She rolled the handle of the knife in her hand, considering the situation before her. Where to make the next cut? She needed information, so nothing too deep or bloody. She wanted to make sure he knew she meant business, so it had to have some bite. He whimpered slightly, and her mouth curved into a smile, as sharp as her blade.

“This can end quickly, you know,” she said softly, almost kindly. “Just tell me what I need to know, and you can go. The pain will stop.”

“Do you ever have that feeling, like something is wrong with your life? Like you’ve made all these choices, done all these things, to get to where you are, and you look around and think, what the hell happened? How did all of that lead to this?

“You grow up, in a fairly happy home. Great. You have a blast in elementary school, middle school is iffy, high school sucks. Then you hit college and it gets a little better. You find things and people you are interested in. You make friends, fall in love, get your heart broken, and do it all over again. Everything kind of feels like elementary school again.

Another bullet whizzed by, shattering the window and raining shards of glass down on their heads.

“Are you always this prone to bad luck and violence? If so, that’s kind of sad,” he yelled over the gunshots.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she shouted back, reloading her pistol.

Elena shook her head, backing away from Mark. “No,” she said, “you can’t tell me that now.” She had to look away from him, from the pain in his eyes. She couldn’t deal with this, not now.

“Elena,” he said softly, “please, it’s true.”

She shook her head. “No. No! You can’t tell me that you love me. Not now.”

“I am so done with people,” Greta sighed as she sank down into the chair across from Mia, latté in hand. She struggled out of her winter coat, and felt her back warm from the sunlight streaming in. It was busy for a Tuesday afternoon in their favorite coffee shop near campus. Mia looked at Greta over her glasses, textbooks and pads of paper spread out on the table.

“I’m surprised you wanted to meet me here, if you are so off people,” she said dryly.

“You’re not people,” Greta smirked, taking a sip of her coffee and moaning. “I don’t know what they put in this, but it’s so good.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Mia said, and concern flickered across her face.

Kisa stood over the bed, looking down at the body of the king. She tilted her head, considering. He didn’t look like much, in his bedclothes, drenched in blood. Just like any other person she had killed. Runt to royalty, everyone looked the same when they were dead. She heard a shuffling behind her, and she turned slightly.

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to lie about that!” Maggie said, exasperated.

“Why not?” Malcolm asked.

“Because it’s a stupid reason to lie?”

“But if they think we’re a couple, we’ll get the couples discount!”

Maggie glared at him. “Malcolm. It’s two dollars. Just cough it up.”

Malcolm sighed. “Just have to be a goody-two-shoes, don’t you,” he muttered as they moved forward in line…

She stumbled through the fog, unable to see anything before her. The haze all around her was overwhelming; she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face, let alone anything that might be hiding out there. Her throat felt raw from her gasping breaths, and she felt dampness on her face that she wasn’t sure was tears or mist. She took another staggering step forward. Her muscles burned, and each step felt heavier than the last. She didn’t know how long she had been running, but she could feel the strain on her body, could feel the oppressive fog pushing against her. Her foot caught on an unseen obstacle, and she fell, scraping her hands against stone…