story

There I was, lying in my cold, dark bed awaiting the rise of the morning sun. I could not sleep, for the toothache was far to great. I tried taking a aspirin, but to no effect. I longed after the sound and noise of the day, but now all I could hear was the snoring of the italian next to me.

This had never occurred before, usually I fell asleep as soon as I buried myself beneath the warm cloth. But today was different. Not that I was alien to the concept of death, nor the concept of killing, I had done it all before, perhaps to many times before. But what did that matter? He was dead by my hand just as it should be. I would return to england and receive my payment for the contract and then proceed to other contracts.

This was my life, going from place to place, leaving nothing but death and misery behind me. Many people would have shunned me for doing these things, but the ones who I served. Instead of rejecting my talents they embraced them, trained me in them made use of them.

And this was just another result of that. Now the only thing remaining was to return to London and report to my superiors. Something that was quite hard now that there had been a murder on the only train going there. Not that I was especially worried that I would get caught, but I knew it would be stupid to underestimate the detective onboard; Ms Swanson. But my orders were clear: Eliminate Mr. Ratchett and no others.