“Levator Labii Superiorus. Don’t tempt me, you know we’re on the clock.”

She brushed her hand up against her gun and was reminded of the tasks at hand.

The lights flickered as she watched his shadow disappear and reappear.

He flowed as he worked, like a king in his throne, he was right where he needed to be.

The perfect temptation.

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

She remembered seeing that on one of her victims mugs one time.

She began to recite this, but he interrupted:

“Don’t speak.”

Like a doe in the forest, her eyes spoke of caution, her body swayed only slightly.

“You speak of your cages, yet you provoke the lion in his den. Do you not see that your beauty is your only protector? If it were me out there playing cats and dogs, in an instant the games would cease. With you, it’s flawless. It’s unexpected. They look at you and see magazine covers, not realizing that you hold army knives in your garters. It’s a psycho-potential mockery of every male out there who’s life you end. Yet you sit here, provoking the very man who cleans up your messes.”

Lust is red with fury, her fists itch and her spine rattles.

“What if I decide to no longer colaborate with you? Just one day, up and decide that I’m no longer your anatomical janitor. Hm? What then sweet princess?”

She grabs her duffel bag and an extra pack of ammunition.

“You’ll get a psycho-potential mocking and a goodbye kiss like the rest of them, sweet prince.”

“Oh aren’t you sweet.” he mumbled as he turned around to zip up the rest of the body bags.

He didn’t have time for her provoking, and she was already late.

Staring at the white wall in front of her, Lust sees herself much like the wall, perhaps their lives are even similar.

The wall listens, but does not speak, is present, but goes for the most part, unnoticed.

Blank, empty, and ready to be covered in blood, this wall is more of a mirror than a simple slab of bricks.

A blink signals her return to the real world, a return to the treat that awaited, this was her reward, a sick reward to most, but to Lust it was sheer excitement to be on the job and process according to her own desire.

She crumbles the yogurt box, throws it in the trash and turns on the water.

The water pouring from the sink, starts up a slight twitch in the victim.

Washing your hands before any contact under skin is always indicated. Always. Even if the victim lay above the sink.

Lust enjoyed maintaing a certain cleanliness, although she knew that this future corpse did not need sterile sculpting of any kind.

Gritting her teeth, she begins to dig into the superficial abdomen with the K-24 Fanno hand saw, however this tool appears to be much more rough than Lust had anticipated.

Glistening knives flash through her mind as she half smiles at the whore  in front of her.

“You’ll be fine, my dear, not much difference is there between your plastic surgery endeavors, and this. Also, if you complain about lack of anesthesia, do tell your doctor that I didn’t get the fucking memo in time. That is… if you can tell him.”

Lust stands in front of her knife case, much like Hitler stood affront his army, her knives screamed at her much like his soldiers would scream to him that they would make him most proud.

Well, in that moment, the antique Bowie Knife she had received from her father as a birthday gift seemed to be the one that would make her most proud indeed.

She got elbows deep into the victims torso, the liver hanging upside down off the counter much like a fallen cord phone, the lungs cut into precise 2″ inch cubes set into an oval shape around the head, no reason.

She could feel drops running down her forehead, but they were not of sweat, Lust knew the task would be strenuous and set the air condition to an uncomfortable low, therefore this meant that the drops were of blood.
Warm blood.

Acting on impulse, she allowed herself to loose control, not just physically, but mentally.

She gave in.

She gave in to the instinct, the desire, and the want to cut flesh open.

All humans had it.

She just decided to be smart and make money while doing it.

The victims right leg spasmed as Lust smirked at this thought and continued cutting.

In an ironic chuckle, she is reminded subtly of what line of work she is in.

She puts out her cigarette in the pot of flowers on the windowsill, no flower ever died of a tobacco overdose now did it.

The silver lines on her knives screamed of impatience as she checked their positioning once more.

The black handle on her scalpel ran lightly through her fingers, much like a small child running through a field of tall grass, only lightly touching the tips.

The white walls of this apartment made Lust consider redecoration. Blood red was, of course, her definite preference. 

At not a moments notice, the creak of the apartment door made its way to Lusts ear.

Quick to react, a gun was pulled from the holster on her waist and directed towards the chest of this poor soul.

If only she could pause that moment to bring herself inches away from this persons face.

To see the pupils dilate and the face muscles contract of fear.

Fear had never been portrayed so beautifully.

She could even see the detailed drops of perspiration flow down the plastically enhanced cheeks of perfection.

This broad had been the typical definition of beautiful, fake acrylic decorations on fingers, false extensions of hair intertwined with bleach blonde assets, and silicone under the skin of both her lips, and breasts.

“Your boy toy is laying dead in the bedroom, if you take my instruction, you may not end up like him.”

Much like a naive little girl, the victims eyes poured with desire of mercy, but Lust was in no such state of mind, her grip on the gun loosened knowing that she had reeled in the bait. 

“You will count your each step and walk into the kitchen. I will follow you simultaneously after which you will lay yourself on the kitchen counter with your lower back laying over the sink.”

As the young woman stepped nervously to the kitchen, Lust grabbed the K-24 Fanno hand saw and watched from the corner of her eye as the bimbo climbed atop the counter.

A knife was placed next to the area in order to be put at the neck of the victim which in turn was forced to take 400 mg of diphenhydramine and became induced in a trance of anesthesia and sleep prone symptoms.

This allowed Lust to work without having to restrain the victim, besides, she always enjoyed a bit of a struggle.

With the same knife, Lust slit the victims vocal cords and was no longer annoyed by the high-pitched yelps the wench made.

At this moment in time, Lust decided to serve her lunch and continue the fun afterwards, yogurt is best served at room temperature anyway.

Apartment #4 had a window out-looking the street, such factors needed to be taken into consideration.

As she used the tension wrench from her case, the slight cracking sound of the door reminded her of her old dusty apartment back home.

The inside smells like lavender, and the pillows on the couch are organized in an obsessive manner.

This person is organized, this person will also know if anything has been changed.

Lust makes sure to make a mess. The more disoriented, the better.

The first victim should be arriving in approximately ten minutes, Lust places the Pb4 in the refrigerator to cool for approximately 3 minutes and prepares her other weapons for the second victim.

Studying the floor plan of the apartment, she chooses her attacking position and takes the Pb4 out of the refrigerator, for a moment a sudden pain in her abdomen makes her motionless, and the victim is surely to arrive any moment.

Clenching her teeth with pain, she proceeds to the position close to the entrance of the master bedroom, inhales, exhales and just as her breath ends, the door clicks.

The bathroom mirror strategically lets her see where he moves, and as she tightens her grip on the hypodermic syringe, she taps it only to mock the circumstances.

Left foot first, she makes her way behind him, the muscles on the back of his neck tighten as he instinctively begins to turn around to see what approaches behind him.

The tender entry of the syringe into his neck requires quite the struggle for her to keep him down but the training proved to be quite the help.

In a matter of 53 seconds his eyes dry out, and because of the poison being a high dose, even his legs still twitch for 5 minutes after death.

Lust lights a cigarette and awaits her next treat.

His lips made her a slave to his desire.

So devious, so confident, and so daring.

The position was hers. Never did she fall into the category of desiring until she met him.

A mind fuck all around, he took her strength and played with it like clay in a sculptors palm.

Her patience for him never ending, it was her suffering that made him ignite.

A youthful brunette she was, at the time, completely drowned with obsession.

Her intelligence resembled his, but never leveled to it fully.

Sitting there, for days she would wait for his reply, a minute passed as if an hour, constant questions, promises unkept, and lifeless breaths.

Her heart once loved.

The light in the hotel room dims, as she opens yet another bottle from the mini bar.

Grand Marnier slides her into the rarely visited memory crematorium.

Perhaps a desire to numb, or perhaps the desire to feel herself back in his arms, either way, her vulnerable side began to show.

Could she keep doing this?

Flashes of all the victims pass through her mind like drops in a rainstorm. 

Could she?

Of course she could.

It was the dear acquaintance of an asshole that pushed her to it in the first place.

She has always preferred ripping male flesh anyway.

The lamp dims to a darkness, and the hotel sheets wrap around her. 

Tomorrow’s mission is a long one indeed.