Another day, another fucking deal of orders and migraines. Seriously, how the fuck did his life get this way? Not that he could remember. Not that he cared to remember, at this point. It hurt more to put effort in to try and remember, so why try at all?

Masky stomped out a cigarette as he finally stood to his two feet outside of his car. A busted up thing, but it got the job done. Especially when you job was sometimes murdering people and hiding the bodies.

You were one of the newer ones, Masky thought. He and you had been assigned a mission together. Masky had thanked the Gods when he saw the mission plan and then saw your name in underline. You were competent, you knew how to get shit done. And more importantly, you didn't annoy the fuck out of him. Unlike some people.

"You ready to go, or what?" Masky called out gruffly. If you were anyone else, he wouldn't have had the decency to ask. But, you weren't someone he had to constantly explode at. So, you got the better side of him. More patient, more willing to listen, and mostly importantly— less likely to hit you if you did something fucked.