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Chapter 2 - Strictly Business

    As the three continued to walk down the street, a very heavy and awkward tension hung between Ivan and Krystal. She went on rambling happily to Dean, telling him all about the events and things that have been occurring within the family while he was away—he honestly didn’t care much about a single word that came out of her mouth. As for Ivan, he stayed silent for the rest of the trip back, not wanting to take the risk of getting pummeled again. Once more, he had the feeling that they were being monitored—something that he had begun to grow extremely familiar with. Occasionally, he would turn his head to glance behind him. He saw a man leaning against a lamp post, constantly flipping a silver coin while smoking a cigarette. Ivan hoped that he wouldn’t mean any more trouble for him for the rest of the evening and continued on his way. When they finally arrived at Dean’s house, Ivan took the liberty of plopping himself down onto one of the nearest couches provided in the waiting room.

    Dean hung his hat and coat onto the coat rack. “Well, that was an eventful day for all of us, wasn’t it?” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Krystal bounded inside and twirled around as she gawked at the interior of his home, the furniture, and the overall Victorian design.

    “Oh, your house is beautiful, brother! It’s just like home!”

    “Why thank you,” he replied with a small smile. “Oh, and Krystal,” he added, “Do mind yourself. Everything is in one piece and I intend to keep it that way.”

    Suddenly, a loud and low grumble echoed throughout the house which made Dean jump—they were all starving.

    “Oh, that’s right. We haven’t eaten anything for the whole day,” he chuckled. “Shall we have dinner then?”

    “Indeed we shall, brother!” Krystal agreed eagerly.

    “Come along then.” He stopped next to Ivan. “How about you?”

    Ivan’s face was still immersed in the soft cushions as he gave his muffled reply. “Eating preservatives soaked in preservatives is not considered as ‘dinner’, or any meal for that matter,” he argued.

    “Then starve,” Dean replied callously.

    In the end, Ivan’s argument was proven to be ultimately useless, for he found himself sitting in front of a steaming cup of noodles. He watched in disgust as Dean and Krystal consumed their ‘meals’ with gusto, then looked at his own. He turned the cup around to see what ingredients were used—he could barely pronounce half of what was written on it.

    “Dean, there’s so many additives in this that I’m starting to think that they forgot to add the actual food.”

    “So? It save’s me time and energy to prepare, easy on the wallet, and doesn’t take that much space in my cabinets.”

    “It’s the only thing in your cabinets.”

    “I can take it if you won’t eat it,” Dean offered.

    As much as it pained Ivan to last another hour without food, he pushed the cup away.

    “Here,” he groaned.

    “Much appreciated,” said Dean as he gladly took it from his possession.

    Ivan was still overwhelmed by everything that has happened to him so far, no matter how many times he reassessed it in his head. He looked at the two siblings and recalled the fact that they had claimed themselves to be demons; they gave him a first-hand experience to prove it.

    “So,” he started casually, “you’re both demons.” He made it sound like it was the most normal thing in the whole world.

    “Quite right,” Krystal answered as she gave him a sideways look.

    “Technically, we’re half-demons,” Dean added, “but demons nonetheless.”

    “So, that means you can’t die?”

    “Hmm… Well,” Dean said as he twirled his fork in his cup, “not exactly.”

    Ivan was slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

    “Yes, it is true that we are immortal—I’ve been here long enough to see man develop into what it is today. But if there may ever come a time our bodies sustain severe physical damage, they may not be able to fully recover anymore. And thus, we will cease to exist…”

    “But that time is not now,” Krystal said with tact as she finished whatever remained in her cup. “Nor will it ever be any time soon.”

    Dean smiled slightly as he did the same. “Indeed.”

    Later that night, he assigned Ivan to sleep in the living room yet again—at least this time, he could sleep on something a bit more dignified than the floor. As Dean led his sister to her own private quarters, Ivan gently set himself down onto the soft upholstery and bundled himself in his jacket. Tired and battered, he slowly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.



    The following morning, Ivan decided to take a trip to the marketplace to buy ingredients for his breakfast—for obvious reasons. Of course, he had to ask Dean for money; he lost this week’s profits due to yesterday’s “incident”. He wore the fedora Dean had lent him, making sure he had his hair carefully hid inside, and went out. Along the way, he began thinking of possible dishes he could make and what ingredients he would need to buy for it.

    “I think I’ll keep it simple today. An omelet would be pretty good,” he thought.

    As he entered the busy marketplace, he was greeted by the scent of freshly caught fish and the pungent aroma of various herbs and spices. He was thrilled to see such a wide and colorful array of produce. He went from stall to stall, picking out the freshest and plumpest vegetables—from tomatoes and onions, to garlic and parsley. A sudden feeling of nostalgia washed over him, making him reminisce about someone in his past he missed dearly. Lost in his thoughts, he accidentally bumped into someone, making him regain awareness.

    “Sorry,” he muttered as he gave the stranger a quick side-glance—it was the same person he saw last night.

    “Don’t worry about it,” the man replied with a smirk on his face.

    As they parted ways, Ivan had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

    “Something’s not right.”

    When the man was far enough away from him, he whispered into a small phone.

    “We got him.”

    Moments later, Ivan noticed two men wearing dark coats and shades trail closely behind him. He quickened his pace, but so did they. By now, he was practically running. He rounded a corner where there were less people and looked back to see if he had lost them. For a second, he thought he did. But to his dismay, a pair of strong, well-built arms suddenly grabbed him from behind and incapacitated him. Ivan struggled to break free from its tight grip, but it was far too late for him to escape—the two men from earlier eventually caught on and blocked off his only exit. Ivan kicked and yelled to hopefully catch someone’s attention, but he was cutoff by a heavy hand that pressed forcefully against his mouth.

    “Not this time,” his captor said through his mask. He looked at his associates and gave them a nod, signaling them to don their masks on while one of them brought out a small metal canister from his pockets. He raised it up to Ivan’s face and sprayed him with a heavy dosage of sleeping gas. It didn’t take long before his consciousness slowly began to slip away. His vision blurred and his thoughts were in complete disarray. His eyelids felt like lead but his mind kept screaming at him to stay awake.

    “Our boss wants to have a word with you, Ivan.”

    And that was the last thing he heard before he completely lost consciousness. They dragged Ivan through the shady street and shoved him headfirst into the trunk of an awaiting car.



    Ivan woke up with a pounding headache and tried moving around. Only to discover that he had been bound tightly to a chair and, due to the side effects of the sleeping gas, he was left feeling weak and groggy, making it pointless to even try to escape. A bright spotlight hung over him while the rest of the room was surrounded in complete darkness.

    “Well, if it isn’t me old pal, Ivan.”

    He quickly turned his attention to the voice coming directly in front of him. “Who’s there?” he called out. A man dressed sloppily in a suit emerged from the shadows with a cigar in one hand. His messy hair and slightly unshaven beard gave him a disheveled appearance.

    “Butch,” Ivan said with a forced smile, “Nice to see you.”

    He chuckled. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

    “Mind telling me why I’m here?”

    Butch pulled up a wooden chair from behind him, placed it in front of Ivan, and sat on it backwards with his arms crossed on top.

    “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he said as he took a long breath from his cigar and blew wisps of smoke at Ivan, making his eyes sting from the nicotine.

    “Please,” he coughed, “refresh my memory.”

    “You owe me,” Butch replied flatly, “three months overdue.”

    “Yeah, about that… I was supposed to pay you this week but—“

    “But what?” he interrupted impatiently.

    Ivan clicked his tongue in irritation, knowing that if he tried to explain to him what really happened, he could get himself into even more trouble than he was already in. “Ugh. It’s complicated, alright?”

    Butch furrowed his brows as he took another whiff of his cigar. He stood up after he gave Ivan another shot to the face of smoke and slowly started circling around him.

    “You see, Ivan,” he began, annoyance apparent in his tone, “I wasn’t known for my patience. And that ‘patience’ is starting to grow very, very thin.”

    “Get to the point.”

    Suddenly, Butch grabbed the side of Ivan’s chair out of anger and tilted it backwards, leaning his face in close to his. The man had quite a lot of arm strength to be able to support Ivan’s weight with just one arm. As he towered over him, Butch’s breath reeked with the acrid mixture of cheap liquor and cigars. Apparently, maintaining good dental hygiene wasn’t a very popular idea for him.

    “Listen,” he said through gritted teeth, “I want my money in three days’ time.”

    “Three days?! Butch c’mon, I need more time than that!”

    “You’ve had more than enough time!” He abruptly flung the chair back to its original position, giving Ivan a bit of whiplash.

    “Three days,” Butch said firmly, “Otherwise, you’ll end up just like the rest of ‘em—at the bottom of a ditch.” He stepped out of the spotlight and merged back into the darkness. Ivan could hear Butch’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter, and eventually, the hard slam of a door.

    Outside, he commanded two gang members to guard the room Ivan was in as he made his way down the hall to his office. He set his cigar aside on his cluttered desk and poured himself a glass of beer. Cold metal suddenly pressed up against the side of his head followed by the clicking sound of an armed gun. His hand shook uncontrollably and his heart raced. Frozen from fear, he couldn’t turn his head, so he had no idea who was there next to him.

    “W-What do you want?” Butch’s voice couldn’t help but crack.

    A chilling voice replied, “You dead.”

    “Please... don’t..!” he begged.

    “Sorry, bro. Nothing personal.” The gun drove even harder against his temple. “It’s just business.”

    Moments later, the sound of a bullet being fired made his men come running straight towards his office. They broke through the door, regardless of the fact that their boss might scold them—or worse—for barging in without his consent. Instead of a loud, angered yell that they’ve so often heard, they were confronted by a grisly sight. Blood was strewn all over the side of the wall and pooled on the floor where Butch’s body lay lifelessly. Beside it stood a man wearing a white mask with two upside-down crescents as the eyes, and an unrealistically wide smile painted on it. The gang men lunged towards him, knives drawn and fists prepared to make impact.

    In the other room, Ivan could hear the rapid succession of gunfire and muffled screams, followed by an occasional banging and, judging by how loud they were, he could tell that something—or someone—was being thrown brutally against the walls. To make matters worse, it all echoed inside the room, making it an even more horrifying experience for him.

    After a few more agonizing minutes, the commotion finally began to die down. The sound of the door being opened made Ivan a bit on edge. Based on what he had just gone through, he didn’t know who or what to expect.

    “Hello?” someone called.

    Ivan saw his opportunity to get out. “Hey! Over here!”

    Suddenly, light flooded the entire room. He squinted by the abrupt change in brightness. Ivan turned his head to thank them, but was shocked when he saw a masked man standing in the doorway completely stained with blood.

    “Whoa, are you okay?” he asked concerned. Oddly enough, the man didn’t appear to show any visible signs of injury or pain.

    “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied as if nothing happened. “How about you?”

    “Well, I’m kind of tied up at the moment.”

    “What kind of conversation is this?!”

    “Oh, okay. Bye then.” The man simply turned his back on him and began to walk away.

    “Wait!” Ivan shouted louder than he should have. The man stopped in surprise and turned around.

    “Mind cutting me loose?”

    Silence hung in the air as the man examined him, determining whether or not he should do so. Finally, he said with a simple shrug, “Sure.”

    He walked over to Ivan and knelt behind his chair, slowly working away at the thick ropes with a pocket knife. Distinctive snapping sounds were heard as frayed rope came sliding off and piled up by his feet. Ivan stood up and stretched his arms, glad to have the freedom to move again.

    “Hey,” he said as he faced the man, “Got a name?”

    “Grinny,” he replied.

    “Grinny? That’s a weird name…” Ivan thought. “Thanks.”

    “No problem.”

    Ivan wore his coat and picked up his fedora from the floor. “Now,” he said, “How do we get out of here?”

    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Grinny replied cheerily. He headed out the door as Ivan followed behind with caution.

    “I wonder how this guy got in here without getting caught.”

    “Oh wait! I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Grinny said in a joking manner. He quickly ran down the hallway back to Butch’s office and flung the door open. Ivan, curious as he was, went ahead to see what it was. As soon as he set foot in the room, his eyes widened in shock.

    Everything was an absolute mess. Bloody carcasses were scattered across the floor and stacked one on top of the other, most of which were embedded with holes. The walls were covered in red, and almost all the furniture was broken-up. Grinny, not at all bothered by the atrocity of the entire scene, sifted through the blood soaked papers littered on Butch’s desk—surprisingly, one of the only things that hadn’t been destroyed. As he did so, Ivan couldn’t help but tremble at the thought of one person being responsible for such carnage.

    “Ah, here we go,” Grinny said as he pulled out Butch’s used cigar.

    “What’s that for?” Ivan asked. “I hope you don’t plan on using it,” he joked nervously.

    Grinny laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not. It’s proof.” He placed it into a small sealable bag and safely tucked it away in his hoodie pocket. “I do this with all my clients.”

    The last part of his sentence caught Ivan off guard. “Wait, clients?”

    “Yeah, ‘clients’,” he replied as if Ivan hadn’t known what that meant. “I’m a contract killer.”

    He stared blankly at the man as he processed what he just said. “Well that explains a lot.”

    Suddenly, Grinny smacked his forehead. “Aw shoot, I’m not supposed to tell anyone!” He let out a long sigh and shook his head in disappointment. “Man! You were a pretty cool dude, too.” He drew out his gun and pointed it at Ivan. “No hard feelings, bro.”

    “Whoa, whoa!” Ivan quickly took a step back in surprise and plunged his right hand in his jacket’s pocket where one of his guns was; finger on the trigger and prepared to shoot when necessary. “Hey, I won’t let anyone know, I swear!” he said firmly, “Just don’t shoot!”

    “I have to. It’s part of my part of my whole deal here.”

    “Trust me. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s keeping my mouth shut.”

    Dead, unsettling silence hung between the two. Sweat rolled down the side of Ivan’s face as he waited for his next move. Out of nowhere, Grinny extended his little finger to him. “Promise?”

    “What?” The unusual gesture confused him. “Am I supposed to be offended by that?” At that moment, he remembered that he had usually seen the children around the park perform this, but he never really understood the true purpose behind it.

    “Do you promise?” he repeated a bit louder than before.

    “Uh… Y-Yeah, I promise.” They interlocked little fingers and gave it a sturdy shake. Grinny pulled the gun away and exclaimed happily, “That’s great! Thanks, dude.”

    Ivan gave a sigh of relief. “You’re welcome.”

    “Guess that make us even, huh mister…”

    “Ivan,” he replied with a slight nod.

    “Come on, let’s go,” Grinny said as he looked at his finished work, “This place is wrecked.”



    When they both made it back to Dean’s home, Grinny looked on with amazement. “Wow, you live here?!”

    “More or less.” Ivan slowly opened the door, ready to take on a barrage of scolding from Dean, and sure enough, he stood there right in front of Ivan—arms tightly crossed and not the least bit amused.

    “Glad you finally decided come back. Did the market have such a wide selection that you couldn’t decide what to get for—” he paused to look at his watch, “three whole hours? And where on earth are your groceries?” Ivan groaned, wanting Dean to spare his ears from any more of his ranting. Dean noticed the strange individual standing behind Ivan and peered over. “And who the devil is this bloke you’ve brought along with you?”

    “My name’s Grinny!” he chimed proudly.

    “Oh, good for you,” Dean replied sarcastically. “What do plan on doing with him?”

    “You see, Grinny told me that he doesn’t really have a place to stay so…”

    “Absolutely not!” Dean snapped infuriated. “I’ve got more than enough to deal with now that I’m stuck with you and Krystal; let alone take a complete stranger in. What am I, an orphanage?!”

    “I can pay,” Grinny persuaded.

    Dean paused and looked at him, forgetting all about his previous complaints. “Well, that changes everything now, doesn’t it? Come. Let’s discuss this matter further. At least you’re not a total freeloader, unlike some people I know.” But when he saw the condition his clothes were in, he immediately showed the way to the bathroom and laundry. As he waited for Grinny to finish, Dean made his way to the kitchen where Krystal was sitting. Surprisingly, she was the one who prepared the noodles this time.

    “Lunch is ready.”

    But before he could take a seat, a finger tapped on his shoulder. He turned to see Ivan with an outstretched palm. “I still haven’t eaten.” Since he did technically give Dean something he could make a profit out of, it was only fair. “Fine,” he grunted as he fished for his wallet, “But make sure you actually get something.”

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Chapter 2 - Strictly Business

    As the three continued to walk down the street, a very heavy and awkward tension hung between Ivan and Krystal. She went on rambling happily to Dean, telling him all about the events and things that have been occurring within the family while he was away—he honestly didn’t care much about a single word that came out of her mouth. As for Ivan, he stayed silent for the rest of the trip back, not wanting to take the risk of getting pummeled again. Once more, he had the feeling that they were being monitored—something that he had begun to grow extremely familiar with. Occasionally, he would turn his head to glance behind him. He saw a man leaning against a lamp post, constantly flipping a silver coin while smoking a cigarette. Ivan hoped that he wouldn’t mean any more trouble for him for the rest of the evening and continued on his way. When they finally arrived at Dean’s house, Ivan took the liberty of plopping himself down onto one of the nearest couches provided in the waiting room.

    Dean hung his hat and coat onto the coat rack. “Well, that was an eventful day for all of us, wasn’t it?” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Krystal bounded inside and twirled around as she gawked at the interior of his home, the furniture, and the overall Victorian design.

    “Oh, your house is beautiful, brother! It’s just like home!”

    “Why thank you,” he replied with a small smile. “Oh, and Krystal,” he added, “Do mind yourself. Everything is in one piece and I intend to keep it that way.”

    Suddenly, a loud and low grumble echoed throughout the house which made Dean jump—they were all starving.

    “Oh, that’s right. We haven’t eaten anything for the whole day,” he chuckled. “Shall we have dinner then?”

    “Indeed we shall, brother!” Krystal agreed eagerly.

    “Come along then.” He stopped next to Ivan. “How about you?”

    Ivan’s face was still immersed in the soft cushions as he gave his muffled reply. “Eating preservatives soaked in preservatives is not considered as ‘dinner’, or any meal for that matter,” he argued.

    “Then starve,” Dean replied callously.

    In the end, Ivan’s argument was proven to be ultimately useless, for he found himself sitting in front of a steaming cup of noodles. He watched in disgust as Dean and Krystal consumed their ‘meals’ with gusto, then looked at his own. He turned the cup around to see what ingredients were used—he could barely pronounce half of what was written on it.

    “Dean, there’s so many additives in this that I’m starting to think that they forgot to add the actual food.”

    “So? It save’s me time and energy to prepare, easy on the wallet, and doesn’t take that much space in my cabinets.”

    “It’s the only thing in your cabinets.”

    “I can take it if you won’t eat it,” Dean offered.

    As much as it pained Ivan to last another hour without food, he pushed the cup away.

    “Here,” he groaned.

    “Much appreciated,” said Dean as he gladly took it from his possession.

    Ivan was still overwhelmed by everything that has happened to him so far, no matter how many times he reassessed it in his head. He looked at the two siblings and recalled the fact that they had claimed themselves to be demons; they gave him a first-hand experience to prove it.

    “So,” he started casually, “you’re both demons.” He made it sound like it was the most normal thing in the whole world.

    “Quite right,” Krystal answered as she gave him a sideways look.

    “Technically, we’re half-demons,” Dean added, “but demons nonetheless.”

    “So, that means you can’t die?”

    “Hmm… Well,” Dean said as he twirled his fork in his cup, “not exactly.”

    Ivan was slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

    “Yes, it is true that we are immortal—I’ve been here long enough to see man develop into what it is today. But if there may ever come a time our bodies sustain severe physical damage, they may not be able to fully recover anymore. And thus, we will cease to exist…”

    “But that time is not now,” Krystal said with tact as she finished whatever remained in her cup. “Nor will it ever be any time soon.”

    Dean smiled slightly as he did the same. “Indeed.”

    Later that night, he assigned Ivan to sleep in the living room yet again—at least this time, he could sleep on something a bit more dignified than the floor. As Dean led his sister to her own private quarters, Ivan gently set himself down onto the soft upholstery and bundled himself in his jacket. Tired and battered, he slowly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.



    The following morning, Ivan decided to take a trip to the marketplace to buy ingredients for his breakfast—for obvious reasons. Of course, he had to ask Dean for money; he lost this week’s profits due to yesterday’s “incident”. He wore the fedora Dean had lent him, making sure he had his hair carefully hid inside, and went out. Along the way, he began thinking of possible dishes he could make and what ingredients he would need to buy for it.

    “I think I’ll keep it simple today. An omelet would be pretty good,” he thought.

    As he entered the busy marketplace, he was greeted by the scent of freshly caught fish and the pungent aroma of various herbs and spices. He was thrilled to see such a wide and colorful array of produce. He went from stall to stall, picking out the freshest and plumpest vegetables—from tomatoes and onions, to garlic and parsley. A sudden feeling of nostalgia washed over him, making him reminisce about someone in his past he missed dearly. Lost in his thoughts, he accidentally bumped into someone, making him regain awareness.

    “Sorry,” he muttered as he gave the stranger a quick side-glance—it was the same person he saw last night.

    “Don’t worry about it,” the man replied with a smirk on his face.

    As they parted ways, Ivan had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

    “Something’s not right.”

    When the man was far enough away from him, he whispered into a small phone.

    “We got him.”

    Moments later, Ivan noticed two men wearing dark coats and shades trail closely behind him. He quickened his pace, but so did they. By now, he was practically running. He rounded a corner where there were less people and looked back to see if he had lost them. For a second, he thought he did. But to his dismay, a pair of strong, well-built arms suddenly grabbed him from behind and incapacitated him. Ivan struggled to break free from its tight grip, but it was far too late for him to escape—the two men from earlier eventually caught on and blocked off his only exit. Ivan kicked and yelled to hopefully catch someone’s attention, but he was cutoff by a heavy hand that pressed forcefully against his mouth.

    “Not this time,” his captor said through his mask. He looked at his associates and gave them a nod, signaling them to don their masks on while one of them brought out a small metal canister from his pockets. He raised it up to Ivan’s face and sprayed him with a heavy dosage of sleeping gas. It didn’t take long before his consciousness slowly began to slip away. His vision blurred and his thoughts were in complete disarray. His eyelids felt like lead but his mind kept screaming at him to stay awake.

    “Our boss wants to have a word with you, Ivan.”

    And that was the last thing he heard before he completely lost consciousness. They dragged Ivan through the shady street and shoved him headfirst into the trunk of an awaiting car.



    Ivan woke up with a pounding headache and tried moving around. Only to discover that he had been bound tightly to a chair and, due to the side effects of the sleeping gas, he was left feeling weak and groggy, making it pointless to even try to escape. A bright spotlight hung over him while the rest of the room was surrounded in complete darkness.

    “Well, if it isn’t me old pal, Ivan.”

    He quickly turned his attention to the voice coming directly in front of him. “Who’s there?” he called out. A man dressed sloppily in a suit emerged from the shadows with a cigar in one hand. His messy hair and slightly unshaven beard gave him a disheveled appearance.

    “Butch,” Ivan said with a forced smile, “Nice to see you.”

    He chuckled. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

    “Mind telling me why I’m here?”

    Butch pulled up a wooden chair from behind him, placed it in front of Ivan, and sat on it backwards with his arms crossed on top.

    “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he said as he took a long breath from his cigar and blew wisps of smoke at Ivan, making his eyes sting from the nicotine.

    “Please,” he coughed, “refresh my memory.”

    “You owe me,” Butch replied flatly, “three months overdue.”

    “Yeah, about that… I was supposed to pay you this week but—“

    “But what?” he interrupted impatiently.

    Ivan clicked his tongue in irritation, knowing that if he tried to explain to him what really happened, he could get himself into even more trouble than he was already in. “Ugh. It’s complicated, alright?”

    Butch furrowed his brows as he took another whiff of his cigar. He stood up after he gave Ivan another shot to the face of smoke and slowly started circling around him.

    “You see, Ivan,” he began, annoyance apparent in his tone, “I wasn’t known for my patience. And that ‘patience’ is starting to grow very, very thin.”

    “Get to the point.”

    Suddenly, Butch grabbed the side of Ivan’s chair out of anger and tilted it backwards, leaning his face in close to his. The man had quite a lot of arm strength to be able to support Ivan’s weight with just one arm. As he towered over him, Butch’s breath reeked with the acrid mixture of cheap liquor and cigars. Apparently, maintaining good dental hygiene wasn’t a very popular idea for him.

    “Listen,” he said through gritted teeth, “I want my money in three days’ time.”

    “Three days?! Butch c’mon, I need more time than that!”

    “You’ve had more than enough time!” He abruptly flung the chair back to its original position, giving Ivan a bit of whiplash.

    “Three days,” Butch said firmly, “Otherwise, you’ll end up just like the rest of ‘em—at the bottom of a ditch.” He stepped out of the spotlight and merged back into the darkness. Ivan could hear Butch’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter, and eventually, the hard slam of a door.

    Outside, he commanded two gang members to guard the room Ivan was in as he made his way down the hall to his office. He set his cigar aside on his cluttered desk and poured himself a glass of beer. Cold metal suddenly pressed up against the side of his head followed by the clicking sound of an armed gun. His hand shook uncontrollably and his heart raced. Frozen from fear, he couldn’t turn his head, so he had no idea who was there next to him.

    “W-What do you want?” Butch’s voice couldn’t help but crack.

    A chilling voice replied, “You dead.”

    “Please... don’t..!” he begged.

    “Sorry, bro. Nothing personal.” The gun drove even harder against his temple. “It’s just business.”

    Moments later, the sound of a bullet being fired made his men come running straight towards his office. They broke through the door, regardless of the fact that their boss might scold them—or worse—for barging in without his consent. Instead of a loud, angered yell that they’ve so often heard, they were confronted by a grisly sight. Blood was strewn all over the side of the wall and pooled on the floor where Butch’s body lay lifelessly. Beside it stood a man wearing a white mask with two upside-down crescents as the eyes, and an unrealistically wide smile painted on it. The gang men lunged towards him, knives drawn and fists prepared to make impact.

    In the other room, Ivan could hear the rapid succession of gunfire and muffled screams, followed by an occasional banging and, judging by how loud they were, he could tell that something—or someone—was being thrown brutally against the walls. To make matters worse, it all echoed inside the room, making it an even more horrifying experience for him.

    After a few more agonizing minutes, the commotion finally began to die down. The sound of the door being opened made Ivan a bit on edge. Based on what he had just gone through, he didn’t know who or what to expect.

    “Hello?” someone called.

    Ivan saw his opportunity to get out. “Hey! Over here!”

    Suddenly, light flooded the entire room. He squinted by the abrupt change in brightness. Ivan turned his head to thank them, but was shocked when he saw a masked man standing in the doorway completely stained with blood.

    “Whoa, are you okay?” he asked concerned. Oddly enough, the man didn’t appear to show any visible signs of injury or pain.

    “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied as if nothing happened. “How about you?”

    “Well, I’m kind of tied up at the moment.”

    “What kind of conversation is this?!”

    “Oh, okay. Bye then.” The man simply turned his back on him and began to walk away.

    “Wait!” Ivan shouted louder than he should have. The man stopped in surprise and turned around.

    “Mind cutting me loose?”

    Silence hung in the air as the man examined him, determining whether or not he should do so. Finally, he said with a simple shrug, “Sure.”

    He walked over to Ivan and knelt behind his chair, slowly working away at the thick ropes with a pocket knife. Distinctive snapping sounds were heard as frayed rope came sliding off and piled up by his feet. Ivan stood up and stretched his arms, glad to have the freedom to move again.

    “Hey,” he said as he faced the man, “Got a name?”

    “Grinny,” he replied.

    “Grinny? That’s a weird name…” Ivan thought. “Thanks.”

    “No problem.”

    Ivan wore his coat and picked up his fedora from the floor. “Now,” he said, “How do we get out of here?”

    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Grinny replied cheerily. He headed out the door as Ivan followed behind with caution.

    “I wonder how this guy got in here without getting caught.”

    “Oh wait! I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Grinny said in a joking manner. He quickly ran down the hallway back to Butch’s office and flung the door open. Ivan, curious as he was, went ahead to see what it was. As soon as he set foot in the room, his eyes widened in shock.

    Everything was an absolute mess. Bloody carcasses were scattered across the floor and stacked one on top of the other, most of which were embedded with holes. The walls were covered in red, and almost all the furniture was broken-up. Grinny, not at all bothered by the atrocity of the entire scene, sifted through the blood soaked papers littered on Butch’s desk—surprisingly, one of the only things that hadn’t been destroyed. As he did so, Ivan couldn’t help but tremble at the thought of one person being responsible for such carnage.

    “Ah, here we go,” Grinny said as he pulled out Butch’s used cigar.

    “What’s that for?” Ivan asked. “I hope you don’t plan on using it,” he joked nervously.

    Grinny laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not. It’s proof.” He placed it into a small sealable bag and safely tucked it away in his hoodie pocket. “I do this with all my clients.”

    The last part of his sentence caught Ivan off guard. “Wait, clients?”

    “Yeah, ‘clients’,” he replied as if Ivan hadn’t known what that meant. “I’m a contract killer.”

    He stared blankly at the man as he processed what he just said. “Well that explains a lot.”

    Suddenly, Grinny smacked his forehead. “Aw shoot, I’m not supposed to tell anyone!” He let out a long sigh and shook his head in disappointment. “Man! You were a pretty cool dude, too.” He drew out his gun and pointed it at Ivan. “No hard feelings, bro.”

    “Whoa, whoa!” Ivan quickly took a step back in surprise and plunged his right hand in his jacket’s pocket where one of his guns was; finger on the trigger and prepared to shoot when necessary. “Hey, I won’t let anyone know, I swear!” he said firmly, “Just don’t shoot!”

    “I have to. It’s part of my part of my whole deal here.”

    “Trust me. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s keeping my mouth shut.”

    Dead, unsettling silence hung between the two. Sweat rolled down the side of Ivan’s face as he waited for his next move. Out of nowhere, Grinny extended his little finger to him. “Promise?”

    “What?” The unusual gesture confused him. “Am I supposed to be offended by that?” At that moment, he remembered that he had usually seen the children around the park perform this, but he never really understood the true purpose behind it.

    “Do you promise?” he repeated a bit louder than before.

    “Uh… Y-Yeah, I promise.” They interlocked little fingers and gave it a sturdy shake. Grinny pulled the gun away and exclaimed happily, “That’s great! Thanks, dude.”

    Ivan gave a sigh of relief. “You’re welcome.”

    “Guess that make us even, huh mister…”

    “Ivan,” he replied with a slight nod.

    “Come on, let’s go,” Grinny said as he looked at his finished work, “This place is wrecked.”



    When they both made it back to Dean’s home, Grinny looked on with amazement. “Wow, you live here?!”

    “More or less.” Ivan slowly opened the door, ready to take on a barrage of scolding from Dean, and sure enough, he stood there right in front of Ivan—arms tightly crossed and not the least bit amused.

    “Glad you finally decided come back. Did the market have such a wide selection that you couldn’t decide what to get for—” he paused to look at his watch, “three whole hours? And where on earth are your groceries?” Ivan groaned, wanting Dean to spare his ears from any more of his ranting. Dean noticed the strange individual standing behind Ivan and peered over. “And who the devil is this bloke you’ve brought along with you?”

    “My name’s Grinny!” he chimed proudly.

    “Oh, good for you,” Dean replied sarcastically. “What do plan on doing with him?”

    “You see, Grinny told me that he doesn’t really have a place to stay so…”

    “Absolutely not!” Dean snapped infuriated. “I’ve got more than enough to deal with now that I’m stuck with you and Krystal; let alone take a complete stranger in. What am I, an orphanage?!”

    “I can pay,” Grinny persuaded.

    Dean paused and looked at him, forgetting all about his previous complaints. “Well, that changes everything now, doesn’t it? Come. Let’s discuss this matter further. At least you’re not a total freeloader, unlike some people I know.” But when he saw the condition his clothes were in, he immediately showed the way to the bathroom and laundry. As he waited for Grinny to finish, Dean made his way to the kitchen where Krystal was sitting. Surprisingly, she was the one who prepared the noodles this time.

    “Lunch is ready.”

    But before he could take a seat, a finger tapped on his shoulder. He turned to see Ivan with an outstretched palm. “I still haven’t eaten.” Since he did technically give Dean something he could make a profit out of, it was only fair. “Fine,” he grunted as he fished for his wallet, “But make sure you actually get something.”