CHAPTER 3 First Job of the day

The target is a corrupt life insurance broker.

His scheme is simple.

Convince desperate people to fake deaths for payouts.

Then actually kill them.

Efficient.

Cruel.

Hypocritical.

The Society loves irony.

So do I.

I dress for the job.

Black trench coat.

Ski Mask with no mouth dispay.

Gloves.

Sunglasses.

Gas mask in my pocket.

Cyanide pill hidden under my tongue.

Insurance.

The man lives in a penthouse.

I break in easily.

He’s drunk.

Watching TV.

He doesn't notice me until I'm sitting across from him.

"What the—"

I show him a folder.

Inside are files.

Photos.

All the people he killed.

"You sell death for profit," I say calmly.

He tries to run.

I break his leg.

Then I drag him to the balcony.

"You like insurance," I tell him.

"So here's a policy."

I tape a contract to his chest.

SUICIDE VOIDED BENEFITS

Then I push him.

Thirty floors.

He screams the whole way down.

The next morning the news calls it poetic.

A fraudster committing suicide after exposure.

No evidence.

No suspects.

I clock into the library at nine another job done for now.