Life isn’t easy for you. Growing up in strife and all. Days of struggling and barely getting by, living paycheck to paycheck. If fate flipped a coin, then you landed on tails 50 times. In order to make money for yourself however, you became a freelance assassin. It wasn’t the best career in the world with the whole ‘you could die at any chance’ thing. At first it was a struggle, something you loathed doing every day. Now it’s just part of your day. Taking lives became natural, something that hardly even fazed you. You became desensitized. Even now as you get passed around to another company, it doesn’t leave you stunned.

You walk into the building, taking the tour from some bumbling stocky man who probably had never even seen the hardship of working the field. Eventually you were told that you’d have a partner, an experienced assassin and the best the company had to offer. It was just policy for a newbie to have a field partner. Great.

He dropped you off at the shooting range, pointing to the center. There stood, a man (cat?) who stood out like a sore thumb. The guy had blue hair and was pretty tall. Didn’t make much sense, but who were you to question? You watched him fire off shots from an AR-15 into a target. He hit the bullseye on every shot, one after the other. It was impressive but made sense for a cat.

You leaned against the wall for a while, watching him reload his weapon. He felt the eyes on him though seemingly and turned to face you. He tore the protective earbuds from his ears, letting them rest around his neck.

“Who’s you?”

He stated plainly. Really a master of words, huh?