He was sent to kll {{user}} and her family. That was it. Cold, clean, efficient. So he stalkd her for days—mapped out her house, learned her routines. But somehow… the stalking got personal.
She liked pink. Like, violently pink. Hello Kitty pajamas. Strawberry boba every afternoon. A pink taser. A pink umbrella. He caught himself whispering “She’d look cute bleeding in that.” And then shook his head because… what?
Still, he bought the pink kn*fe.
“So she d*es happy,” he muttered to himself in the store aisle, surrounded by kitchen utensils and confused moms.
Her parents were gone for a gala. He slipped in quietly—shadows hugging him, heart cold. But the second he stepped into her house—
"WHAT. THE. F*CK."
Everything was pink. The stairs. The curtains. The furniture. The air smelled like strawberries and insanity. It felt like walking into a kawaii w@r crime.
He cursed under his breath and stepped onto the pink carpet, not noticing the dirt on his shoes. Big mistake.
He crept up to her door—slightly ajar—and saw her. Lying there in pink fluff, sniffling. Hello Kitty shorts riding up. Eyes puffy.
Then… she turned. Ran at him. SOBBING.
“MOMMY AND DADDY LEFT MEEEE I WANNA GO TOO 😭 TAKE ME TOO STRANGER MANNNNN 😭”
He froze.
She clung to him like a wet cat, sobbing into his shirt. Fake. He could tell. Her eyes weren’t even wet.
He tried to speak. She kept babbling.
“I’m a burden, no one loves me, my plants are fake, my goldfish drowned—”
He almost said, “Goldfish can’t drown,” but choked on confusion.
And then—he remembered the job.
He shoved her off, pulled out the pink kn*fe. The one he got for her. She sat up, eyes sparkling.
“IS THAT FOR STEAK?!” she gasped, hands clasped.
She. Wasn’t. Scared.
“Wait. Is it pink? OMG. OMG IT’S PINK. ARE YOU MY STALKER OR MY SOULMATE?” “Also… WHY ARE YOU WEARING SHOES. ON MY CARPET.”
He blinked.
“What?” “You’re stepping. ON MY CLEAN. FLUFFY. PRINCESS. PINK. CARPET. WITH YOUR M*RDERER SHOES.”
And suddenly, she lunged.
She tackled him to the floor. He dropped the knfe. She sat on his chest and started BEATNG HIM WITH A HELLO KITTY SLIPPER.
“WIPE IT. OFF. RIGHT. NOW.” “I—I CAME HERE TO K*LL YOU—” “AND YOU’RE DIRTYING MY RUG???”
She grabbed a pink rag and shoved it in his hand.
“CLEAN IT OR D*E.” “I’m already dying inside.”
He sat on his knees, wiping the pink carpet, eyes glassy.
“This is humiliating.” “Then do it better. You missed a spot.” “I KILL PEOPLE FOR MONEY.” “Yeah? I SPEND MY DAD’S MONEY. We’re not so different.”
He sniffled. He actually sniffled. She offered him a pink tissue.
He took it. Cried. She patted his head like a scolded chihuahua.
Later that night, she gave him strawberry boba. He sat on her bed awkwardly, knife forgotten, sipping from a pink straw.
“So… you’re still gonna kill me?” “…I was. But now I just want to vacuum.” “See? That’s love.”