I aimed my gun at her face and pulled the trigger.

I wasn't sorry.

When I walked out of the Chamber Of Echoes there were already police waiting to arrest me. They told me to drop the gun and to lay flat on the ground with my hands palm down and then they came to me, took my gun and put handcuffs on me, all at gunpoint. I hadn't heard them because my ears were ringing still; I just knew the procedure and obeyed.

When they had me in custody I said:

"I have a License To Kill." very calmly and matter-of-factly.

It took about thirty minutes before they were certain they had to let me go. I was uncuffed and my gun was returned to me. I walked away while the cops glared at my back. I'd abused my power by killing her for personal reasons. My license would probably get revoked.

When I got home I fed my cat and took a shower. I don't have any friends, mostly because I kill people for a living. It is distasteful, but someone has got to do it. I contacted my department supervisor and reported what had done.

"You are on suspension until we sort this out. If nobody claims they wanted her dead in twenty-four hours, you know what is going to happen."

"Yeah, I will lose my license." I replied.

"You will lose your job, Gerald. Your job is at stake. You were a killer. Who is going to hire you?"

"I will find work." I promised.

I searched for work and was rejected over and over. There were no reasons offered as to why. It is illegal to say negative things to or about someone. There was a way to communicate something offensive, but only through professional services such as the Department Of Insults. An employer isn't going to pay to say what they really think of an applicant. They just simply say "No thank you."

Six months later I was on my last check and I'd gained a lot of weight. I had gotten fired and nobody would hire me because I was a killer. I was finally sorry I'd shot her.

There was a knock on my door and I wondered if I was to be killed. I was definitely on the list of people who had it coming. Nobody likes killers, not even the clients.

"Gerald Dim?" there was a girl in a singing-telegram uniform. She wasn't there to sing to me, she was delivering something else.

"That is me, yes." I took a deep breath and waited for it. "God, here it comes." I thought.

She showed me her authorization for what she was about to say and gave me my yellow copy. Then she let me have it:

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"You are an unemployed, animal-neglecting, friendless, reckless, overweight, mentally-unstable, unintelligent, unattractive and racial minority heterosexual male, with no future." she carefully recited while attempting to maintain eye-contact and sound sincere.

I sighed. It was an expensive insult, someone had gone all-out on me. I was flattered.

I nodded at her and gave a weak smile. She smiled back and turned to go as I closed my door. The words began to sink in and I became upset. I hadn't felt so ashamed and horrible in a long time. Every syllable was carefully crafted and researched to do the maximum psychological damage to me. I went through stages of anger and outrage and then self-loathing and depression. I deserved this, I told myself.

I had to get psychiatric help to deal with the haunting cadence of those painful words. It took me almost a year before I was capable of looking at myself and by then I was evicted and sent to a government workforce program called 'Clean Streets'.

I got paid in crumbs and seconds. Food and lodging from the government require work credit and it is lousy work. I picked up people's trash from the side of the road and the automated-fines they paid for littering covered the expense of feeding and housing me.

As I worked my state of mind was dangerously self-deprecating. While I hated myself I began to love my work. I was suited to serve the public as its lowest servant; after a life of power and privilege. That was the most acceptable thought I had about myself.

The woman I killed was famous for her political accomplishments. I just didn't like her because she had used her authority to say negative things about killers. I was a proud killer at the time and I had overstepped my own authority when I went into the Chamber Of Echoes and shot her. I'd not had proper authorization and worse: I'd done it for personal reasons.

I saw a cat that looked like the one they had taken away from me. I crawled and I approached her. She hissed menacingly and leapt up to my face. I didn't fight back as the feral animal cut open one of my eyes and raked my face into bleeding shreds. I kinda liked it. She ran off still caterwauling madly.

My old department supervisor was behind me and when I turned around with my ruined eye and mutilated face he just laughed at me.

"You look fantastic." he said with legal wording that, while positive, were still sarcastic.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"You don't have time for an old friend?" he looked hurt, pretend hurt.

"I don't have any friends." I stated. I was in pain and I was bleeding. I could only see him with my left eye.

"This is a job I wanted to do personally." he smiled for me and produced his gun.

"Careful" I warned him. "That is how I got this way."

"How does it feel?" he asked.

I had never felt the way I did at that moment. I realized I was terrified. I presumed he was there to kill me. I realized that despite my fall and my past, I did not want to die. I had found peace eating tasteless food and picking up garbage for a living. I had grown to care about life, in my humiliation.

"I want to live." I blubbered. I was crying and bleeding and shaking with dread.

"That is good. This is a recruitment offer. You were selected as someone who understands human nature." he offered me a scroll with a red ribbon on it.

"I don't understand." I was still very afraid. I had just experienced all the death I had delivered as I looked at his gun. He had shown it to me to upset me, knowing I would recognize the moment I had given to so many people during my career. Now I knew what it felt like to face certain and sudden death. But death had not released me. He was leaving me there.

"I told them you were suitable." he said while walking away and leaving me there. I opened the scroll. It was an actual employment offer. The Department Of Insults had come for me again.

I tore it apart.

With deliberate dutifulness I began to pick up each scrap and place them in my waste-collection. I continued my work, ignoring the pain in my cheeks.

I felt human again.