Gumi walked along the edge of a waterline, a pistol hanging heavily at her left side. She balanced nest to the cool, black water, watching her refection on the water: a green haired girl with blood drenched clothes. She needed to get this off her chest: she didn't like killing, but it was what she had to do, what she was raised to do.

She stopped and leaned in closer, first looking at the blood stains that covered her body, then the light pink sakura blossom petals that drifted through the water, signifying that spring had started. She had had always hated spring, whether because of the smell of the blooming flowers or the not-hot-but-not-cold air. She dipped the toe of one of her boots in and pushed away a floating petal away from her other self that only lived in the inky water.

The old factory next to the water was once a sugar factory that got shut down due to hazardous ingredients, then turned into a drug trafficking hotspot. Now the "abandoned" factory has been taken up by a notorious gang leader who set his loan shark business in it. Gumi was one of its employees, having been a member since she was only seven; a though life the revolved around money had had its effect on her. Now twenty-two, she was one of the business' most successful contract killers.

She strutted past in her bloodied glory and a no-nonsense attitude so that even the newbie's knew that she wasn't to be messed with. But there was always that one person to drunk or cocky to take note of this.

"Hey there, doll face." He said, stepping in front of her and grabbing her just above her left elbow, "What's a cute little girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Gumi smirked; this was it, this is why she made such a good debt collector. Most people, mainly men, would misjudge her for her cute, somewhat childish appearance. She inched closer to him, and inch from his lips she whispered, "Filthy cows like you don't deserve to live, asshole."

"Dirty little—" he started backing up, but something small, hard and cold kept him in place. "What the fuck…" the girl had the end of her beloved pistol pointed up the man's spine, the weapon now free from its home on her left hip.

"Fuck off pig." Gumi said, shoving the weapon back in its place and passing the still-stunned man. She walked past the other grungy workers to a back room with a polished wooden door. A female receptionist was on the other side, long, blonde hair, big blue eyes, tanned skin. She clicked her pen on the edge of her desk, staring down at a piece of paper with fake interest.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. She looked up at the girl and her expression changed, "Oh. I think you're in the wrong place, sweetheart." She said before noticing the blood and pistol.

"Gumi. Gumi Megpoid." Gumi said in a bored tone. This was the fourth receptionist this month.

"Right, right." She said quickly and a little scared, searching a book that was off to her right. "Oh, here you are, Ms. Megpoid. Please, m-make your way in."

Gumi squared her shoulders and walked through yet another pair of polished wooden doors, except this time bigger. The shut with a bang behind her and she was left in darkness.

"Gumi. You've fucked up."