For We Are The Alpha

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.