I woke to the sound of a gunshot and a thud. I groaned as I grabbed my other pillow and threw it over my face. Then I screamed, loudly. I groggily turned over to check my clock. It read 5:32. I groaned again and slowly sat up, stretching. I breathed in deeply. My room stank like blood, mucus, and rotting flesh. I loved it. I quickly threw on whatever I could find and hurried to meet Chris in the shooting range out back. It was still partially dark when I got outside. The golden sun was just beginning to peek over the trees, but not enough to illuminate anything yet.

I found my friend sitting on a boulder not far from the targets. She nodded as I came to join her. "You're up early, Free." She acknowledged, reloading her pistol. I rolled my eyes. "Well it's hard to sleep when someone is firing bullets like a psychotic person at 5 o'clock in the fucking morning!" I snapped. The pinkette giggled, standing up and resting her hand on my shoulder. "Well, I am psychotic!" She said, smiling. Oh how much I wanted to carve that stupid grin off her face. I could see it vividly, my sharpened knife slicing through her skin like butter, blood oozing out of the newly opened wound, bubbling up to the surface and trickling down-

"Free! FREE! Are you even listening?!" I was ripped out of my wonderful trance by Chris shaking me violently. "What what?!" I snarled, wacking her hands off my shoulders. "Wow, are you deaf? I said we're going into town today. We need new targets." Chris explained, putting her gun back into its holster on her side.

I felt my mouth go dry. My heart stopped momentarily. I whipped around to face her, pure terror shining in my eyes. "W-what...?" I asked, gulping. Chris sighed. "You heard me the second time. I'm not repeating myself again." I began to ever so slowly back away from her. "Chris...Y-you can't possibly take me back there. I-I don't wanna go back! What if they take me away again? What if they stick me with some other sick people and stab me with needles and inject me with chemicals and tie me up in a straitjacket and declare me insane?" I wailed. I turned around and raced back to Chris and I's house before she could even utter a word.

I dashed into my dingy room and locked the door 3 times. I clutched my chest, even though there was nothing hurting there. But there was. It felt as if the walls were closing down on me. I couldn't breathe. My eyes darted back and forth, concentrating on anything was hard. The walls were coming down faster, squeezing me until I couldn't breathe. I ran into one corner, trying so very hard not to cry. My eyes refused to give into the monster called emotion. But eventually, it was too much for me to bear.

One drop after another, tears rolled down my pale face. I didn't even notice I was crying until I felt the salty water drop towards my nose. I felt like an absolute child then. Why would a killer cry, out of all things? Emotion is a form of weakness, it clouds your judgment and reasoning, not like I had one anyways. I needed to toughen up and bottle up those feelings inside of me, without fail.

My head throbbed. My vision grew blurry. I shook my head rapidly, and frantically scrambled over to my bed. But before I could make it, my legs gave way and I thumped onto the floor, my hand flopped onto the edge of my bed.

"Free? Free are you alright?" I groaned. I knew it was Chris before I even opened my eyes. "Fucking god chris.....I feel like i just fell off a clif..." I mumbled. I slowly opened my eyes to see Chris, sitting on a chair and sewing some more flesh together to make another bag. "What happened?" I wondered. I stood up, shaking, and sat down on my bed. I reached to the back of my head. There was a sizable lump there, and when I looked at my hand there was a small amount of blood on it. "You had a mental breakdown. I found you on the floor, your head in a pool of blood." I blinked. Then, in a sudden fit of rage I grabbed the nearest dagger and threw it hard. It would have impaled Chris in the forehead, had she not caught it. She set the blade down on the desk beside her.

With an air of composure and patience, she continued sewing the flesh together, which had started to look like a caucasian skin bag. "Nothing will happen if we go get targets, Free. You have to stop being paranoid and accept that what happened before won't happen again. You can't keep living your life like this!" She said in an attempt to assure me. Sure it was a low chance that history would repeat itself, but still a chance nonetheless.

Upon seeing the distress in my face, Chris dropped the bag and sauntered up to me. She gripped my hand and pulled me up, right before she wrapped her arms around me. Her scent filled my nostrils, the harsh smell of rotting flesh comforted me. "I would never let them get to you again. If they take you, they take me as well. They're never separating us again. Ever." At that last word, she tightened her grip on my shoulders, and I believed her. She knew what I had gone through, she had suffered too. Never again will we be seperated.

We embraced for what seemed like hours but in reality- only a few minutes. When we broke apart there was a fierce gleem in Chris's eyes, assurance that she would have protected or gone down with me. Suddenly getting new targets didn't seem so bad, as long as Chris was by my side I would be just fine.