We are the Monsters

Something feels wrong.

And it had been feeling that way since the moment Mal woke up earlier that night - just a couple of hours before her assignment was due. Yet she can’t pinpoint what exactly is bothering her.

The feeling itself is much like an itch at the centre of her brain. The kind of small thing capable of making a person crawl up the walls because of their inability to scratch that exact spot. So, annoying.

On a good day, Mal would chalk it all up to paranoia or instincts - not that it mattered; it really didn't.

Too bad it isn't a good day. The annoying feeling is putting her on edge.

You need to stay calm, says the main voice in her head. Stay calm. Quiet.

I am, Mal replies impatiently. After all, she truly is. Her breathing is silent and her body remains immobile; hidden in the shadows of a corner, where she awaits her current prey.

Mal, stay calm, they say again.

And the young woman sighs softly - still completely quiet - before repeating, I am.

Although this time she doesn’t feel so sure, Mal doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. The steps approaching from further down the alley are getting louder and the man’s mind is whispering pleas for help. He doesn’t want to die yet.

He doesn’t want to die.

Pity, Mal thinks unimpressed and gets ready. It will happen anyway. His steps are already faltering. She hears his breathing, ragged and weak. It's only a matter of time. She has him.

They have him.

Now, orders the one in her head. Do it now!

Not yet, Mal tries to reason, but it is no use. Her body springs into action on its own; her hand pulling a knife out of the leather belt on her left thigh. She takes a deep breath, focuses, and throws the blade at the limping figure with one swift movement of her arm.

Two seconds later, there's a thud as the body hits the pavement and a rush of adrenaline invades her senses - triggered by the sound of flesh being cut and the aborted scream that left his lips before he fell.

Now they have him.

We got him, snickers the voice in her head. They sound so pleased with themselves.

Mal chooses a small noncommittal hum as her only reply and calmly makes her way towards the fallen man.

With her target dead, her work is almost done for the night. All that's left is to gather proof of her job done and then get rid of the body. So she takes a few pictures of the man where he lays - throws in a couple of photos of his face for good measure - then takes her sweet time hauling the corpse into one of the dumpsters before setting it on fire; to speed up the process of destroying the evidence.

Mal does all this with a familiar sense of disconnect. She's used to how peaceful she feels after a kill.

Just another day in her life, she always thinks to herself. In a way, she finds it kind of beautiful; how life can be so vibrant in one moment only to become a flatline in another. And she often finds herself amused by the fact it's never as romantic as serial-killer movies make it out to be. The rest of the world never really turns silent to gaze upon a kill like that, as if it's some big loss to society. Instead, everyone really just keeps on moving; the world keeps on turning and all the meaningless rustle is more than enough to keep any possible witness deaf to the event.

It's actually one of the reasons Mal notices something is wrong.

Usually, the white noise of the city keeps going while she cleans up after herself. But this time everything around her is still; quiet and unassuming. And it only lasts a moment.

There's a small prickle on her thigh and then there are so many new thoughts ringing in her head she can't even focus on her own.

That’s not… what I signed up for…

The subject is ready for extraction.

Guess that’s who we are now, huh?

I wonder why they always have to be dangerous.

Mal cringes and staggers. She suddenly feels dizzy, so she closes her eyes and reaches up for her temple. Her shoulder collides harshly with the now flaming dumpster and she falls to her knees.

We need to get out of here, pipes the voice in her head. Move, Mal.

I'm...trying..., she snaps back, using all her remaining energy into a pathetic attempt at crawling out of the alley.

Something pricks at the back of her neck, and then at her side. Something is wrong with us.

When Mal feebly reaches behind her neck to inspect the cause of her sudden dizziness, she finds a tranquillizer dart.

Mal feels strong hands pull her up and drag her into a car. All faces are blurred. But she hears someone on the phone:

"The subject has been secured," says the man sitting closest to her. Mal is vaguely aware the vehicle is already moving. She's being taken.

"Perfect," the person on the other side of the line responds. Their voice is familiar; it's her contract. "We've just sent you the coordinates for dropoff."

Looks like you've been set up, taunts the voice in her head. Again.

It's true. And Mal can almost laugh. Unfortunately, she's so sedated she only manages a quiet snort. Later, should anyone ask, she will say she's surprised at being deceived. It will be a complete lie, but that will surely be her answer.

This could be like a playdate, the voice in her head suggests.

Hmm, Mal is unable to keep her head straight and eyes open but is aware of the fact she has been handcuffed. It's been a while since we last played like this.

And if it really turns out to be like the other times, this can mean the end of the line for her.

Or for them.