Sleaze and sin after the hours of one The clock is ticking, but it's all too slow. I am yet again working after hours of my shift due to an employee bailing out again, which happens so often that it might as well be the norm to work here at this point.

It's not even a bad day today, just another shitty day in an endless stream of shitty days. And with that, though, I almost thought that Carmine was right.

No one has come to relieve me in a while, because 'those who work late are people who want to get laid,' according to the adage. So that leaves me alone to serve orders for the hundredth time today. I no longer bother counting. Instead, I made myself a drink and chugged it. Of course, it burns, but it makes me feel better for a little while.

Even when I'm weary or frustrated, the warmth in my chest reminds me that it's still there. This is how life feels when you choose to live your life rather than being compelled to do so by circumstance. That's probably why I keep drinking this crap over and over. It's my view of liberty. The seclusion of my thoughts and the quiet strength that lives within them provide me with consolation. It is a shelter from everything around me, and it makes the world appear more serene while also providing me with peace of mind. Consider the irony of being able to unwind with a target on my back, someone wants me dead.

My fingertips, absentmindedly trailing the rim of the glass, moisture accumulating beneath its surface. I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. But then, everything else seemed to be fine, so maybe it was nothing? I'm not sure. I only have a gnawing feeling in the back of my head. 

Always trust the niggling feeling in the back of your mind.

A stick shot straight at me. With a loud smash, it lodged itself into the wall only missing my skull by a hair's reach. A number of alcohol bottles were broken by the impact, sending bits of glass flying across the floor. The sound of glass breaking echoed off every surface in the room and caused several men to look up from their drinks with shock.

That was unexpected.

I instinctively stepped back, pulling the stick from the wall so I could protect myself with it.

There were people all over the place, and I had no idea where they were heading. I was already tense, so there was still potential for things to get worse. I could not allow things to go to this point. My fingers coiled themselves around the rod, prepared to slay whatever it dared to incite.

And then, he walked into view. Carmine.

"Hah, caught you off guard, didn't I?" He grinned devilishly and stepped forward. A shotgun carried in the demeanour of a military personnel stood on his shoulder. I knew that he had it loaded. "You know, Sandra, there's still a bounty on your head."

Carmine swiftly withdrew a shotgun from its  resting place. The metal clicked. He aimed it directly at her, but she dodged it all too easily. The barrel of his gun swung away as he spun on his heel following her, to find an alternate angle, but the girl was still moving towards him.  A gleam of silver drew his attention. With one hand she clutched a sliver of broken glass and flung it towards his face, almost joining the line scar there and making it continue. Sandra rushed forward again with the same velocity and swung the stick, forcing Carmen to retreat even farther as his feet carried him backward to avoid getting cut by the glass shards. This is the ideal time to maintain the shotgun's steadiness. He moved away from her, pointed his gun at her, and fired again. She sprinted right towards Carmen, dodging the gunfire point blank. She had pushed the shotgun from his grip and sprang her foot upwards, aiming at the front foot's head while simultaneously launching the kick with the back foot. The shotgun clattered on the ground as it slipped away as he stopped each blow, yet her legs seemed to move in perfect sync with the stick.

They were locked in combat, exchanging bare-handed strikes, and before long, she'd backed him up against the wall. He attempted a knee attack, but it was easily sidestepped, and then she went inside his jacket to retrieve the handgun, which he swiftly took. He pushed the loaded handgun up against her jawline without thinking. Her eyes widened slightly, the shock hitting home, but from his perspective, she looks like she may bite the bullet if he release it out of its shell.

But back to Sandra. She felt like that was her first fight ever, so why did she feel so exhausted and out of breath afterwards?

"You don't scare so easily, do you?"

"I've been through a lot, so no, I don't."

"I knew you were tough, but...wow."

"You don't know the half of it."

"You know, I've missed you. Maybe we could work out a new deal, just you and me."

"No deals, and no chance."

She was certain she would die today; she certainly felt that way at the time. Her body was exhausted from the rigorous fighting session; her breathing was erratic, and blood flowed from her lip. He approached her cautiously, revolver in hand, and she didn't flinch as he pointed it at her. He stood close to her face, and she stared up into his eyes, realizing there was only one way out of this dilemma. She knew what she had to do, and it worried her. It also irritated her. She is upset that she is in this circumstance.

"It's over, Sandra. You're exhausted, and I have a gun."

"You're right. I can't keep fighting like this."

Despite their exhaustion and perspiration, Carmine continued to aim his revolver at her. He too caught his breath as he gazed at her for several minutes. It appears that she really injured him. His left face has two little scrapes where her fingers must have been earlier, and he's got bruises on his chest and right shoulder. He'd be astonished if his nose wasn't broken. He has a split lip as well. The latter made blood run down his lip.

Sandra slowly walked towards a stool to sit down on, wincing slightly whenever she moved It's true. She was really tired now.

"Alright, alright. I surrender. Let us call it a truce?" 

Carmine stared at her, still wary of her intentions. She wasn't bluffing anymore. But he lowered his weapon.

"Okay. We'll call it a truce for now."

 She smiled, a weak one, but it was one nonetheless.

 "What do you want?" She asked.

He took a sat next to her, winces in the same pain as her.

"I assume you're looking for work because I'm running low on workers and you look like the type to help out."

Sandra chuckled humorlessly at that. "Is that so?"

It sounded snarky. She will soon lose her job because the place was trashed. In any case, she had no complaints to make.

"So," he leaned towards her, "are you interested in getting hired?"