Parasites. They do not deserve to live. Do not even deserve a name.

The cloaked figure glided through the dark, damp alley. Balancing the pistol in his hand, the shadow smiled. The coolness of the weapon’s sleek black metal put a sly, narrow grin on his sharp face. There It is; the pathetic obese, undeserving sloth; a waste of space.

The bullet cut through the air, the silencer disguising all sounds the pistol may have emitted, pouncing onto It, like a cheetah preying on a helpless deer. It’s eyes widened in fear and panic, though not a sound came through It’s mouth. It looked at It’s chest and saw. A huge gaping hole where It’s heart was supposed to be.

Blood gushed out from the wound like water spills from a toppled glass. Resigning to fate, It slid to the ground and became limp. With not a moment too soon either. The stench of fresh blood was beginning to rise, catching the shadow’s most acute sense; smell. It was satisfying; delicious.

The killing had begun.