Hello Tommy. You comfortable? Tanner whispered, the light turning on.

“No, I’m strapped to a chair, what is this?” he barked.

“This is an experiment, and most likely a…murder, but we’ll get to that."

“You’re gonna kill me?” he asked.

“Not necessarily, stop jumping ahead I’m trying to explain this, silly.” She said giving him a bop on the nose to shut him up.

“You work for a medical insurance company, and you’re the guy who decided whether or not they cover something as necessary or not. Right?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“See we’re being honest, that’s part of the road to being alive an hour from now. Keep up the good work. Now I have a list of things you’ve personally rejected and signed for. This looked interesting, so I did some googling on the procedure. Lung biopsy for cancer. OOf. That’s rough. Bad enough to think you got cancer, but the test is brutal. Says here for a lung biopsy, most places don’t use anesthetic. Now I watched the video and the comment section was interesting, see this right here from anonymous commenter. Most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. Another one said she had it done once, and it was so excruciating she refused to get another biopsy, despite them needing to looking for more cancer. That sounds like anesthetic would be pretty necessary, but it’s 1500 dollars for them to put someone out for it, so you rejected it, multiple times on every request. Now I’m not a doctor, but I do have a lot of experience with anatomy and surgical procedures, I even have the gloves and shit. And this…” she said holding up a strange blue plastic tube. “This is a biopsy endoscope. Now no, I don’t have the screen for it. The scanny x-ray stuff is kinda expensive, but this little toy was pretty cheap and this doesn’t need to be precise, it’s a proof of point, not a highly targeted procedure.”

“You’re gonna do a medical procedure on me? Are you a nurse?” he asked.

“LOL, no silly. I’m a serial killer... Hence the scary outfit and abduction. I graduated from the college of hookery and stabbing people, dropped out of high school. But I youtubed the whole thing and again, we don’t really need to be accurate, we’re just guesstimating. Now don’t worry because this shouldn’t be very painful, we’re just jamming this into your lung and taking a small chunk out. I mean, if it was too painful, they’d probably put you out for it. Right? You’ve signed a fat NO for that, 27 times, according to my sources. So clearly the doctors and patients are just exaggerating and being big babies about it, right? Well let’s find out together, because SOMEONE is clearly full of shit here, and it can’t be you. But if it is you, we’re gonna learn things together today. I got some oxycodone if you want one, that might help.”

“Yea, I’ll take it.”

“Sure thing… You got 2 grand in cash? I charge 2 grand for oxy. Inflation is really fucking us all right now. I can check your wallet.”

“I don’t have it on me in cash! I can use a card. Whatever you want.”

“Honey, I’m not an ATM, I’m an ex hooker that kills people and I sell drugs to survive. Very different slots. You think drug dealers, hookers, OR serial killers take credit cards? That’s a cash only no receipt kinda situation. You really don’t have cash? Well that sucks, more for me. Saves you money, you know how that is. Nothing personal, just good business practice. But again, people do this all the time, it can’t be that bad, or you’d be covering it. That’s literally what insurance is supposed to do. Surely you’re not subjecting innocent people to literal torture purely to make more money, when…I’ve seen your house, you have plenty. So…here’s the fun part. This is a harmonica, I’m gonna tape it into your mouth in case you make a sound, which should be easy to resist if this isn’t very painful. You get one freebie, and it doesn’t even count until we make the first cut. Now I could be a real bitch and take 27 biopsies, but who has time for that? I think like…4 should be plenty. Of course if you make any sound during this procedure that clearly doesn’t need anesthesia, I must be doing this wrong, and I gotta start over. Let’s give you 3 strikes before failing the whole thing. Think of it like a tiktok challenge except if you lose, I kill you. And if you win not only do you get to live, but you get a sucker! I got 3 flavors, they’re really good.” She giggled.

Mike followed the sound of elevator music to the kill room and used his key, the sound of a violent scream and a harmonica chord greeting him before he turned and entered.

“See, that’s 2 tries and 2 strikes. Either you’re a real pussy or this procedure is actually really painful. You see the problem here?” she sighed, adjusting her medical mask over her geisha makeup, smearing it slightly as she grabbed the tools again.

“Catch you at a bad time?” Mike asked as she jumped, almost fumbling the endoscope.

“Holy shit, Mike. Dont scare healthcare workers like that. I could have killed this guy. Knocking would be good. You can’t walk in on a surgical procedure without scrubs, either. Did you even scrub up?”

“Did you?” he asked.

“Okay not really, but I did a quicky alcohol wipedown." she shrugged.

“What is this shit? I’ve been wondering where you were running off to all the time, and you have this random guy in a chair and a sexy nurse outfit.”

“It’s not what you think, Mike. It’s not a sexy nurse outfit, it’s just a nurse outfit, I just happen to be sexy in it…you’re welcome, and also, HA! You admitted it.”

“I thought we were a team. You’re just killing people without me?”

“We ARE a team. What? I can’t go out and some fun by myself without you now? Let’s see, um, you’re not my dad, and I didn’t listen to him anyway, you’re not my owner because I’m a human being, we’re not a married couple or even a couple. So why exactly do I have to answer to you?” she asked.

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“Because I kept you out of prison…multiple times…for the job.”

“Exactly, the JOB. You’re my boss because shit happened, and I had no choice, and I reluctantly accepted it. I’m grateful, but I don’t just become your property, I’m an adult woman with needs and I wanted a night out.” She said, as the man in his underwear struggled to break from the chair he was strapped to.

“This IS the job. You go to prison for making mistakes ON THE JOB. If you wanted to go out and party and dance with your gal pals, or see a movie, I agree. That’s your life to live. I don’t own you. Go do it. It’s not my business. Be safe, have fun. This literally IS my business, and I’m the guy who you work for, who clean your messes.” Mike reminded. "That I cant clean if it’s a secret."

“No, mike, this is recreation. Most people clock into work and then go home. They don’t go home with their boss and sleep on his couch, and have breakfast with him, and then go to work, and then after work, go home with him and plan more work. I need some ME time, alone with my interests…which just happen to be killing horrible people. You did this because God told you to, this is YOUR job, but this is my ART. I love this shit. This makes me happy.”

“Sex and torture makes you happy?” he asked with a disappointed sigh.

“Technically yes, except both…different activities, but this isn’t sex, this is just torture. Not like I get the sex part from you, either. I'm not REAL PEOPLE. He’s the guy who denies peoples medical insurance. That almost doesn’t count as human. It’s MY case, It’s not on our list, you didn’t plan this, this is just me doing my thing like I would be doing without you anyway, before we met.”

“And who’s cleaning the mess, the crime scene…you? Badly? Am I going to have to trace your steps so you don’t get caught?” he sighed.

“No, because I’m getting better at this. I gotta grow on my own, Mike. I can’t have you hold my hand forever. What we have is fine, but Mike you’re not that adventurous and fun with it. It’s 2 quick, pew-pews to the head and back to the car, destroy the evidence. You’re the hitman equivalent of a guy who blows his load in 2 minutes. And you know what, that’s fine for you, it’s effective for the mission, but it’s not…as fun. You do your thing. I need excitement and satisfaction and if your way doesn’t get it, I gotta do this myself. I have the tools and the skills, Mike.” She said holding up the scalpel.

“This isn’t couple's therapy. This isn’t the equivalent of disappointing sex, your metaphor loses meaning when you account for the fact that bad sex leads to breakups and sloppy kills lead to the death penalty. My boring kills are why I have almost 80 and nobody even knows most of them are related. This is illegal, we get lethal injection for this. Without me around, you risk your life.”

“So then why did God pick me? For you to tutor and rule over? …or to learn from each other? Being partners is a 2 way street, oh for the love of fuck, asshole stop squirming in that chair. We’re having a conversation, it’s very rude, you’re not even bleeding much. UGH, anyway, maybe God wanted YOU to learn to enjoy your work more, as much as me learning to kill smarter and more carefully. You’re bottling up all that emotion for a little quicky gunshot, you’re not happy. Maybe I’m supposed to help you loosen up, and you’re supposed to help me plan better. Look, I got cameras, I got alarms set up, I got sedatives, I put a small explosive device under his penis that will go off if he leaves the chair…” she said as the man suddenly stopped struggling.

“Seriously?” Mike asked quietly, she huddled him closer and got quiet too.

“No, but he will not stop making noise, and he doesn’t know what I did while he was unconscious, just go with it.” she whispered. “Anyway, the point being that I’ve grown a lot, thanks to you, but I can’t be your little protected puppy, I gotta run free in the yard sometimes.”

“I just don’t want to lose you. I care about you and this mission.” he said hesitantly.

“Aww, because I’m hot?”

“No because you remind me of my late wife.”

“Oh…fuck. Well, I would have preferred the other thing, but that’s sweet too.” she smiled.

“You’re right. I do overprotect you, but look how bad you were when I found you. Can you blame me for caring too much? I need you for this job and the job is my life, and you’re a friend, I care about your wellbeing too. I’ve grown very fond of you, and I can’t see you on death row because you made a mistake. How about this: We plan some kills together, I help you cover the gaps and when you wanna be alone and do your own thing, just let me know, I’ll let you borrow the gear. If I have to trust that you won’t be stupid and get caught, you have to trust me enough to let me know that you need things. I could have made this easier…can I please shoot him, he really is just the loudest bastard I've ever heard.”

“Yea, shoot him. He’s annoying me anyway. He stinks and the mood is gone, he won’t listen to my poetic riddles and rituals, so I’m doing this for nothing. I put on a nurse outfit and designed a whole shocking thing that kills him when I pull the plug just for the medical metaphor, and I don’t even wanna torture anymore. Can we go home, order some food and just…hang out?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled, reaching out without looking and casually putting 3 rounds into the man in the chair. “I guess compromises are part of every relationship.”

“Well…not EVERY relationship. Some are based on full submissio-”

“I’m not being your bondage fuck buddy.” he interrupted.

“Okay, well then yes, there needs to be compromises. So we can just do some fun kills, together, as a team, but with MY targets and my…dare I say: brilliantly set up kill rooms?” she asked.

“Sure. If it makes you happy and keeps you safe, we can do your thing sometimes. But don’t be too late, and call me when you’re done so I can double-check your evidence disposal and clean up the details. You need to rest a little. We have a big day tomorrow recruiting the new help and this place needs to be presentable.”

“You’re inviting him here?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t want him knowing my home address just yet. This place is disposable for a reason, and if anything goes wrong and we think he’s a threat…we’re already in the kill room.”

“That’s a good point. I’ll get the mop, you can bag the body. Sorry. I got carried away.”

“It’s fine. I enjoy spending time with you. We just have to manage our time better, and you have to be more open. You should have just told me you needed to kill a few people alone.” Mike said, grabbing the bone saw and some gloves.

“I didn’t think you’d understand or approve. I’m not selflessly exterminating evil for God the efficient way, I’m a very disturbed girl enjoying my pastime. I did pray first, if that helps. I’m sober. I really feel like this was necessary.”

“No, I get it. These people deserve to die. I don’t LOVE the fact that you do things by feel, but I recruited a vengeance slasher when I got you, I should have expected it. I’m not trying to fix you, or change you, you’re quite the fascination just as you are, I’m just trying to help you. I accept you, and your disturbing hobbies.” He nodded.

“Is that your way of saying I love you, Tanner?” she grinned with a cartoonish cheesy smile, still covered in bloody white face paint.

“I guess as much as I think I can love anyone anymore. You have your problems, I have mine. I still…feel like part of me died with Gwen. Maybe I can’t understand why you have any feelings for half a person. Why you’d want anything to do with an old man capable of half-loving anything.” he huffed.

“Well I think you’re cool. I think you’re brilliant and talented, and I’m still fan-girling out over some of your kills, your methods. And you’re nice to me. Nobody’s nice to me. Broken girl who went from selling ass to slitting throats, and for some reason it felt like a job promotion. I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m just glad you decided to keep me.” She smirked as he sighed and ruffled her hair, Tanner stepping into the hug and feeling safe as he hugged her back.

“Yea, I’ll keep you. It’s gonna be my birthday this month, and I never get any gifts. I guess it was just saving up for you.”

“That’s adorable.” She whispered. "I also didn't get you anything because I didn't know."

“Turning 51.”

“Ha ha, you’re an OLD! Sorry. I’m kind of a bitch sometimes. I’m working on that, but it’s a long road, and we need to set realistic expectations on the results. Anyway, let's hack up this fat fuck and go home.”