I could say much else, Max had already strangled him from behind, the twine almost cutting into his neck. He tried to break free, but the pliers went into his stomach like they were scissors gliding through wrapping paper. He was far from dead at this point. A suffering, gory mess, yes. But not dead. Apparently, it just wouldn't do to stab him straight in the belly.

I frowned and tapped my chin, pretending to think. "What could be missing from this...? Oh, I know."

I stepped forward while he was still restrained and slowly carved a particularly wide grin into his face.

"It's joy."

Words could not describe how awful the situation must have looked to an outsider. Everything was covered in blood, and what must have been his barely digested booze. He still wasn't exactly dead, though I could see the light draining from his eyes by the second. For some reason he didn't scream. He just choked out something that sounded like a "fuck you," and I couldn't care less. For some reason, I actually loved to hear that from a dying man.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be sure to do that. In the meantime, my partner and I had better be going." I shot a sharp glance to Max, who'd nearly knocked himself out holding this guy for me. Admirable. But still not enough. I motioned for him to let go, and let the guy fall face-first onto the floor. Before leaving the room, I threw my knife down into his back just to make sure. I heard something crack, and his body went limp.

Two in one.

"Ready to go," Max muttered, hesitantly wiping blood off of his shirt. I turned on my heels, making sure to grab both of our things on the way out. "You don't want to touch that. It's probably mixed with more than what you see."

I let that sink in before waving him along. Tonight had been enough.

Midway to the trapdoor, I stopped in the woods and pressed a finger to his chest.

"Alright. You definitely tried your best, I can see that."

Immediately, he jumped into defense mode. "I can do better. I swear. I-it was just really dark, and it's a lot harder to hold someone with a piece of twine and stab them in the gut at the same time than you'd thi—"

"Of course. But you know, 'it's really dark' isn't much of an excuse for someone who can only afford to kill at night. So I'm gonna take into account, well...all that," I said vaguely, gesturing up and down at him like some physical therapist, "and safely say that you're going to need a lot of practice. You caught me at a good time, I'll give you that. And once you're competent with a weapon you'll be working for me."

"Wait, wait, working for you? Where'd you get the idea that I'd want to do that?" As I continued forward, he struggled to run ahead and stop me. I gave him a tired stare, then said in a mocking falsetto, "Oh, sir, I can be useful to you!"

He frowned. "That's not what I sound like."

"Bah, close enough. Point is, you wanna stay with me? Earn it. You're letting me teach you how to properly kill, and then you're gonna be my little assistant. Take it or leave it."

I didn't know exactly why seemed was so surprised at that. Maybe it was because he assumed that we would be equals here. But we can't always get what we want, now can we?

While he was still lost in thought, I snapped in front of his face. "Well? I'm not going to do shit if you don't actually want to, it'd be a waste of time for both of us. What do you say?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "...I say fine. Not sure what this whole killing thing does for you, but I could stand to learn some more. It's a deal."