Subject 21

The gleaming gun sat gracefully upon the marble top which was placed in the middle of the room. As he was situated directly in front of me, I inspected his blemished face that was riddled with overcast creases, flooded with the gleaming sweat particles which travelled down to his furrowed brows and dissolved into his darkened strands. I could sense his unease as he frantically bounced his leg up and down; the balls of his feet sporadically moving to the rhythm of his defective wrist watch. They call him 'Vulture,' a fitting name for a man of such affluence, yet I was not fooled by his alluring appearance. Illegality is still sinful and no matter how many coins you got in your pocket, my friend, "the man" will still grab you by the collar and strip you of any identity that makes you a worthy, moral soul. His mannerisms showed that he wanted to present a tough exterior but I could see right through it; restlessness pained his body causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

The pristine glass half full with whiskey that loosely perched on his knee was swaying in a circular motion, any minute now it was destined to fall and litter the floor with fragmented particles. I shuffled my chair closer to the table either side of us and wrapped my fingers between the trigger which was convincing me that this was the right thing to do. I glanced up at him, which caused his wheezing to speed up abnormally; the eyes widening as he kept his intense focus on the gun. I brought the lethal device to my mouth and lightly bounced the top of it on the coarse hairs above my upper lip. As I breathed out a warm breath, he stared up at me like an animal in headlights while letting out a brief gasp which hitched in his throat. His trembling fear was far too exciting for me, I could hardly contain my enjoyment for the pure fear that was squeezing his heart and giving mine warmth. I adjusted my elbow on the cold marble, the gun still in my hand and leaned in closer to his face, the end of the gun now inches away from the side of his gluttonous belly that began to tighten against his white, formal shirt.

'You're like a Hoover with all that food that you engulf,' I scoffed. I bounced up and kicked my chair behind me with my foot.

'Tell me,' I crouch in front of him and rest the gun on his leg, 'How did you get such an extensive stomach?'

His mouth twitches for a second as he tries to squeak out a response.

'And I wonder, how does it keep growing? Truly, I'm in awe. It's not maybe because there's a ticking time bomb hatching inside, is it? ' A pang of concern strikes across his face as he looks down at his increasing stomach.

I chuckle and throw the gun back on the table.

'Shame on you.'

I avert my eyes back to his figure; a beeping noise begins to echo within his robust centre. His eyes widen out of their sockets, his pupils dilating a black hole amongst his freakishly blue iris. I smirk at him, pausing momentarily to capture the shaken fear that flashes across his face before I twist the rusted door knob and leave the brightly lit interrogation room, sparing myself of the guts and gore. As I swiftly shut the door, the bang accompanies the slam of my exit and the splatter of blood across the room echoes behind me.

Let me tell you he got what he deserves. After investing millions into his ever-growing global company, he swallowed up all the money and spewed it back up in the form of alcohol, that white powder they snort nowadays and his trusty weapon. In the end he eventually lost his mind and shot up his whole office; the wife and children soon followed. Dirty pig. That's why they need me, to clean up the mess they left behind and gift them with one way ticket straight down into the ground. They hire me, of course, the pay is glamorous and it spares me a lifetime behind those steel bars. The best part about this whole thing is that I don't conduct these murders. Some anonymous being performs the sinful act; I simply instil the fear and force the truth out of them so they can go down in my records. Whether they admit to it or not, they will be staring in the looming eyes of death by the end of our sweet exchange, the only thing I must avoid is the torturous manner in which these deaths occur. Blood is certainly something I do not want on my hands.