Dandy stood at the top of the building looking down at the disorienting height, the tips of her feet edging off the end of the roof. All it would take is the tiniest of steps, the tiniest of winds, the tiniest of pushes, and it would all be over. Dandy stroked her auburn hair. She would descend 14 floors in but a few breaths. Maybe she would even get lucky and hit a car. For the walking mannequins down below, it would be a command as if from the heavens. They would be forced to pay attention to her mangled corpse, for but a moment at least. Dandy chuckled a bit to herself. Many might think thoughts such as this to be distorted or sick but for her, the users of such words were the truly sick ones. Maybe she was sick or distorted or dark or even evil for allowing her mind such freedom.

“Papa did always say that evil men must keep death close to heart. Cause you never do know when God will take what’s due.” Dandy frowned, “but Papa always was quite the cunt.”

Though the words still stuck to her. But why though. Why does death have to be shunned as dark and evil? We live our whole lives trying to determine the outcome of every single little thing. We obsess over shaping every asset in our story, it only makes sense that as the writer she would want to control how her story ends. She had been obsessed with the perfect conclusion to her tale for almost her whole life and yet…

Dandy stepped back and fell to her knees. She ran her fingers through her hair as tears hit the concrete roof. “Why did Holly have to die! She didn’t even get to control her death. She didn’t get to write her ending. SO WHY Sinclair, why did you kill her and not me! I’ve wanted to die my WHOLE LIFE and yet you kill her! Your own FUCKING daughter.” Dandy smacked the ground with her fists until they bloodied. She breathed hard and looked at her hands. The skin on her knuckles had ripped like thin paper and scarlet ran between her fingers.

Dandy shuddered, her hot breath coming out white in the cold morning air. “Now I can’t even kill myself! You have even taken that pleasure away from me." Her death would render Holly’s sacrifice void. “Why did she have to die Sinclair? The decision should have been easy. Why did you pick me over her?”

Dandy stood slowly, wiping her tears with the palm of her hands. She needed to find him. She needed to talk with Sinclair, that is all she desired right now. She had so much she needed to know. Dandy took a second to compose herself and walked back inside the building, hiding her trembling hands in her jacket pockets.

Down the stairs she walked, down all 14 floors. A much slower descent than she had hoped when she climbed them. On the ground level was the Janitor, moping the marble floor of the empty lobby.

“Putting it off again?” said the Janitor, scratching his thinning grey beard, “another day alive I suppose. Not the right weather like last time?”

“No,” said Dandy absentmindedly, “just not enough down below to justify the jump. Next time for sure.”

The janitor was relatively nice. Dandy even had her suspicions that he was real, not a doll like the rest, but she couldn’t be sure quite yet.

Dandy opened the door to the outside and embraced her position in the sea of walking mannequins. She weaved between them with new determination in her heart. This was now twice that Sinclair had saved her life and she would not allow for a third. She had to meet with him. She had to know why he chose her.

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Sinclair fired a bullet into the receptionist’s head, splattering blood across the wall behind her. Too bad he thought, he did not like being this messy but he didn't have the patience to be subtle. If his employers wouldn’t help him to find Cicero then he would need to find the bastard himself. Although the company’s stance on Cicero was a hint in and of itself. Sinclair looked up from the receptionist’s remains. Ahead of him was a hall with a set of double doors at the end of it. Sinclair reloaded his gun as he started towards it. Including the receptionist that made nine deaths so far just to get to this target alone, but it was almost over. His current target was a woman by the pseudonym of She-Wolf. One of the 17 and a respected partner of his employers. The 17 were a collection of the most powerful mob bosses, drug lords, and kings and queens of everything unsavory. The She-Wolf specifically dealt in the market of flesh and was a force to be reckoned with.

The click of the double doors opening was followed by a smooth voice, “Oooo there's the man making such a scene.”

The office was a massive one, lit only from the windows to Sinclair’s right. Along these windows was a single body-guard, an incredible display of hulking muscle.

A stunningly imposing woman sat at the back of the office shrouded by darkness. She was positioned behind a high oak desk untouched by the natural light from the windows. Her long black hair brushed against her sharp cheekbones and cascaded down her back. She was almost completely bare other than a beautifully thin robe that caressed her curves and a silver ring wrapped in beautiful engravings. The woman’s thin eyes worked their way over Sinclair’s whole body as she touched her tongue to the tips of her fingers.

“Samuel Sinclair, so what brings such a lovely man as you, to such a shitty place as this.”

“I’ve come to kill you,” said Sinclair, his face betraying nothing.

The bodyguard stiffened but the woman just laughed lightly. The She-Wolf grabbed a man by the hair and dragged him out from under the desk. He must’ve been kneeling in front of her out of sight. The man wiped his mouth. He was completely naked other than a leather collar that was connected to her desk by a thick metal chain.

“Sit puppy,” she said without her earlier sweetness. The naked man did as commanded and sat in the corner of the office.

“Now what silliness were you spouting again? You’re here to kill little old me? What would you gain from such a thing?” said the She-Wolf crossing her legs and looking at Sinclair with a smile.

“Let me rephrase,” started Sinclair, “I am here to kill Cicero. Are you the one that holds that name?”

“If I remember correctly,” said the She-Wolf, putting her finger to her lips mockingly, “our employers called you off of Cicero.”

Sinclair’s jaw tightened.

“Now what in the world,” she continued, “would make such a powerful company back off from a job such as this. Only two things I can think of. Either the target is already dead oooooor…”

“Stop wasting my time.”

“Or Cicero has some powerful friends.” The She-Wolf opened her mouth in fake awe, “Or maybe it’s even juicier than that. Maybe Cicero is one of the companies trusted allies, like one of us in the 17. Is that what you are thinking my dear Sinclair?”

Sinclair said nothing in response.

“And so here we are,” said the She-Wolf laughing, “What would you do about it. Maybe I am your famed Cicero.”

Sinclair in the blink of an eye shot the chained man through the head.

“Enough games,” said Sinclair.

The boy’s body collapsed onto the floor but the She-Wolf never broke eye contact. The strong hands of the bodyguard brought Sinclair to his knees and forced him to drop his gun.

The She-Wolf got up from her desk and walked slowly over to Sinclair. “Look at you Samuel, quite the gilded man aren’t you. I remember past meetings being filled with honeyed words rather than bullets.”

The bodyguard's grip on Sinclair got tighter but he gave up no look of pain.

“Now I am willing to forgive your little show for the sake of our friendship. The boy had awful tongue-work anyway.”

“Tell me who Cicero is,” said Sinclair locking eyes with the She-Wolf.

She laughed yet again, “Not exactly in any position for demands and yet the company dog continues to bark.” The She-Wolf drew closer to him until Sinclair could feel her soft breath against his face. “You can do nothing.” She placed her soft hand gently on his neck. Her silver ring was cold against his skin. “If you try and kill any of the 17, our employers will rain hell down upon you. You are as helpless as you have always been Sinclair. You are a puppy pretending to be a lion.” The She-Wolf licked Sinclair’s face, tasting his skin until she came to his mouth. “Cicero is beyond your reach,” she said before pressing her sweet lips against his. After a long moment, she released her hold on his tongue, still less than half an inch from his mouth.

Sinclair smiled, “Thank you She-Wolf for stepping into view.”

There was a loud crack as a bullet penetrated the window and the She-Wolf’s blood painted Sinclair’s face. Before the bodyguard could even react, another bullet went through the window and through his skull. Sinclair stood and looked over at the woman. She was shaking furiously, crawling on her hands and knees towards the wall. Sinclair retrieved his gun then grabbed her by the arm and threw her onto her back. The She-Wolf’s jaw had been blown off and thick blood poured down her bare chest.

Sinclair squatted down to get on the deformities level. He handed her a pad of paper and a pencil. “Now write down what I want to know. Tell me the real name of Cicero.”

The woman weakly took the pad and choked on blood as she wrote. As she finished it she gurgled a disgusting laugh. Sinclair took the pad back. “FUCK YOU,” is all that it read. Sinclair stood and pulled out Cicero’s note from his jacket pocket. Sinclair compared the notepad to the writing from the bomb and then sighed. “A shame. You aren’t Cicero either.” He dropped the notepad on her lap as she coughed and sputtered. The She-Wolf looked at him with eyes of absolute rage.

“Don’t feel too bad She-Wolf,” said Sinclair reaching into his jacket pocket once again. “You were not the first to fall.” The She-Wolfs eyes were awestruck as Sinclair let 15 silver rings hit the floor. “And you will not be the last.” Sinclair raised his gun and fired a single bullet into her head, killing her instantly.