[𝐌𝐈𝐓 • 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏] He managed to make a sane eighteen-year-old INSANE.
~
He was fascinated by her. And he wanted to make her fascinated about him, so he played a game with her. Messed with her mind in ways he shouldn't have. The catch: he was th...
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┌────────────┐ REECE LITTLE └────────────┘
DEAD ▬▬▬▬ FLASHBACK; JULY 13TH, 2018
GRABBING OUT his microwaved meal, he closed the microwave door before taking the steaming hot black plastic rectangular bowl, the thin plastic still on. When he got into the lonely lounge room, the curtains covering the windows, the yellow light on, the box TV on mute as a late night movie played, the pictures flipping by, he sat down on the old two person couch, setting his steaming food on the small coffee table. He didn't really like this place, it was one of his least favourite places he owns, but at least he didn't have to go to a hotel where hundreds of other people have slept in the same bed as him. He could just enjoy his own company in this old rundown house, confidding to his own thoughts.
He picked up the file next to his food. It was sent to him by mail only a few days ago. His phone rang, making him pause his actions and he quickly grabbed the small black flip phone from out of his pocket, answering it.
"Hello?" He already knew who it was, because he was the only one that called him on this phone. Especially since he was the one that gave him this phone for work purposes only.
"Hey, Reece," his boss's voice said from the other line. Reece owed his life to his boss, Mark Louise. "How are you?" His voice sounded tired and he wondered if he's had any sleep yet.
"I'm okay, just reading the file now," he told Mark, his hazel eyes looking down at the crisp white paper with black printer ink splattered on it with letters and numbers. His brain couldn't register anything they scanned over, his focus on the old, mid-fifties guy on the other line.
"That's good," Mark murmured. "Just wanted to check on you, make sure you're still up for this one. It's a big change for you."
Reece dropped his eyes from the file in his hands, looking in his lap and chewing the side of his lip. "Yeah, it is. I should be fine."
He wasn't sure if he was lying or not. This was the first time he was stepping out of his comfort zone, eradicating people that didn't fit into his criteria:
Rapist.
Abusers; physically or mentally.
Assaulters; sexual or not.
Stalkers; the ones that were creepy and had sick minds, or sickening desires and fantasies.
Paedophiles.
Sex Trafficers.
If there was a file with none of the above written as the Reason For Death, then he didn't want to hear about the file or see it. But Mark insisted he did some other's for "extra cash", as he had put it. It might've been a mistake to say yes, though.
