Does anyone even read this anymore?

Craig and I walked from my house to school in almost complete silence, save for the few twitches and grunts that got away from me. I was nervous about seeing Kyle; we hadn't exactly left on good terms, and I knew the red-head could hold a grudge like a motherfucker.

Normally Kyle and I very rarely interacted at school. He stuck to his group, I stuck to…well, mostly myself, but Craig and Clyde and Token didn't mind me hanging around. Not to say that Kyle totally ignored me; when we wound up at the same lunch table or cluster of desks, he said hi and made polite small talk with me. It was part of the illusion that we didn't know each other that well, didn't spend countless hours out of school teaming up to kill people for money.

In fact, I knew more about Broflovski than even Stan. His childhood trauma, his obsession with hacking, (and I do mean OBSESSION), how he had an unexpected affinity for evaluating someone's life based on profit and loss, stocks and good feedback. Kyle was analytical, methodical; yet he had a raging opposite too, a side that ran completely on impulse and emotion. He was a violent person, but had the coordination of a walrus with no legs. Therefore, he was the most callous with our target's lives. As I said before, he can hack almost any firewall, and has close ties with people at WikiLeaks and underground hacker societies.

I see him as the most dangerous of us all.

Sam was a loose cannon. She was diagnosed as a nymphomaniac at age thirteen, resulting in shock therapy and multiple meetings with her family's priest that ended…not too holy. Her parents were murdered Batman-style in a diner right in front of her. The culprit got away, but not for long. She managed to spot him at a local grocery store and knifed him in the fruit isle. She lived on her own in a modest apartment and attended a private university in North Pole. Her lifestyle of Taco Bell, workouts at home and gardening hid the fact that combined with her parents' insurance money, income from our business and a very profitable selling of stock that she and Broflovski went half-way with, she was close to being a millionaire. The only luxury she indulged in was car parts, disguises and weapons.

I have decided that she was beautifully insane.

Between the two of them, Craig was the solid foundation that I stood on. He was predictable, and yet eccentric. He had to have times to himself, away from everyone; only when he felt like he was re-centered did he allow anyone to approach him. His hobbies were video games, listening to Muse, and reading old literature that would bore anyone else. (Wuthering Heights, A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, etc.) He didn't have anything to hide. And if he did, he wouldn't give a shit if anyone found out.

He made me feel guilty.

I kept secrets from him. I lied to him. I was more involved in his life than I let on, and on a daily basis I wondered if he would still tolerate me if he ever found out the real me. The split personality. The cold-blooded killer. Spaz.

I felt a cool hand press against my temple and snapped my gaze up to see Craig watching me steadily, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I…I'm tired," I got out. "S-stomach was still being a bitch all night."

He cocked an eyebrow and ruffled my hair. "You should look into that. Seems like it happens almost every other week."

I felt the blood rush to my face. "Yeah, m-maybe."

He was being more observant than I'd like. I've always known how Craig sees me; a delicate, nerve-wrecked addict who can't handle any responsibility and crumbles under pressure. And he's right. When I'm around Craig, I lose whatever control I have over myself and am resolved to a shaking mess.

My job is the only thing that stops it. The threat, the adrenaline, the strategies. Something about it clarifies everything for me. Some animal instinct comes out and I can see, hear, and feel everything.

Of course, part of the threat I feel is the danger I feel for the people I care about. As much as I'd love to deny it, Sam and Kyle have grown on me. We've come so far, we're in so deep, that if one goes down, then we all go. The whole reason I even started working with Sam (who named our small, miniscule group "Plague" for some reason) was to help one very important person.

Slipping the check under Craig's dad's office door four years ago was supposed to be the end of my career as an assassin. But it didn't turn out that way. I'm regarded as a liability, a dysfunctional member of society, and a freak by the rest of the world. But in my world, where Sam and Kyle are just as fucked up as me, and where we do what we do best, for the people that matter most, I'm perfectly sane.

As we reached the steps leading up the school the bell for first period rang and everyone milling around started moving towards the doors. Craig stayed close to me as we were herded into the opening hallway and walked down to our lockers, which were two apart from each other.

"Alright," Craig sighed closing his locker, "ready for the exciting word of study hall?"

I cracked a nervous smile. "Where all our dreams come true?"

"And then Mrs. Stigall stabs them with her hair chopsticks."

I chuckled. Mrs. Stigall always wore these chopstick things in her bun that were way too big for her thinning hair, constantly falling out and hitting students on the head. We headed that way, Craig ignoring the looks his 6'5" stature always drew, me keeping up with his long strides. I'm not short. Not as short as Craig likes to say I am, anyway. He's stupidly tall.

I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of Craig's rough jacket brushing against my arm as we walked to class. I let out an eep and got a raised brow from him. I shrugged and hurried to my usual seat, the open one next to the window…

…where Kyle was sitting. Arms folded, lips tight, jade eyes glinting underneath rusty hair.

Said eyes narrowed as I halted halfway to the table, unsure if I really wanted to feel Kyle's menacing aura all class long until the sirens went off. Everyone in class looked around, confused.

"Tornado sirens?" Craig mumbled. He looked out the window at the perfectly clear sky. "But why—"

The principal came on over the speaker. "Attention, students and faculty." A tense hush fell over the school. "We have received word that there has been a mass shooting at North Pole Private Academy." My scalp prickled. "All students are to return home using the streets marked with police personnel. We will send out a notification if school will resume tomorrow or not. If you see any suspicious individuals wearing all black attire—" Like the Black Teeth? "—take cover and call the authorities.

"Teachers, please escort the students out to the front yard to be accounted for and sent home."

Mine and Kyle's eyes met in a silent agreement. I cracked my knuckles, ignoring the look Craig gave me.

Game on, Dillons.