He didn't exactly ask to do this; in fact, he was very aware that he could've been anything he wanted to be. He was quite talented with the camera and could've gotten into the filming industry if he really tried. He wasn't a bad cook either. The man could've been sitting at home right now, watching the TV as his wife tended to dinner in the kitchen, and the two kids he would've had would be playing in the backyard. He could've lived a perfect normal life if he wanted to, if he just tried, but instead he took the route that led him to the family business.

Instead, he took up killing people as a profession, only because his father saw how great of a potential he held in him. Empathy didn't exist in his vocabulary as he pulled triggers on guns or felt the blood of a stranger's spotting his clothes and face, and he never asked questions. He did what he was told and killed who he had to, and got paid a large reward in the end. That's what made him the best of his trade: his emotionless state of mind. He was the best in the business, and anyone who said otherwise was dead in a heartbeat.

As he stood above the freshly made corpse, watching the blood seep out from the open-neck wound he created, his mind wandered yet again about how he could've grown up to be anything else but an assassin. It was a matter of which he couldn't stop pondering over these last few missions of his, and it didn't seem to help that these thoughts came to him after he had just murdered a man. Especially now of all times as it was probably the most vital assignment he was ever given.

It was a simple enough request. Same as many others he was given. He was to attend a small, private party and murder everyone there, but his main mission was to kill the heir to a highly successful business that was booming across the country. His boss held nothing but hatred for them, but the reasons were unknown to the assassin.

"Kill them all," he recalled Mr. Theodore Cartman tell him the day of his assignment. "I want the heir dead, but kill the rest too. Don't leave anyone surviving." He simply replied with a nod and signed his contract, being a man of few words, at least to him.

He surveyed the room he was in, eyes roaming over the few bloodied bodies that littered the place. There weren't many in attendance, being a private party and all. Maybe about thirty to fifty people were now deceased, all acquaintances or colleagues of the Tweak family. There were women, too. Beautiful ones that Craig Tucker would've had the pleasure to sleep with. Even a few men caught his eyes. But he knew that in the business he was in, he couldn't get romantically involved with anybody. The risks were too high, and at some point he'd have to kill them too.

He's done it countless times before. And he could do it again because they were never really lovers, none of them are. They're just sex and he knows it and he states it. But they fall in love with him anyways, unknowing of the consequences that lay ahead for them.

Craig Tucker doesn't love.

He stepped over the body at his feet, landing in a small pool of blood, though Craig didn't care. He didn't even flinch at the sight of it. That was one thing about being an assassin; after about your tenth kill, you stopped caring. The people you murder eventual blur together, becoming a simple memory stored in the back of your mind. You didn't think twice about it anymore and for Craig, he didn't give a damn from the start. He got paid and that was all that really mattered to him.

Or, it did anyways.

He continued walking around the people that lay around him, carefully maneuvering through the maze of blood and bodies as his footprints left a bloody trail behind him. There's one more, he thought to himself. I still have to kill him. But where the hell is he hiding?

A sniffle from the corner of the room caught his attention.

Bingo.

Craig slowly made his way over to the source of the crying, stopping only to pull out his dagger from a fallen body's back. The blood was still fresh and dripped crimson off the blade. He looked at it and then to the corner of the room.

A small fold-out table had been covered with a long, green cloth and was once decorated with food and drinks. Now, chips and baby carrots were haphazardly spilled atop it, and a punch bowl had been tipped over during the chaos, creating a bright red stain on the carpet below. The fruity aroma emitting from the stain mixed with the strong scent of copper and metal around the room, and the assassin crinkled his nose in distaste. Near it, Craig spotted brown dress shoes quivering underneath the table cloth. He gave a malicious smirk and stepped closer.

"Hey there, you don't have to be afraid," Craig cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice. "This won't hurt a bit." He heard a small whimper from the hidden man and silently chuckled. As he came closer, all that could be heard were his heavy boots pounding against the carpeted floor and the few sniffles and whimpers from the other.

When he stepped right in front of the shaking shoes, the man stopped moving, taking a sudden intake of breathe, and all was quiet. Suddenly, Craig flipped the table over, and the punch bowl and food flew through the air before crashing into the ground, the table breaking in half at contact. He heard a small shriek from below him and focused his cold grey eyes on the quivering form underneath. Big, almond orbs stared at him right back. Craig smiled even wider.

"Tweek Tweak. A pleasure,"

The blonde in question just glared at him through glassy eyes. He was on the verge of tears, and if Craig was someone else, he would've felt guilty for what he was going to do to him. But no, he was an assassin, and assassins don't feel guilty; they never do, he never did. Even as he trembled at the sight of the heir, he knew that wasn't from guilt. Excitement, maybe, but not guilt.

"Wish I could say the same to you," Tweek spat back at him. He was trembling and his hands were wound up in his messy, blonde locks. But as frightened at he looked to be, Craig saw something in his eyes, something behind the unfallen tears of this poor boy he was just about to murder.

Kill me, they said. I'm already dead.

He was taunting him, Craig realized. Tweek Tweak, the heir of the Tweak Bros. franchise, was taunting Craig Tucker, the assassin sent to kill him. He wanted to die, and that seemed to confuse him.

And suddenly, Craig's job seemed so much harder than before.

Maybe it was the fact that he was delaying or maybe it was just because the fucker wanted to die that caused Craig's anger to unexpectedly flare up, but whatever it was, the next instant, the heir suddenly found himself flung up against the wall, his killer's face near his own and a knife held against his throat. A strong hand was clutching at his shoulder, keeping him grounded to the surface. His breathing eradicated as he struggled out of the other's grip.

Craig bent his face forward, leaning towards Tweek's ear, and let out a warm shallow breath. He felt the blonde shudder beneath him, causing a small smile to break out across his face. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll make this quick." He could practically hear the other's heart beat suddenly speed up and finally saw the tears roll down his face. He leaned back a little to take a look and saw his eyes were shut tight.

He was finally crying. It was a quiet sob, the one where you don't make a sound but your heavy breathing, but he was crying nonetheless, and Craig knew that he had given up. Not like he had put up much of a fight anyways, he thought to himself. The assassin almost pitied him.

Almost.

Whatever. Time to kill this fucker.

Craig's grip tightened on his shoulder, pinning him even harder against the wall as he pushed the blade closer to his neck. Just one swipe and he'd be bleeding out of his windpipe, dying from the cut-off of oxygen and blood loss. Just one swipe…

But he couldn't do it. A second passed in silence, and then a few more, when Craig found himself not being able to slice the blade across the blonde's fair skin. It could've been done quickly, fast, and (maybe) painless. But no, the assassin was hesitating, something he's never done before.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. Frustrated, Craig pulled his arm back and stabbed the space near Tweek's head, eliciting a shriek from him. His eyes were still closed and tears continued to stream down his face. His stomach suddenly clenched at the sight as something churned inside of him, but the assassin pushed it aside.

Reaching for the side of his belt, Craig pulled out his revolver from its holder and cocked it before placing it on the side of the heir's forehead, hoping that the gun would help urge him on, help kill him. But again, he couldn't seem to pull the trigger.

Why couldn't he kill this guy?

It finally dawned on him as he stared at the quivering guy in his hand that he didn't want to kill this guy. That he didn't want to be killing anyone anymore. He didn't want to be some guy's pawn in murdering others.

He wanted out. And he thought that this snobby, blonde rich kid could help him with that.

With that realization, he instead hit Tweek's head hard enough let him fall unconscious to the ground. Pocketing his gun, he hefted the blonde over his shoulder, surprised to find out how light the guy was. With one hand holding the heir, he grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt and spoke into it, running towards an exit as he did.

"Test, Tucker here. Bring in the car, and let Donovan know he can detonate the bomb now," He shifted the man on his shoulder to a more comfortable position before speaking again, this time with a sort of amusement laced in his tone.

"And I've got a little… Surprise for you."

A/N: Just wanted to say that this is my first South Park fic, so any constructive criticism is welcome! And I want to give a big ol' thanks to my lovely Clyde, risashootingstar c: Thanks for helping me with edits love! Next chapter so far has quite a bit of dialogue, so I'm gonna need a little help with that too, aha.

This was inspired by an old fic I was rereading. Ah, Craig.~