~ - ~ And our top story today: The Man of the Hour, missing. Time Tellers' magnate Emil Nekola was 'ripped' from his home in the Lowe Heights area, employees from the mogul's mansion struggle to piece together their eyewitness account ~ - ~

I'm not good with guns. Anyone with a trained eye, a cool, calm collected head could see the way my finger pulsed over the grip in a quiver. Lucky for me, these weren't trained eyes, nor hands on the other side of me. Those were hands trained for counting money, and they were cuffed behind his back. He couldn't show off the obscenely expensive wristwatches his company produced. To make matters worse, his costly suit was tattered after this morning's break-in. He'd meant to wear it at a gala on a yacht. Now he had to wear it in a less than desirable condition, in a less than desirable place.

"It's made the news, they're gonna come looking for me- -please, you've gotta let me go. Me! Haha, ME. You know who I am. You do, right?" His eyes were hysterical. They saw a gun and assumed it a threat. He was shriveled up in the corner, a man suddenly in a room in which his extensive influence was out of reach.

"You want money?!" He frantically offered. My head turned toward him, silently. He grinned, voraciously eager at the slightest acknowledgement. "That's right. I'll pay you dou- -a thousand times whatever they're payin' you. Get me back to my bodyguards and you'll never live in want. Aha!" Hope made people sickly delirious. The elevator in me plummeted. It was these types that never seemed to make it out, no matter how feverishly they begged.

I sat on a chair above him. I fixed my glasses on the bridge of my nose.

"You can't bargain with me." I wasn't sadistic enough to give him false hope, even though from the crushed look on his face, that's what he so dearly wanted.

"I don't make the decision." Words slow and thick. I'm not used to talking to people, either. If I wasn't so sure he would die, I probably wouldn't. But these are the last words he'll ever hear. He shook violently on the floor, almost like he knew it.

Y

U

U

R

I

The sound of my name being voiced was a death sentence. In this Little Room, no one hears my name and lives. Emil's dark blue eyes narrowed, seeing the calm in mine, and then he panicked all at once, watching me raise the gun.

I told you not to talk to Payload. Three is on his way.

Payload was the code name for our hostages. Three was simply the code name for the third member of our team. The Clean Up.

"I know." I lined the front sight to the man's head. He looked up at me with all the fear of death and I tried to take it away from him in one shot.

You got his ear. Try again.

He clutched the hole where his ear should have been, screaming. The gun shook as I aligned it properly, brain matter accenting the second shot.

I've seriously gotta take you out to a shooting range. You know, for practice.

"Take me to a range, then." Words came out quicker once the task was completed. "Practice won't help."

I think I know what will. Leave the gun. Bring the ear.

~ - ~ Police have not verified the owner of the severed ear delivered to the Time Tellers headquarters, but are unfortunately speculating that it could belong to the still missing heir and face of the company, who will hopefully be returned to a worried family very soon. At the scene, Mrs. Nekola, Emil's mother, is inconsolable about her son's disappearance~ - ~

There were always two televisions on site. One in the Little Room. One in the Big Room.

I walked into the Big Room and sat on one of three chairs. The man who'd spoken to me on the intercom was now face to face, turning down the dial on the television set, bent over it, looking over his shoulder at me as if on careless whim.

"Made it back safely, I see."

He straightened up and smiled, incentive enough for putting a bullet between a man and his left ear. No, reward. I'd already done it. Elbows rested on knees, back hunched forward. His voice sounded sweet, without the distortion of the intercom. Like this, he was raw. Naked. Payload was gone. No witnesses meant no fear of exposure to him. I could see the way the thrill carved itself out in goosebumps over the exposed skin of his forearms.

No.

The job's not over.

Not until One and Three arrived. There were four people on the team. I was number Two. The voice was Four.

"Why the fuck do we keep putting four-eyes in charge of maiming?!" Three stormed in, nostrils flaring. His mid-length, blonde hair flicked over his shoulder as he whipped his immaculate face toward mine, in anger. "If you can just, like, suck a little less, I wouldn't have some Red Wedding shit to clean up in the only ten minutes I get. Ten fucking minutes, ya Two-shit fuck up." Three took his seat beside me, crossing a leg neatly over the other. Not before he'd made eye contact with Four, who folded his hands in front of him.

"I give you ten minutes, when I know you can do it in three." The third occupant in the room lowered his eyes, his cheeks puffing up. "All I'm sayin' is, the Jap's a liability. Someday, he's going to lose the gun to someone who can actually shoot it."

"The gun isn't for his own protection," Four reminded, leaning back against the television, heels crossed. "It's less personal. Anyone can shoot a gun. Eliminate certain variables, and there's not much evidence to be shown." He hadn't hired me for my shooting skills. His eyes turned dark. Sickly sweet. "Now, if he were to use his hands, snap a neck... break a back. Bleed someone dry. There are only so many men who can do that."

"You're disgusting," Three spat, turning his eyes away. Not because of the description Four so lovingly painted. I looked down, seeing what pressed between Fours' thighs and grew harder still. My eyes flickered up to meet his. It was no secret that Four enjoyed violence.

He stood straight again, lighthearted mischief returned to him. "Besides, isn't it kinda charming? A killer. That can't use a gun." That might've been the real reason why I was given that position. Three rolled his eyes, as teenagers were apt.

"Didja have to mess up his ear? Isn't that going a little too far?" Number One was grinning as he entered the Big Room, fixing his leather jacket on his shoulders, keys jingling loosely from his hands.

I clasped my hands together, shifting back in my seat. "Doesn't need an ear to tell time." I worked hard on that. Looking up, I earned a bigger grin and a guffaw out of One.

"Right. 'Cause he's the watch kid. Funny, Deux." He bumped into my shoulder as he sat down to my left. Four smiled serenely and stepped forward.

"One, Two, Three," he counted off, voice as velvet as his skin. "Excellent work, today. Three of me couldn't do half as well."

Looking back on it, there wasn't a lot of opportunity for us to mingle. To get attached. But it doesn't matter how long you know someone, or how much time you spend out of the day with that someone. Bonds are made. Together, in these few minutes of closure we had after a job, there were a few things I'd learned about these underground professionals during the operation and after it'd been shut down.

One. A French-Canadian in his early twenties. He was more muscle than any of us, but as far as physical threats went, he was second only to me. Even with a gun. Tallest of the four, he wore leather, and slicked his dark hair back. "Like Rebel without a Cause," he told me. His job was to abduct Payload. Now, he could do it noisy or quiet, it all depended on how big of a show Four wanted it to be. Every single job, he'd delivered Payload in the exact condition specified, at the exact time specified. He knew his way into a heavily guarded mansion, and knew his way through the densest traffic. One met me for the second phase of the operation.

Two. Me. Yuuri Katsuki, Japanese, twenty-four in November. Taller than Three and Four, quiet, and bespectacled. Not so great with guns or words, but better with my hands. My job is to meet One and take charge of Payload, bringing him or her to the Little Room. Depending on the signal I get from Four, I either drop them off at another location, or put them through my hellish aim and hope for a clean kill. If there's a body to dispose of, that's where Three comes in.

Three. The loudest, the angriest, and the youngest of us four. The most honest, but the best at covering things up. He was in charge of clean up, whether it was disposing of a body, or taking care of any messes along the way. He was in his teens easily, but from how eerily well he cleaned, it seemed like he'd been doing this for years. From the accent, I'd guess ex-Russian mafia. If there was no deceased Payload to be disposed of, Three adjusted.

Four. Not one of us was exactly sure how he began this, not even I knew and I'd been with him longest. He'd approached each of us the same way, I'd later learned. As someone with a wealth in means and access, he knew our names, our skill sets, our pasts, and was ready to learn what more we were willing to do with them. This was an international team, not one of us was from the same place. How he managed to procure us individually was beyond me. As such, each job paid well, but it was few and far in between, especially when jobs were sometimes continents away. As far as I knew, we were the original One, Two, and Three. None of us declined, so I never learned what happened if we said 'no'. For the other two, I'm sure the pay was enough. For me, it was never about the pay.

Three stood up with his bag of cash, flipping through it before storming out. One was the next to get up and leave, laughing off Three's abruptness and stepping quicker as he realized he could catch him before he took off. I sat there, waiting, until Four acknowledged me from the laptop he'd started perusing.

"You're free to go."

I found my feet and stood, the chair scooting behind me clumsily. I could hear the smile in his voice, though he was turned away from me.

"I'll see you this evening. Don't stray too far, and I'll find you." He looked over at me, and I thought my heart would stop again and again, with each pulse.

"... Yeah. Okay." I nodded to myself, trying not to look so forlorn. Another end of a job. But he seemed pleased about today. Without another glance, I zipped up my jacket and proceeded out the doors of the Big Room. Down the hallway. Stopped at the exit, by Three, who held out his waiting palm. One laughed in astonishment beside him as I took out a few of the bills and handed them to Three.

"Extra clean up, huh? ... Then, hey, shouldn't I get more for dropping off that ear?" One joked, shaking his head when I tried to offer some of mine. "You keep that. The way Quatre has you blue ballin', you're gonna need it for a good lay."

I looked between the two of them, obviously frozen. I heard One's laugh ringing in my ear before he started walking off, Three groaning in distaste beside me. "Don't look so surprised. Anyone with eyes can see you two are fucking." I didn't feel too comfortable having a sixteen year old know about my sex life, and it showed. Three huffed, taking a step in front of me.

"Look, I don't care about you. Let me make that clear." Why did he have to make it clear? "I've had to clean your messes. They told me Payload wouldn't be under eighteen, or over sixty... Bullshit. And you don't discriminate either." I laughed, awkwardly. I was told the same too, no incredibly young or incredibly old. I believed it'd be that way, until I was face to face with a five year old Payload, waiting on the decision as to whether or not I'd kill her.

Three saw my eyes and lowered his own. "Well. Still does not compare to the dealings I've been in before. I've known many a godless man. But nevertheless, today is not about the earless blood bucket. You think Four will love you, as long as you are useful him. I know the pay means nothing to you."

I kicked a pebble, shrugging my shoulders. "You've got me in a box, here." He did, and I hated to admit that this unnerving teen had more wisdom in him than his years should've allowed. "What of it?"

He looked exasperated, frustrated as if this had reached beyond the point of concern in him. "A man like that- -doesn't love. I'm surprised someone like you can even fathom love itself, soulless, fat fuck you are- -" Ouch. I held my rounded - - absolutely not fat - - stomach defensively. Three continued, "That is beside the point. I am just curious- -you shoot anyone he wants you to. Yes?" It was a rhetorical question, of course I'd kill anyone Four asked of me.

"Would you shoot yourself, if he told you to?"

I settled back from the shock, and frowned. Thoughtful.

"My only concern is that I'd miss."

Three had tried to warn me, though why, I wasn't sure. One would've laughed, at least. It was difficult to imagine my death being of value to Four, so I couldn't really humor the worried teen. Instead, Three turned away and headed toward his means of escape, angrily muttering to himself. One was already long gone.

This is what I'd been looking forward to, alone time with Four. But still, as I waited for him to appear like he always did, I felt restless. It definitely had something to do with Three's warning. Did he know something? Did Four say anything? I sat at the bar of the hotel, drinking lightly. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd do it and end it all, if that was what Four wanted.

It was a shallow existence. But I'd convinced myself he was better than all I'd had before.

A small hand slid across my back, warming me instantly. I sank into the touch, immediately comforted. "There... I didn't make you wait too long, did I?" Four sat close to me, on the nearest stool, his arm tucked around my waist. The bartender greeted him, and took his order. I could still feel his fingers, clinging to my side. I leaned into his touch, eyes lowering to watch the way his bangs nearly fell into his eyes. "Your hair's getting longer." I commented, instead of gushing about how pretty he was. Four gave a half smile, nodding toward my hair, watching it as he took a sip. "Yours is, too."

I looked around, then back at him. "Am I fat?"

Four nearly choked on his Bourbon, laughing into the rim of his glass once he refrained. "You- -who told you that?" Four thought it was funny, but I was worried about it. Damn him and his slender fingers. His beautifully rich, dark skin. The way his laugh had me knotted up far worse than the morbid thoughts that came with the job.

"Chubby- -maybe. You could stand to lose some weight." I didn't care about the softness surrounding my strength anymore. I nuzzled down to his ear, impulsively, even as his body stiffened against mine. "Phichit. I want to be inside of you." I couldn't resist his name. We'd gone two months without seeing each other.

He placed his drink down, the side of his face resting against my shoulder. "Take me upstairs, if you're so eager."

Beauty had never fallen short on Four's account. Clothed in his usual black turtleneck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark, tight bottoms, or unclothed, he was picturesque. It was an objective kind of attractive, and I always treasured as much as he'd let me. The way his body opened up and responded to touch, the expression of surrendering need, his hands reaching out to hold me. Every push inside him eked a sigh, a breath, his moans struggling for purchase underneath my lips.

"Ta... Take off your glasses, at least," he told me, heedlessly knocking the frames from my face, my hands rooted on his hips as i drove myself inside him, repeatedly angling myself deep. "Then I can't," I moaned, grinding deep inside until I could feel his ass spasm around me, "I can't see all of you."

"That's fine." He panted, reaching above the bed behind him, withdrawing a handgun.

The movement of my hips continued, the deeply rooted trust unshakeable from the mere presence of a gun. Plus, two whole months. If I stopped every time Phichit pulled a gun on me during sex, I'd still be a virgin.

"Lick it." I could see his smile through the blur of my uncorrected vision. I tasted the muzzle, the length of the slide. He tightened around me with an excited gasp, his tight warmth squeezing affectionately around my cock, and not a beat skipped in his mirth as he shoved the barrel in between my lips. The safety clicked off. I closed my eyes, panting around the metal girth of the barrel. I pounded harder inside him, until my little display had him quivering on my cock, and I hadn't opened my eyes again a moment too soon. The gun slipped from my mouth and to the safety of the ground behind his head, his fingers empty, trembling. I filled them with my own, my digits taking up the empty spaces between his, and came inside.

"Mmmh..." Four, three, two, one. "Get off, please."

If I told One the real reason I suspected Phichit was number Four, would he laugh? Four seconds was the maximum amount of afterglow Phichit allowed himself before getting back to being number Four again. I withdrew, complying, resisting the urge to beg for a second round. It'd come sometime later, as it usually had. He pulled out his laptop filled with information and secrets beyond me, things I didn't care about. I watched him, the details of his face. He knew I was unconcerned with what was actually on the laptop, so sometimes he let me watch.

Sometimes he'd inform me more about the job. Unnecessary- - usually it was just him excited about the particulars of his clients. "His mother took out the hit on him." Phichit told me, his face turning to mine. "She figured he'd be more use to the company as a martyr than he would alive." His lips were lightly swollen with kissing. He saw the look on my face and turned his face back toward the screen. I frowned and laid on my side.

"And we're supposed to be the monsters." I breathed out.

Four laughed. "No, we're still monsters."

N E X T

"Alright, so... I think I'm getting the gist of it. First guy picked me up, brought me to you. I'll hear the third guy over the intercom, in a second. And I won't see the fourth guy until I'm dead. Is that right? I think I'm right."

No Payload has ever made me feel more uncomfortable.

"By the way- -totally not my business or anything, you're in the business of killing and all, you know what you're doing- -but that's definitely not how you load a gun."

What I didn't know, is, he'd be my last.

"Hand it over, and I'll show you."