Old Four was actually a pretty funny guy, but not at the right time or with the right audience. No matter how he tried to joke around, I just couldn't laugh.

His leg was still bleeding, and he was like, "Hey man, can we hit the hospital? Let's talk about this after I get bandaged up. If I lose too much blood..."

He probably didn't realize that losing blood would soon feel like a blessing to him.

I told him, "You'll be fine; it didn’t hit any major arteries. Just drive, I’m tired and don’t want to talk."

I put the gun away since we were on a deserted road, and I was really feeling drained.

I asked Old Four to roll down my window so I could smoke. He said it was fine, and I lit up, enjoying the cool breeze as the trees rushed by in the dark.

After a smoke, I felt a bit better, but I still asked if he had any music. He said he did, so I told him to play whatever.

He put in a CD, and the first song was something about swords and knives. He quickly switched it, not wanting that vibe. The next song was "The Price of Love," but I asked him to turn it off after a bit.

Old Four started panicking, asking if he had offended me. I told him he hadn’t. He kept trying to negotiate, saying we could sort things out over drinks, but I just wanted him to drive.

When we got to the river, I told him to get out and wait while I sat in the car for a couple more minutes, feeling uneasy.

I finally got out and walked over to him. He was really nervous, shaking and trying to offer me a cigarette, which I declined.

I put my arm around him and walked to the riverbank. The water was rushing by, and he seemed scared I might throw him in.

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I asked him, “If you could go back and change a mistake you made, would you do it differently?” He was shaking his head, saying he wouldn’t.

He didn’t really get what I was asking; fear had taken over.

I told him that sometimes one wrong step can ruin everything and that it could cost him his life or lead to endless suffering.

He kept nodding, promising to be a better person and asking if we could just go back. I agreed.

As we walked back, he was limping, and I took my hand off his shoulder, letting him walk ahead. He stopped and asked if I was okay. I said I was fine and to keep going.

When he got close to the car, I quickly caught up and stabbed him with two daggers I had hidden in my sleeves. The pain was intense.

He collapsed on the trunk of the car, screaming in agony. I had three daggers in each sleeve, each around five inches long, all meant for him.

As he gasped for breath, I could see him struggling to understand how he ended up in this situation, probably realizing he had hurt others before.

I pulled out another set of daggers and plunged them into his ribs, lining them up with the first two. He was too weak to speak now, just sobbing softly.

The loss of blood was getting to him, and he was starting to fade. I quickly pulled the knives out, and he groaned, barely able to make any sound.

I went back to the river, lit a cigarette, and tossed the butt into the water, watching it disappear, feeling like that was me—once bright, now snuffed out.

Returning to Old Four, he was still alive but out of it. I gave him a nudge, reminding him that every action has consequences, good or bad.

Finally, I took out the last two knives, stabbing one into his back and the other into his neck without dragging it out. I wanted to end it quickly.

Seeing him go still, I sighed deeply, opened the trunk, and shoved him inside.

It was early morning, one of the quietest times of the day, just the sounds of the wind and water.

After calling the manager, I stepped back from the river, remembering an old man’s advice to stay away from the water, and I walked back the way I came.

I met my ride and tossed the bloody knives into the passenger seat. My new dispatcher, a girl named M, was in her twenties and chatty, but we hadn’t talked much.

I pulled out a cigarette but then put it back, and M told me to go ahead and smoke. I thanked her.

I thought about Old Four. He wasn't all bad; people say we have a good soul and a bad side. When those balance out, we’re alright. But when the bad takes over, that’s when trouble starts.