[b][center][h2]Paige Kennedy[/h2][/center][/b]


As a US Marshal, Paige saw her share of gruesome scenes, but even she winced a bit at the sound of Titus’s leg being snapped in Milo’s vice. He was slightly tougher than she thought and though she knew that beating him senseless probably wouldn’t produce the information that they needed, she enjoyed the sight of Milo, sleeves rolled back and sweat beginning to bead over his face, giving him an old fashioned beat-down. Occasionally, the poor man would glance at her, almost expectantly, like she would call an end to the punishment, but she only stared back, piercingly in the dim light. Leaning back against his workbench, arms crossed, she watched as Milo delivered a hammer-like blow to the crushed leg producing an animalistic howl of agony. It almost made her smile, seeing him directing his anger with such ferocity, but she waited, patiently. 

She was a little surprised when he started to talk. They had no way to verify his information and she figured he was likely bold enough to lie just to mislead them and stop the pain. They needed something more to be sure he wasn’t just blowing smoke. She could tell that he still believed, just like Elvin had, that no matter what he wouldn’t die in Milo’s shop, because she was present and wouldn’t let it happen. “That’s enough,” She said taking the same hammer in hand that she had before and walking up next to Milo. A sigh of relief came over the pain ridden man with her words and his shoulders slumped down in exhaustion as he hung his head briefly before looking back up. The tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes was the very thing she was looking for when she casually tossed the hammer aside. Her hand moved like a ghost bringing her pistol out of its holster before him and firing. 

The hollow-point round cut through the chair directly between his legs and only millimeters from his manhood burying itself in fragments through Milo’s floor. Smoke rolled off the end of the gun barrel as he looked up at her dark visage in complete terror. Her eyes blazed behind olive-green that nearly glowed back at him. “The next one is for you, Titus.” She said raising the barrel slightly. 

The story began to turn much more detailed as he stammered for words. She kept the gun trained through names, places, dates and times, but still wasn’t satisfied and began to shake her head slowly not sure if she was allowing herself to be fueled by the same raw anger as Milo or if she really thought she could get anything else out of him. She felt like some dark shadow in Milo’s shop was slowly closing her index finger inward, talking to her again, in her head. [i]She could get away with it[/i]. Her small SiG pistol had no safety, by design the first pull on her trigger was about ten pounds. It would be easy, even cover for Milo after it happened. The air inside felt like it was near boiling as she looked down the sights feeling her grip tighten slowly. No judge or jury would believe a scumbag like Titus.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and the trance was broken. She glanced at Milo briefly and took it out to look at the message still keeping the gun leveled. Her eyes settled back on Titus. “Fear not Titus, for you have been saved.” She said tilting her head slightly from behind the sights. “I expect death to be… nothingness.” She said lowering her arm and looking away as if a part of herself was returning to the moment. 

“Th-that’s not in the Bible.” Titus sputtered.

“No, it is not.” She said solemnly and still looking away. “That was Isaac Asimov,” She recalled the quote from a paper she wrote in one of her psychology classes at UF. “He did not believe in God.” She looked at Milo briefly and holstered her gun once more stepping around to him where Titus could not see. In the lowlight with the smell of gun smoke and sweat, she gripped his shirt at the neckline and pulled him towards her. Closing her eyes and letting herself go for only a moment, she kissed him. 

“I have to go,” She said stepping back and glancing down at the hole in the floor her bullet had dug. “Sorry about your floor.” 

[@RoccanIronclad]