"Please, please, please" the hobbled man sobbed; he collapsed against the wall, his tears pooled in the pavement. I sighed; did anybody ever use their manners before the crime? No. So, why do they only decide to start being polite once their lives are on the line?

Does it really take a knife to the throat to have someone spit out a simple 'please' or 'thank you' once in a while?

Well I suppose I shouldn't expect much from my line of work. All I deal with is gangsters, drug lords and all the other riffraff whose good-for-nothing fathers, weren't around to smack any respect into them.

That's where I am able to offer my services, being a good samaritan. I help people learn to play by the rules.

Continuing to sob, he cradled his broken ribs. Fractured or broken? I'm fairly sure I heard a snap; I'm going to place a bet of twenty on broken. I crouched down to the sniveling heap, my knife loosely held in my right hand. I began to toy with it, swinging the blade for a dramatic effect.

(Did I forget to mention that I'm a bit of a show off.)

"Rudolph… you know we wouldn't be having this problem if you could keep those flapping lips of yours shut. You knew there was a bounty on your head and you still went parading around like a kid in a candy store, didn't you? So you can't really blame anyone but yourself for the situation your in. Can you?" I tilted my head and placed my chin in the palm of my left hand.

I tapped my fingers rhythmically along my jaw, my eyes smiling, studying his pain.

"Lemme go" he coughed, wheezing each syllable.

I shook my head; they were all the same, so boring. They'd either beg for their lives or curse at me. Most of the time, both seemed to be popular options. They'd swear and mumble all while never able to look me in the eye.

I smiled down at his face, leaning in closely.

I knew he would be the type to go from begging to abuse in three… two…

"You think this is funny you little… I'll kill y-ack " I jabbed my hand to his throat before he could continue.

He didn't find that funny.

Surprisingly, neither did I. Why did I always have to be right?

"Oh tut-tut. And to think, you were being so polite. How disappointing" I said faintly, beginning to tire of this old routine.

Releasing my hand I stared at his lumpy boulder of a head, his squinty black eyes spilling with tears, his large red nose leaking and swelling, mixing with the sweat beads on his forehead. The little black hair that he had on his head had been combed over to give a non-convincing illusion of a head of hair. He was considerably short, and despite his extra large shirt, his clothes were tight around his thirty years in the making, potbelly. Two of the buttons on his designer coat had popped off from the growing mass. Although he smelled of raw pork, he was wearing some expensive cologne. I glanced at his newly bought watch, the face had cracked.

Damn, I had wanted to sell that online, it won't be worth nearly as much now.

"S-Screw you" he spat, regaining his confidence. My patience was growing thinner.

"Pipe down!" I lifted my foot and knocked him out with one kick to the skull. Choked breaths spluttered as he slept. He was lucky it didn't killing him. A beep sounded in my ear. I reached my index finger to the small earpiece.

"Ok, I'm coming to pick him up in five. Try not to beat his pretty face too badly" I heard Mason remark, my earpiece crackled, ending the transmission.

I leaned against the dark alley. The grey paint had chipped to reveal cracks snaking through the bricks. The only source of light was a flickering pink neon sign giving the alley a red glow, the dirty puddles of water reflected the light, and the mix of blues and pinks were actually quite bewitching. I pulled out my earphones and blocked out his heavy breathing.

After six and a half minutes (around two songs later), I saw a pair of lights searching through the darkness of the street; they had finally come to pick up tubby.

"All right Rudolph we're going for a quick ride" I muttered, I guessed his drooling mind wouldn't have much of an opinion.

Mason really needed to pick up his game, six minutes was far too slow. Actually when was Mason ever late? The rev of the tires was all-wrong. Crap, how could I not have noticed, that was not our van.

A beaten vehicle had raced to a halt pulling up, pouncing up onto the isolated street, closing off the exit. Footsteps busily scattered out, pouring from the doors of the van and out onto the pavement, to pounce upon my prey.

How dare they.

He was mine.

I emerged quickly stepping between my newfound playmates and my victim who was still out cold, taking my knife out of my jacket pocket. Around seven men in cheap knock-off designer shoes, baggy ripped jeans and turned up collar shirts, stood in front of their pimped van.

They were all reeking of extra strength deodorant and waxy hair gel.

I turned my head in disgust, my poor nose didn't need to suffer this kind of abuse.

Most of them seemed to be walking meat with veined muscles and pudgy middles, except for the driver who was hanging at the back and the guy in the middle who was poking out behind his big tough friends.

From the way they all were forming around him I would guess he was their leader. The lights flooding the alley blurred their faces. I didn't exactly picture them looking like glamorous supermodels.

Maybe these were Rudolph's friends after all, they certainly had his fashion sense. Too bad he and I were growing so close.

"Right boys, gather up tha' mess and let's get outa this bloody dump," the wanna-be thug in the middle ordered, stepping forward, placing him in my sight. His front teeth were gritty and yellow, the gums around them looked black (obviously a smoker, and judging by his twitchy nature, nicotine probably wasn't his only addiction).

He had large dark circles under his tinted blue eyes and his paper-thin skin was luminescent, showing his jagged cheekbones.

He reminded me of the leftovers from weasel road kill.

"Ello' Rustolf, gotten in a little scrap I see, and with such a scrawny little rival!" he directed his attention to the man unconscious on the floor, hopefully not expecting any response.

If so he would be quite disappointed.

Then he turned his focus to me, my face shadowed inside my hooded jacket.

"Come closer lad, let me see ya. You know it aint' respectful to hold a knife to your elders" he placed one hand on his hip and used the other to wiggle his finger, beckoning.

Seems he underestimated me. I couldn't help but laugh. I suppose it was an insult but I doubt the brick wall that was his brain, would realise until he actually saw me. How predictable.

So I accepted his invitation, approaching him, I took each confident step more slowly paced then the previous. His stance completely changed from arrogant command to nothing more than a shocked and bewildered child. I had lifted up my hoody to have a good look at idiot number one. My pure white hair glowed, exposed to the moonlight. The long strands poured out of my hoodie and onto my shoulders. My blue eyes shone in the thrill of combat.

"Huh? Wait a minute it's you! You're the bloody tramp who killed the whole Monnock Gang" I flinched at 'killed', but didn't let my smug grin fade, finally things were spicing up. He dove into his pocket and pulled out his pistol, gripping with both of his unsteady hands directing it at my head.

His form was all wrong, with his left foot off balance, the crooked way he was holding his gun and the nervous shakes in his wrists.

Even the position he held it blocked his vision when aiming, in total, he was going to make one hell of a lousy shot.

If he dared to pull the trigger.

Meanwhile Clark Rustolf began to stir, poor baby caught up in all of the drama.

"W-Whassis?" He slurred trying to open his eyes one at a time.

"Shush now dopey, this doesn't concern you." I answered his befuddled question.

All of the minions began to stand around confused at their bosses' fearful recognition. In their eyes I was just a weak little girl with a knife.

That hurt, did they really not recognise me? The heartbreak, just shoot me in the heart and get it over with.

"Oh come on, is this really fair? All of you strong boys against me and a flimsy little knife" I complained.

Inside I was maniacally laughing, they were actually baffled to find that, the big bad wolf stood in their way, was just little old me.

My comment had made all of the henchmen turn to their boss for guidance. Seeming to question why they were all needed for this one job with nobody worthy of a fight. Or so they thought.

I added in an innocent pout, quite convincingly in my opinion, just for fun. I should join a drama club; with my acting skills I'd probably become the next big thing.

"All of you watch this one, right'. She's the Eris that everyone's been whispering bout lately" he snarled, that got everyone's attention. Finally some recognition, you do all this work and it takes this long for people to even know who you are. Although I wondered what had caused people to label me 'Eris', it had caught on like wildfire. Who was I to argue? The people had spoken.

Even Rudolph subconsciously groaned at my feared name. I found five more guns pointed at me now, nobody was questioning Weasel anymore.

Perhaps I would put my acting career on pause.

With all eyes and six of the seven guns on me, was I worried about becoming a new target practice for the mindless shooters?

No.

Should I have been?

Also no.

They were the one's who should have felt intimidated.

Of course they had heard the rumours, but a rumour is only as reliable as the person who tells it. You never know the truth until you see it for yourself.

Hopefully they would learn that Grandma can turn out to be the Big-Bad wolf.

"Well boys, I suppose it would be impossible to stop you from taking my boy, who's charmingly drooling on the floor over here, I mean I am completely outnumbered considering it's roughly two against six… I'm meeeeeaaan, ah I'm at least worth two of you, but even so," I exclaimed, bowing my head in defeat in a curtsy, hiding the wicked grin spreading on my face. They all stood around uncomfortably, waiting for the 'OK' from their boss to shoot, but he was so focused on watching my every movement, that he forgot to actually think.

Lower class criminals were dreadful at multitasking; people should keep that in mind when looking for employees. The driver coughed breaking the silence looking me in the eyes.

"But. I have always been so stubborn, I don't really believe in 'impossible'." I lifted my gloating smile to meet their Weasels eyes, frozen in uncertainty.

Perfect.

I knew they were expecting me to start doing flips and fly up in slow motion or something ridiculously clichéd. I wondered what kinds of ridiculous rumours they'd heard.

So instead I held out my knife and precisely aimed the blade. With a swift flick, it flashed down. Everyone watched in awe as the knife found its target, right into Rudolph's fat meaty temple.

One Bullet, location right shoulder.

Two bullets, location upper throat.

Three bullets, location right abdomen.

Four bullets, location below left eye.

Five bullets, location lower left ribcage.

Six bullets, location grazed throat.

And naturally like any person after being shot six times, I died.