Shoes creak on the wooden planks as the door slams behind the individual. The person rolls their suitcases beside the wall as they rest their laptop on the coffee table. He removes the beanie from his head, revealing their set of coral-red curls. Taking their phone from their pocket, the person swipes through a few apps before slamming it down with a sigh.

Poor fellow seems tense.

He won't have to worry about that much longer.

I've been cooped up in this apartment all afternoon, waiting for him to arrive for his ultimate demise. It's a two-day operation with extreme surveillance to ensure any other casualties from becoming an issue. According to my employer, his soon-to-be wife is away on a girl's single trip for her final weeks. The only possible interference is their doggie.

So, I gave him to a girl walking down the street.

I've been surveillance the adolescent to ensure the pup's safety. So far, her family is taking excellent care of the corgi. The apartment is tight and suffocating. Most of the furniture is on top of each other, shoes sprawl all over the floor, and dirty clothing within every step. Dust coats every surface.

He rubs his palms on his thighs, tilting his neck to crack it. A relief sigh exhales from his nose, and he hoists himself to full length. The wooden planks creak as he roams to the refrigerator for a glass of orange juice. He takes a whiff of his drink and abruptly twists his neck back as if shivers ran up his spine.

The fellow audibly gulps, placing his glass on the countertops as he ascends down his hallway. It's like observing a scene in a horror movie. He takes cautious, dragged, paced steps as he opens every single door until he's on the last one-- his home office. My finger clicks off the surveillance and slips the phone into my pocket as I swirl in his desk chair for the fun of it.

On my third spin in the chair, the door swings open, slamming against the plain beige walls, and I observe the instant fear in his irises. Tilting my head with a smirk, I can read his thinking process like an accountant reading money. As I expected, he makes a beeline for the drawer on his left cabinet, but I've already beaten him to it.

With my gloved hand, I slam the gun he was searching for on the desk. "Looking for this?" I ask coyly. "What a beauty. Such a waste for an expensive-looking gun. It's nice to make your acquaintance, Spencer Forbes."

Horror flashes in his green irises as his entire body shakes, but he attempts to fake confidence. It's almost respectable, but extremely hopeless. "Who are you?"

Circling him, I halt behind him and massage his tense muscles, only for him to jerk my touch away. "Why don't you take a seat, Spencer? It must be tiring being on a plane for more than ten hours."

"I-I'm fine."

I shrug. "Suit yourself."

Spencer stays still, as if he's glued to the floor and his limbs to his side. His eyes vigilantly float from my bottom half to the top portion of my body, surveying my body as he marks off his checklist. An eerie grin creeps onto my face as I contemplate all the ways I could create a masterpiece.

"Are you Mictlantecuhtli?" He asks, his voice wavering with fright.

"You know me?" My eyebrows raise in astonishment. "I must be famous."

Sweat glistens on his forehead on the shitty fluorescent lights in his office. Silence envelops the room like a love letter as Spencer connects the pieces of the puzzle. Grasping onto the earth's oxygen as his anxiety spikes like the stock market. Spencer chokes up a sob as he tilts the frame on his cabinet down.

He chokes out. "Why did you kill him?"

My eyes narrow as laughter ripples out of my chest like waves in the water. "Killed who? You're asking a pretty vague question. I've killed many." I yawn, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Don't worry, baby. You will be put to good use. Your death won't be pointless."

I take several steps until I'm in front of him, dragging my thumb down his cheek to cradle his jaw in my grip. "You're going to join my collection of masterpieces. A piece of art people pay millions to grab their hands on. I'm thinking of a bullet right between your eyes to capture the horror in them. You see, I'm a sucker for symmetry. I'll watch as the blood oozes out from you, down your face and body."

His mouth curls to a look of disgust as my fingers dig into his hollow cheeks. "Drop by drop, it will drench your clothing in red and spread on this shaggy carpet. A pool of your own blood. How artistic. I'll watch as the life drains out of you and wave my fingers as you fall to the floor. Bodies are always dramatic like that, but perfect. A perfect little show just for me. I'll be the last person you see, the face of your killer.

Beautiful, isn't it?"

Spencers spits a glob of saliva into my eye. "You little sick fuck!"

Ooo, he wants to play dirty?

I love it when they put up a good fight.

The blood in my veins curls as I wipe away the waste on my face and break into laughter. Idiots always make these moments memorable. Another name added to my wall of misery. Spencer takes the opportunity to make a run for the pistol on the desk and aligns the barrel with my head.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," I say, cocking my head to the side, observing how the gun follows my every moment. "Now, let's not be courageous. It's better to die with class compared to a shrieval mouse."

With his pointer finger, he clinks back the trigger and shouts, "Why did you kill him?"

"Baby, you have to be more specific?"

"Why did you kill Ander Morterero!" He yells, spit leaving his mouth like a dog with rabies.

My persona, my mask, my shield ruptures at his words.

A slight fracture at the eye socket widening until it slashes at the chin. The name stirs through my head like a whirling wave pool. Pulling my soul into another body, shattering the lid on my emotions. The emotions tremor through my body like an earthquake, breaking down the walls, chipping at the paint as my persona clings to my clothing.

Trying to keep me floating.

Trying to keep me from forgetting the task at hand.

In a blink of an eye, I'm back fully in control of my body as I ask, "W-Who?"

Spencer's face pinches with scorn. "Stop acting like you don't know, you sick fuck! His name was Ander Morterero, he was twenty-nine, the older brother of Asiel Morterero, the heir of the Morterero cartel."

My mask shatters like a mirror, breaking into million-bit size pieces. What is he talking about? I couldn't have. It must be a lie, an attempt at survival. His words pierce into my skin, lacerating silts as his words gush into my consciousness. Mictlantecuhtli. Mika. My entities are colliding together, mending like a batch of unseasoned soup. They're fighting for leverage, trying to win control as my limbs go sluggish.

Until he fires a shot or at least tries to.

Mika.

Mictlantecuhtli.

Both are me.

Like venom, they fuse together to build the ultimate golden shield with no cracks in sight. Spencer slams the gun against his palm, pulling the trigger repeatedly, only for nothing but air to come out.

I laugh, biting on my acrylic nail. "You didn't think I would leave bullets in there, did you?" My palms open up to reveal the bullets in my hand, falling to the carpet floor. 

Sheer panic flares in Spencer's irises as he makes a race for the collection of bullets and drops to his knees. My stiletto kicks the pistol from his grip, and I clasp his chin forcibly. So, he gets the honor of leaving this world with my face only in his memory. He doesn't flinch like before he is surrendering.

Accepting the reality of the situation as my tongue glides over my pearly white teeth.

"I always like my men on their knees when they beg," I taunt, patting his cheek with the metal barrel of the revolver. "Any parting words?"

Spencer heaves, his nostrils flaring as his eyes flood with tears. "Mi-."

Before he can finish his statement, I pull the trigger and give him a third eye in the form of a bullet. The hole is between his eyebrows, perfectly symmetrical, like pieces of art should be. The force propels his body back, and he collapses to the floor. I squat down by his face, dragging my glove finger down his jaw as he draws his last breath. Blood gushes from the wound as it dribbles over his wide, terrified eyes.

The only missing thing is the white feather.

The deed is done, but his questions lurk in my mind like unwanted guests.

The drive to Diablo's Paraiso is an anxiety-filled trip as the hours tick by, and distances seem farther and farther away. Guilt is a concept that eats humans out from within, devouring their limbs until nothing but misery is left. Normally my kills are an escape, a relaxing spa day to unwind, but today sparks a new start.

Something clawing at my throat to scream for justice in case my victim's words have any truth to them. I used to compare myself to Jennifer's body, using my victim's bloodbath to fill the void residing where my heart should be. My spirits would be higher, my beauty alluring, my curves fuller, but I feel as if I'm decaying.

Almost five in the morning, the halls of Diablo's Paraiso are scarce, with a few bodyguards on every post. Nico's annoying ass is guarding Diablo's quarters, but I push through with no trouble. I guess he doesn't have the heart to hurt the girl that gave him a life-changing moment.

A frown mars Diablo's face as he looks up from his paperwork. "Is it done?"

My eyebrows knit together as I rest my back on the door and exhale a long-needed breath. The entire drive was awfully suffocating, as if the car was filling up with water, spilling into my lungs. Are these emotions? Or is my mind playing tricks on me?

Diablo snaps his fingers and takes off his glasses. "Mika, I'm asking you a question. Is it done?"

I nibble on my fingernails. "Did I do it?"

He scratches his neck. "Hmm?"

I pace back and forth, gnawing at my nail until I taste metallic in my mouth. Turmoil washes over me. "Eugene, did I do it?" I repeat, my voice wavering.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he hoists to full length and wanders in front of the desk, resting his behind on it. Diablo grabs onto my hand, interlacing our fingers so he can drag me towards him. His touch makes my skin crawl. It hasn't brought any sense of relief in years. If I'm being truthful for the first time in my life, I want someone else to be consoling me, but how when the matters of the subject are intertwined with his familia?

"Are you okay?" Diablo asks, giving my hand a squeeze of reassurance. "You're not making any sense."

Desperation grips my frame like a corpse coming back to life.

Please tell me I wasn't the one who did it. Please. Please, please, please. It can't be true. I'm begging the universe for this one thing. Please.

"Asiel's older brother! Earlier in the year! Did I do it?"

Diablo clenches his jaw. "Why do you care? Why do you suddenly care about something that could've happened months ago?"

"I-I don't," I reply, my voice trembling with uncertainty as my words scream lies.

He raises his eyebrow. "Then why are you shaking, Mika? Why are you asking these questions?" Diablo casts a suspicious glance. "Do you perhaps... feel sorry for him? Do you lov-."

My eyes sharpen as my body tenses up at the word. "I don't, Eugene. That's not the issue here. I'm just curious."

Diablo's lip curls to a smug smirk as he cups my cheek and tilts my face to meet his. "Has the person who lived most of her life ruining others suddenly grown a heart? I told you to leave before it was too late. Mika, I warned you."

He darkly chuckles, taking both my cheeks in his hands and squishing them together like a pufferfish. "You are a leech. A little fucking leech who sucks and drains every breathing thing who gives you a little bit of attention and love because you've never felt love. You used to love ruining them when you're done with them. Sewage. Disposable. What's so different about Asiel, baby?"

My pulse hammers away with dread. "Nothing. He's the same as all of them."

His thumb caresses my cheeks, a shot of hostility running through my veins. "Good. It isn't healthy for you to get attached. The thing is, even though you think you're capable of love, you aren't. You're cutthroat. You're a monster." He leans close and whispers into the shell of my ear. "We both are. That's why we work perfectly."

Putting on a strong front, I attempt to keep my voice light and unaffected, but it crumbles like a soggy cookie. "Please, just answer me... Did I do it?"

My heart catches in my throat as he replies, "Yes, Mika. You killed him."

😊😊😊.... Plot twist? Did you guys expected that? I saw a few comments questioning about Mika's other job and here's the answer 👀. Are you guys shocked? Is things slowly starting to make sense?

This is a tricky situation isn't it? I told you Mika is going to be difficult to love but I'm so happy a lot of guys love her. Has that changed now? How do you think this is going to go down?

Let's have a moment for Spencer 🥺 he didn't deserve to go out like that but collateral damage.🥺😭

*runs away and hides*

Love ya guys ❤️💜❤️💜❤️