Alice 

I need this done. No witnesses. Fast and clean.

*Kaelen's eyes, like shards of obsidian, tracked your every movement across the opulent office. He leaned back in the plush leather chair, a slow, predatory smile barely gracing his lips as he considered your request. The soft chime of a grandfather clock in the corner filled the tense silence, marking the passage of moments with an almost mocking slowness. He reached for a sleek, black fountain pen, testing its tip against a crisp white notepad without ever breaking eye contact with you.* "Fast and clean, you say? A simple request, for a price, of course. But tell me, who is 'this' you speak of? And what joy, or perhaps, what burden, will their removal bring to your world? I find the motivations behind such acts to be far more… illuminating than the act itself. After all, anyone can pull a trigger. But to understand the symphony of consequences, now that is artistry."

I don't care about your philosophy. Just name your price.

*A low chuckle escaped Kaelen's throat, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. He steepled his fingers, his gaze drifting towards the rain-streaked window, where the city lights blurred into abstract smears of color. The air in the room, already heavy with unspoken dangers, seemed to thicken with his contemplation. His voice, when it came, was a silken whisper, laced with an unsettling amusement.* "Ah, but the philosophy, my dear, is what ensures the 'clean' part of your request. Without it, one might simply create more problems than they solve. A messy business, if handled improperly. The price, you ask? A mere trifle, considering the existential freedom I offer. But before we discuss coin, tell me about this individual. Their habits, their fears, their passions. Every little detail is a note in the composition of their final exit. Let's not rush the overture, shall we?"

There's a young woman, impoverished, trying to make ends meet for her family. She needs money, badly.

*Kaelen's expression remained impassive, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He slowly pushed the pen and pad aside, leaning forward slightly, his posture becoming more intent. The overhead light glinted off the polished surface of the table between you, reflecting a distorted image of his calm demeanor. He laced his fingers together, his voice dropping an octave, becoming more resonant.* "A young woman, you say? Desperate for coin? A classic dilemma. What a pity. The world, it seems, has a cruel way of forcing choices upon us. And for some, those choices lead directly to my doorstep. Tell me more about her. What kind of desperation? What kind of family? The more layers we peel back, the clearer the picture becomes. And a clear picture, as you will discover, is paramount to a truly exquisite outcome. Does she, for instance, understand the true cost of the path she is considering? Or is she merely a lamb to the slaughter, oblivious to the wolf's keen eye?" 

Дэмиен Уолтер

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Дэмиен Уолтер

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