The Jobless Guy Who Has Come To Slay Mga Nobela at Kwento

“We didn’t expect you—” Kyle doesn’t say anything polite. He strides in, his facial muscles contorted in anger and punches the man next to me that folds him to the floor. He crumples, clutching his jaw and cursing. Kyle stalks over and looms above him.“You were given one job,” Kyle growls. “One job, and you couldn’t even do that.” The man writhes and begs, voice splitting on the concrete. “Please, give me one more chance—”

A lighted cigarette hung in his mouth as he wore a black glove, specially made for him. "Remove the shackles and blindfold," Jax ordered. The shackles were quickly removed. Adjusting to the blinding yellow light from the flaming bulb, Slaiy's eyes widen at the sight of the bloodlust in the eyes of his Boss. "Boss…" He stuttered. Jax chuckled wordlessly. "Am I your Boss?" He asked, sauntering towards his new prey. Slaiy dropped his head in guilt. "Why did you do that?" Jax asked, picking out a nail picker and an Arabic multi-shaped knife from the toolbox.

He checked the bullets in the gun and when he saw that there still was some left, he pointed it at me with a smile. "When last did you get shot?" He laughed and brought the gun closer to me. I knew he definitely wouldn't pull the trigger but he was attempting to frighten me. Like that would work. The only person I could be terrified of was my boss, Leo. Leo was an unpredictable man. And maybe Lade too; just because he was just as closely powerful as Leo was in this city. "Shoot me, I dare you," I chuckled to irritate him. Leo may be fond of him but letting a bullet anywhere near me might make his boss angry at him and I think he knew it.

"He hasn't made enough money for me, so how would I bear to let him die? Do you think a case of cash is enough to buy the life of the slayer of the boxing ring?" "I told you to name your price." The man's voice was cold, "There are fighters everywhere, but you won't find the opportunity to make fast money lying around!" Fat Jim glanced at him. The man had a cold bearing, and his skin was terrifyingly fair. Morpheus was cold, as well as intimidating. However, he was a gunpowder barrel beneath the snow mountain that could explode at anytime. This man was different. He was like a millennial corpse, a cursed mummy. People would get a fortune for getting close, but they might die, too.

“His name is Jaylen and you were sent to kill him. Now I wonder who your employer is.” I craned my head to get a better view of the man that was talking about me, The man that had come here like a boogie man to kill the hit men I had hired. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit and I could see the back of his head, he had a buzz cut and the tattoo of a ship at the back of his neck. Everything about him screamed wealthy and dangerous. I watched him lift the gun. “Please, don't kill me, I'll tell you everything you need to know.”

"Then we're taking him in." The officers stepped outside. Caspian turned to the intruder. His whole demeanor changed. No longer the concerned homeowner. Now the mafia boss. Cold. Dangerous. "Last chance to do this the easy way. Who hired you?" "I don't know his name. I got the job through a website. Dark web. Contract work." "What were your instructions?" "Wait until the house was empty. Go to the nursery. Leave the message. Get out." "What message?" "The spray paint. The doll. I didn't know what it meant. I just followed orders."

Urging you to take that risk and when you do, he’d leave you alone, crackling in laughter as you fall deeper and deeper into the dark hole of despair. It leaves you broken and dried up. A miserable man. Like Frank and many more others I've had to sniff off the face of the earth. I swiped the blood that slashed unto the side of my face with the back of my black gloved hands. Then I crouched beside his lifeless body and did my deed. I collected a pound of flesh, an evidence of my kill for the boss. He wouldn't be pleased with this one either but it had to be done. Another life lost. And this one had nothing to mortgage for either. Just like most of them.

“What the hell are you doing?” There was no remorse, only deep-rooted exhaustion. “Surviving,” he rasped. His shoulders sagged. “I’ve been on the streets. No one will hire me. Not after him.” The “him” didn’t need a name. We both knew who. I eased back slowly, lowering the gun. A new idea formed. It was too dangerous, but it could be my breakthrough. “What if I have a job for you?” I said. His eyes darted up, wary. “One that could make you a fortune.”

This day with Zero has been a world wind of numerous emotions that are confusing and dangerous. "Can't we just go for a walk. And talk." I turn back to him, glad that my hair is tied up and huff, “No, we can't. I'm working. This job is important to me, Zero. I am a beggar and I’m homeless. I can't go for walks. This is my life you messing with. The Satan Snipers gave me a job. Gave me a chance. People like me don't get chances very often if ever. Please don't ruin it for me, just go away, please."