It was nice. Cool.

Greg. He sat in his apartment. Pathetic. A heavy gun in his hand. MP-443 Grach. A Russian Pistol. Greg was broken… Too broken to carry it.

Kill everyone at The Pony. Nadia and her new co-workers. He couldn’t kill his wife.

But then he would die. Dmitri said that there was no place to run or hide. No escape.

”Volkov or nothing…” Dmitri sneered.

Dammit… Nadia! He had to end things.

“I don’t know what to do…” he whispered.

Greg waited by the dumpsters. Clutching the pistol tight. Balaclava. Trench coat. A mix between a spy and bank robber. Coward inside regardless. Dmitri said to call a number when he did the deed.

Why me?

”Hey Hobo? Are you alright? Want to come in for a brownie?” A voice came from behind Greg. He turned.

It was that girl. Alice. She had a trash bag over her shoulder. Clutching the pistol tight. He held up the gun. Alice’s eyes wide.

BANG! BANG! Smoke….

The air leaving her lungs. The sound — deafening.

Nadia was cleaning a toilet. She shuddered.

Neera and Arman looked out the window of their bedroom.

Rain. It was heavy and sudden. Alice lay on the cement.

”Shit…” Greg said. He called the number. He ran away — a black SUV stopped and pulled him inside. Greg cried. Mila and Dmitri were both there.

“Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…” He cursed.

Mila hugged him tight and kissed his ear. Greg thrust the gun into Dmitri’s hands. He wept as they sped away from the crime scene.

Alice could feel the wet water on her palms. It was nice. Cool.