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I saw them stumbled as they tried to run; I suppose the bullet put through their knees is not helping them; they can't even walk straight. Who cares; even if they escape, no one will believe them. "It's no use, hun. You can't escape. It's time you pay for how you treated me and the others," I said. All I got back was a whimper; this is boring; I expected at least a snarky comeback, like the ones they used to me say to me whenever I asked them or a yell to stay away. Now, they were cornered, back pressed against the table where I gathered their pieces of information, schedules, work timings, friends, colleagues, and anything related to them. I crouched down in front of them, the pistol in my right hand hanging down. "You want to know something, darling?" I asked, they shook their head, and I rolled my eyes; I am going to tell them anyway. "In the end, we are all made of flesh that can be cut and bones that can be broken. But they will heal in time; you know what won't heal?" I gave them some time to answer, but no reply, probably still processing, "Words. Your actions to someone." That was the last I told before I raised the gun and pulled the trigger. One victim down, {number} more to go.
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Note; I wrote this around two or three am, so if it doesn't make sense that' why. 🥲
