He knew something was wrong the minute he opened his eyes. He doesn't remember falling asleep. Heck, he hardly sleeps at all.

What… What the fuck?

Dazed and confused, Tweek Tweak sat up with his head pounding against his skull and surveyed the room he was in, taking in just how… well, bland everything was. The walls were colored with light beige and the few objects that occupied the room were of neutral colors, mostly black or white. Only the currently closed curtains were of a shade of dark blue, and it hid away the true form of the sun. Seeing as there was no clock in the room, Tweek hadn't an idea of the time.

The blonde, attempting to get the sleep out of his system, stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "Jesus Christ, where am I?" he muttered, lazily scratching at the back of his neck. He winced as his brain thudded against his skull and groaned. "Ugh, what happened last night?" He closed his eyes again, contemplating on going back to sleep and ignoring this strange situation he found himself in, hoping he could pass it off as an odd dream. A sudden shiver raked through his body, and it was only then did he snap his eyes open in realization.

He was shirtless. No, wait, scratch that. He was clothes-less.

A shriek escaped his lips as, all at once, images from last night (or what he believed was last night) started coming back to him.

There was a party, in honor of him of course. His father had announced just a week before that when he was to pass, Tweek was in charge of the whole business. No surprise there, yet they still decided to celebrate it. Typical. People were talking to him, congratulating him, or at least trying to as he avoided conversing at all costs. He was never one for social encounters. How he survives all this attention, he has no idea. Then… What had happened?

Then the murder happened. That's it. He had watched helplessly under a table as his so called "friends" dropped dead in front of his very eyes. He remembered one of them who had fallen, a person whose name never really mattered; he fell and locked eyes with him. They were pleading, begging him to save him, but Tweek had just stared at him with a blank look in his eyes and not a hint of regret.

He didn't care that they all died, not really. He didn't know them anyways. They weren't his friends; they had all only befriended him for the fame, for promotions, for money. They had always used him, but Tweek couldn't say no. No, he had to keep up with his false smiles and befriend all those who came his way, at least those with money, for the sake of their business. At least, that's what his parents had always told him. He was glad to have been ridden of them all. They were all just meaningless faces to him. He had very few real friends, but they were among the "common people" as his parents had termed those less fortunate than them, and they never approved of them. Not since their business boomed.

Tweek was now very grateful they weren't invited to his party.

And then there was that guy, Tweek remembered. He was the last image he recalled before everything had blacked out on him: the face of his murderer, his hair a stark black and his eyes a piercing grey. He saw through those grey slates of his and could practically see the lives he had taken away, all those he killed. But it wasn't his killer, he thought to himself, for he was still very much alive.

…

Why was he still alive?

…

And why was he naked in a stranger's bed? Oh, god, had he been raped? Is that what had happened? Did his confronter knock him out in order to molest him? Tweek's hands shot to tangle in his hair as he began pondering over the idea of having just been sexually assaulted and then left alone. Was he going to murder him now that he had finished getting what he wanted? The possibility didn't sit too well with him.

"Do you always freak out like this?"

Tweek almost yelped in surprise at the sudden sound of another voice. A very deep voice he speculated. With all his dramatic worrying he had been doing, he failed to notice the door to the right of him open, revealing his supposed rapist… Shirtless. He was leaning against the doorframe, a single bushy eyebrow raised in amusement as he stared at him, his mouth almost quirking up in the corner. Tweek just paused amidst his panicking and shot him a glare.

"Do you always rape your victims before murdering them?" he snapped back. He quickly scrambled out of the bed, taking the blanket with him to wrap around his exposed body. He made sure to keep his distance from the man, the bed being the barrier between him and the stranger. If he was to get killed, might as well put it off as long as possible, he figured.

The look of amusement on the assassin's face turned to one of confusion, his brows furrowing together. "Rape? Wait… You think I raped you while you were knocked out?" He snorted as if such an idea was just absurd in its sense, and Tweek was slightly offended. What? Was he not attractive enough to even have sex with? His glare intensified as the man continued. "Why the hell would you think that?"

The blonde practically snarled in response. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because of the fact that you knocked me out and I wake up naked in what I'm guessing is your bed and the first thing I'm greeted with is a shirtless dude. What the fuck else am I supposed to think?"

"You're not naked."

"… What?"

He pointed his finger at him, the white blanket still wrapped around his entire body, encompassing his small frame. "You're not naked," he repeated. "I didn't take your boxers."

His eyebrow rose suspiciously. Slowly, Tweek unraveled the white sheet and looked down. Sure enough, his green boxer-briefs were still snug around his waist, having never been removed in the first place. "Then where the hell are the rest of my clothes?" he asked, eyes snapping back to him. The corner of the man's lips turned up in the slightest.

"My washing machine. You sort of smelled, and I didn't want that smell in my bed."

"Hey!"

He shrugged. "You asked. Plus, I figured you'd probably want to clean up a bit before we talk."

"Whoa, whoa, wait." Tweek took a step back, his hands still fisted around the blanket as he held them up. He realized he was just exposing himself more as he felt the assassin's eyes drift across his body and he quickly wrapped the sheets around him again, shooting him another glare. "What talk? I thought this was the part where you were going to murder me with an axe or knife or something. In no movie have I seen the murderer actually talk to his victim beforehand." His voice came out abnormally high for a man his age, almost as if he never completely underwent through puberty, and he hoped he didn't sound as scared as he really felt.

This time the smile was evident on the other man's face, forming two dimples on the corners of his cheeks. Tweek thought it all looked a bit out of place, not quite fitting his hardened features. "Change of plans," he spoke, voice sultry and full of amusement. He stuffed one hand into his pocket and leaned off of the doorframe, gesturing to another closed door to the left of him. "Shower's right through there. I got some blood on your hair, so you should probably wash that out." Tweek's eyes widened in sudden horror, and he opened his mouth to reply before he was cut off.

"Meet me in the living room when you're done. We have much to… Discuss." And with that, the assassin swiftly turned around and walked out, shutting the door behind him, leaving Tweek to stare at his only exit in confusion and annoyance. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke.

"Why the hell couldn't he just kill me?"

There was blood in his hair, much to Tweek's dismay, and he physically cringed upon seeing himself in the mirror. He was used to being more kempt, keeping up appearances for meetings and parties or interviews with his parents. Even his hair, which was always such a pain to tame, was at least usually held back with some form of gel. But now there was nothing holding it back, and it roamed of its own free will, sticking up haphazardly just like it always had when he was a kid. He always loathed his hair.

His face was in no better condition. Though he had just slept, deep creases still formed under his eyes after all those years of unrest, no thanks to his insomnia. He never could sleep, or had a hard time falling asleep at least, but those bruises underneath his eyes could easily be covered with (and Tweek admits this was quite a bit of shame) makeup.

Makeup and hair gel. Those were his usual essentials to better his appearance, but both were no longer at his disposal, and it irked him to no end. Tweek wasn't exactly a vain person, but it helped to be a little on the attractive side in the harsh world he lived in. The fact that it hid his flaws made it all the bit better.

After all, he is the perfect son of the perfect owners of the amazing Tweak Bros. franchise; might as well play along.

Placing his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, he closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh of exhaustion. His breath fanned out, fogging up the glass, and he opened his eyes again only to be met with his blood-shot reflection. It wasn't a pretty sight, but the heir reluctantly stepped away from it, doing everything in his right mind to keep from wanting to break the glass in half.

He hated his life. He hated himself.

He walked over to the shower in the corner of the vast bathroom, his bare feet curling at the toes due to the cold tiles on the floor. He stripped off the only piece of clothing he had left and turned on the shower to scathing hot. Maybe I could burn to death, he thought to himself.

He stepped in, the hot water causing him to hiss in pain, but he refused to cool it down. His hazel eyes watched as the water washed the stains from his hair, streaming down into the drain, tainted red with blood. Any other day, he would've relished in the soothing, almost excruciating, feel of the hot shower and steam. But how could he? For only a wall and a door stood between him and his possible death.

That asshole didn't give me any clothes.

That was Tweek's first thought as he stepped out of the shower. (That and where the hell is the damn towels in this place?) He stood in the doorway of the bathroom awkwardly, a hand holding up a towel around his waist. He contemplated whether or not he should grab something from the drawers in the bedroom or just walk out and demand for his clothes back. Either situation seemed awkward to him: Walk out to greet his murderer in his clothes, or walk out naked and ask for his own back? Yeah, he didn't seem to like his choices. But how else was he to get clothed? Reluctantly, the heir walked out into the living room, his hand clenching tightly at the towel.

The man was sprawled out casually on the couch, his eyes trained on the flat screen across from him. He was still shirtless, much to Tweek's discomfort, and he cleared his throat to catch his attention.

"Uh, can I maybe get my clothes back now?" he asked feebly when grey eyes turned to look at him. He shifted from one foot to the other as he felt the assassin's gaze roam over his still-wet body, scrutinizing him in silence. Tweek nervously ran his fingers through his wet locks, wondering why this guy was just watching him. Was he planning on ways to murder him after their supposed "talk?" He shuddered at the thought.

After another beat of awkward silence (at least, awkward on Tweek's part), the man finally answered. "They're still drying. Just take something of mine in the drawers." Tweek must've made a sudden face at the suggestion because next he said, "Don't worry. They're blood-free."

If that was supposed to reassure him, it sure as hell didn't.

Nevertheless, Tweek walked back into the bedroom, mumbling incoherent words to himself. He hesitantly rummaged through the drawers, unsure of what he was going to find.

What if there's a gun somewhere? Oh fuck, what if this is all just a ploy to distract me and he's actually behind me, ready to kill me off?

With his paranoid thoughts racing through his mind, he quickly shot a glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see the man's face and a knife coming down on his throat. He sighed in relief when there was nothing.

Reaching the very bottom of the drawer, he was glad to find an old pair of grey sweatpants lying there, seemingly unforgotten under all the other garments of black slacks and jeans. Grabbing them, he quickly sliped them over his slender legs, completely ignoring the fact that he had left his boxer-briefs carelessly strewn on the bathroom floor. He decided pants were clothes enough. He didn't want this guy's entire apparel on him, especially since he could've easily killed someone in any of these outfits. He slinked out of the room and walked near to where his "host" sat, still in the same position as he had left him: staring at the TV.

For a moment, the heir just stood there, eyes shifting here and there, unsure of what to do as the man seemed to ignore his presence completely. He seemed enraptured in the screen, a single hand placed precariously on his chin, but when Tweek's eyes flicked towards it, he realized it was completely black.

No wonder he didn't hear any sounds coming from it.

His brows scrunched together. "What the heck are you doing staring at a blank screen?" he questioned, genuinely curious. The man's eyes glanced at him while the rest of his body stayed unmoving, and Tweek visibly tensed under his gaze.

"I'm thinking."

"And that involves staring blankly at the TV?"

"Yes."

He had said it so stern and so seriously that Tweek was almost taken aback just the slightest.

Silence befell over the two again, and the blonde prayed he wasn't shaking. He felt nervous, anxious really, to be in the same room with the guy who had murdered his whole party, but he didn't dare show it. It'd be a weakness, and murderers can sense fear.

The sound of a throat clearing caught his attention, and he stared as the other stood up. "Might as well introduce myself like a good host should," he spoke, wearing a sarcastic smile. He didn't show his teeth, Tweek noticed. He slowly stepped over towards him, and the blond instinctively took a step back. Seeing this, the man stopped and, at his safe distance of just a few steps, stretched out his arm, still giving him that smug grin of his.

"I'm Craig Tucker," he remarked. "And I was sent to assassinate you."

A/N: Wow, hi guys I didn't abandon this after the prologue I swear I'm still here. So sorry to leave you all waiting after all those months. I have the whole story in my head, but it's the getting it in words that I have a problem with (doesn't everybody?). But yeah, I apologize and hopefully I get the next part up a lot faster than this one. And thanks for the positive feedback! It's nice to know people enjoy it so far. I needed that encouragement c: And again, any constructive criticism is welcome! Trust me, I know I'm not the best writer out there.

Not much has happened in this chapter, but there will be more in the next. (Oh trust me, there definitely will.) And another character will be entering the story, hurrah. Also, you guys get to delve in on their lives a little more hopefully in the next chapter, since they're not exactly well explained at all just yet.

Anyways, thanks for sticking around you guys! And again, constructive criticism is always a help c:

P.S. Sorry if this seems slightly rushed. It really was... ;-;

Preview for Ch 2

The blonde merely began trembling in place. His hazel eyes shifted everywhere, and for a moment, Craig thought he was going to cry. But Tweek just sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation. "What favor?"

"Simple." Another sip of vodka. "I need your help to kill a man."