17. Blood.
He didn't notice the dark fluid on his hands as he tapped out a cigarette and lit it. He sighed in that way that all smokers do after that first drag, gray smoke curling up into the air. The concrete in front of him was splattered with the same dark liquid, random bodies strewn about the small alley.
The soft sound of a radio played in the background as the redhead wiped his hands on a dark suit. A tall figure stepped from the shadows, eyes shielded, a droplet on the lenses of his glasses. His hands too, were darkened.
"clear?" he asked, and the redhead nodded, eyes still scanning the bodies. He finished cleaning his hands as he inhaled the smoke.
"just…set the charge. I wanna shower." but he knew he could never wash away the stains of his job. He knew, that he wouldn't sleep, or eat. He wouldn't do anything but scrub himself raw.
Because bloodstains never go away.
yeah. this one came to me after a dream, sorta. like, just after a fight and now they gotta clear the evidence?
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