Night Shift
Jacket had hit up any place imaginable during his time employed by 50 Blessings. No matter where the calls took him, as long as they delivered a good beating he never questioned them. It wasn’t worth the effort knowing behind why they were targets. Hotels, abandoned factories, speakeasies... Hell, if he were called to a Chuck E. Cheese’s who knows what he’d wrought in that disturbing carousel of animatronics. Tonight was no different, or ideally should be.
The building, which was filled to the brim with prostitutes and hookers alike, was now completely desolate, spare the corpses. Jacket didn’t hesitate to take the last mobster out head on, smashing his head repetitively with the blunt end of his gun until he was oozing red from every facial orifice. Some of it got into Jacket’s mask. The blood stack his mask to his cheek like a thin syrup.
He admired the silence he made for himself before turning to leave, only to be interrupted by a deep thud. The mask turned over to face the source of the noise, a closed closet.
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