An Unfair Contract

by Anonymous

A crimewave floods the city, fills it to the edges. So many, oh so many non-payers these days. The seizure-man, or seizer, as his lot are called, S. Kazinsky could be considered just another hardworking salary man in these dark times. He works for a powerful cryptomagnate called Moroz. Cold as winter night and without a doubt a psychopath, all of them are, or atleast should be. The cities skylines are way, way far away in the foggy untrustful distance. Reaching for a pocket there he stood, in the black. Draped in a wintery rain with the violent gray-noise that the before-folks would’ve called sky, radiating up above him. Wolves are howling and bitches growling through the night, oh mama feed them milk and make ‘em right.

In the nightly dark of here-and-there gas station a cigarette lights up despite the rain, despite the signs. “Sorry no smoke here” stood there in red, in Chinese English. None other than Kaz was on the smoke-stick’s benefiting end.

He’s contemplating his next move, at least a bit. He never did this for any of his clients, or did he? His heart’s pumping with yet unknown substance, his eyes are scared, this one’s the last, I swear, then it’s all beaches and piña colada, in a blue glass as I like them. He doubts himself, his life choices, as he always does, always will. Stuffs the payphone full of money, don’t get interrupted now sonny. He begins to sing his suddenly prepared song of danger.

“I’m giving you a night call to tell you how I feel. We’ll go all night long. I’m gonna drive you through the night, down the hills. I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear. I’m gonna show you where it’s dark, but have no fear. I’m warning you, is all.

I’m giving you a night c-call to tell you how I f-feel, I am gonna give you a cold drive down the hills, I am gonna show you where it stops, but have no fear. You know what I mean?

Your life’s in danger, don’t you hear? You didn’t pay your debts, y-you’re unclear.

Run, run, it ain’t no more a fun.”

His voice shatters and runs away from the depth of the microphone, why am I so sheepish, what happened? This one’s different, I know her, from a time before, I know her “very well” fuck… Am I sad enough? Not yet… will I ever be?

When he called her he broke out of character. He would’ve imploded on the spot if he kept that professional façade on one more minute. That cowboy west frontier smirk.

Oh, now you’re a real human being, and a real hero, you think she will listen to you, you grimy fuck? She doesn’t remember whose cock she blew last night, let alone you, a nobody, you were just a living corpse for her then, a cock sewn to a paying stomach, nothing more, never will be. Never will be.

Sometimes even a killer needs to let his feelings out. Not every job turned into a massacre though, sometimes his clients paid their debt in time, the smart contract vanished and they ended up with just a broken leg or two, jaw maybe. Was not this one’s situation, she was year overdue on all her payments. That means just one thing, and you know it. She didn’t pay and never will, these kids got so much on their mind’s yet they don’t know how this world works, it’s not the 2010’s you pity flesh shells.

Did she receive the call? I doubt it. Oh she did.

On the receiving end of the late-night payphone call stood now a little frightened (never did she let it be known), but nonetheless in good humor, an aristocratic trust fund kiddie daughter a druggie princess in these grimly times. Hosting her big house party in one of her daddy’s villa. She was just in the middle of a networking drinking session, even these scum-people need to associate, now more than ever that the new lawmakers are going for their necks. Hide you rats.

She didn’t take his threats seriously, why should she, in her new transparent dress, her areolas blasting through, ripe as a strawberry. She was the star of this party. So sexual, so not caring, fuck the world when we have all these drugs. The world can go shit on itself while we are young. You bet, cunt.

“Oh yeah? I told you, buddy, earlier already. I don’t want your shitty lottery coupons or whatever the fuck you wanna sell me. Get lost.” She said a little angry, misunderstood his whole message, the stupid girl.

He viewed her as somewhat beautiful still. He saw her through the payphone’s digital screen, but he knew her already. Even though Kaz has his likings in the more lowbrow type of girls, whores, this one had really got to him then and did now. What a waste, he thought. Oh you just wanna be dominated by these Disney princess whores, don’t ya?

“M-mhm” ‘s all he said back. You are a clown, do you have at least so much self-reflection to realize that?

She hung up the phone violently all of a sudden and Kaz stood there in the booth speechless, drenched in cold rain, fucked up in the head. Cigarette’s all wet, you destroyed even that, your last hope in this world of dimming light, you junkhead.

She wouldn’t listen, don’t worry, the bitch deserves it, all of them did!

She didn’t recognize me from before in the phone, she didn’t remember the fucking, better I forget her now, before the deed’s done.

The gas station was his last stop, last wet stop before the clientess’ house. Last stop before this night turned into bloody in-‘n-out type of situation. It’s never pleasant, though he is trained and well-schooled by his way of life for these moments, he never could quite stand it. Something’s always off. The rush of adrenaline, an outburst, the crying yell of bystanders, reverberating in the depths of his fractured mind. And remember, her parents are in tonight, enjoy yourself.

n the depth-shadowy grooves of the almighty blockchain there stood a written smart contract, a bounty on her head, in the event she stopped paying her dues, in the event she stopped caring about her life there stood a contract, made by her provideful landlord or someone similar of course.

To the highest bidder, though in this situation the highest bidder was the one that already knew about these contracts, the collector. Provided, Kaz knew about them, that’s what kept his bosses’ bills paid, the whole damn business plan. “Don’t pay, fade away” stood there on the metaphoric plaque up top over the boss’ door.

Now you are known, your info’s public, on the ledger, doxed and targeted. You are common fuckmeat for the quickest gunslinger out there missy.

He hasn’t felt this much feelings in a long time, last time he felt even a speck of sentimentality was when his Vietnamese neighbours in the chinatown were having karaoke night sesh. He didn’t actually understand the contents of the songs they sang, yet he felt the longing for their long lost home, the true color of longing in their voices melting through the doors and windows of their rented apartment just near him. He, drunk as ever wanted to join them in their cozy oriental homes, yet did not. I am not like them, I am not like nobody.

Alas, now’s not the time to remember things of the past, now’s the time to act, so he hung up the phone and angrily went to his car. Started the machine, the cigarette burn still present, then he went onward. She didn’t listen, neither did she then, you are nothing to her, an ashburn on her thighs and a trouble.

Is my gun ready? Reloaded, cleaned and ready to shoot, kill. It is. He checked his old-school revolver, a killer’s tool, yet even he, a relic of the past, must consider that it’s pretty old. Not as automatic, the revolver has its charm. It stops a person’s spark on the spot spending only one bullet, not needful of nine or fifteen like the modern toys. And makes a mess too…

Lungs burning and hand on the steering wheel, pedal to the metal he speeded his full metal car through the gas station’s exit. It’s just few blocks straight, he reminded himself, must have. Moon lighted his way into the blackest of nights, his worst one yet.


He’s there, sitting in his limited car before her daddy’s pricy house. He can hear the music of course, who couldn’t, it’s blasting on full volume. The neighbours sure aren’t happy in this night hour, but what can they do? Daddy’s a big dog in the politics.

Shivering fills his legs and then stretches into the spine and hands, head. He doesn’t want to go, but he must. It’s his destiny, he can’t fail his boss, not after the last time he saved his ass from a sketchy situation. “A man without work is no man, and work such as this requires Men.”… Is it time yet? Must I go?… She smelled so good.

The house vibrates, a party’s on a full blast, what a shame he must kill it. The party’s over kids, time to go home, sleep, tell your mother good morning and forget about this degenerate funny little adventure.

He steps out of the black car, smells of gas, straightening his leather jacket, adjusting his wet hair.

Atleast the sweat gets smeared by the rain. Trying to light one more, last, cigarette in his cracked mouth, 1…2…3… strokes, it finally lights up. Burns the lungs just as nostalgically as ever.

Nervous, checking that the gun’s loaded and positioned in his holster. Touches it. I am ready, the gun speaks to him, always does, or he dreams it at least, high as a kite.

Anxious, he snorted a line-worth of coke right out of the dosing flask, maybe more. It kicked him in the balls. Started him up, prepped as a bull about to fuck the cuckold’s wife. The music pulsated through his pathetic little mind, it overloaded him, took care of him. He remembered those drunk parties he attended frequently in his Highschool days; the kids were always older than him, but dad wasn’t home, not ever, so he just drank and drank, kissed and fucked.

Shouldn’t be hard to get inside through the security. He shivers like a wet dog, but he must remind himself he’s a professional, one of the best in this damned repo business. Two meatheads standing tall as mountains on the porch, he dispatches of them quickly, good ol’ jaw knockin’, and then opens the front door quietly, don’t alert anyone inside.

What the fuck is wrong with me? He slaps himself a few times so as to wake himself up, coke’s not enough to wake from this feelingful haze. Still shivering, now like a cat awaiting tonight’s fucking from the Tom.

She’s just another non-paying cunt, let’s get this over with, break both her legs to bone mash and shoot her fucking head off you piece of shit. He thought about the effects of the uppers he was on the last few days, or was it love just now?

He stood before long stairs, under chandelier, a colonial one; what a nice taste she has, or her dad pays her to have. He went slowly through a long hallway, lined by pictures, mostly the old masters, she’s perfect, daddy pays her to be.

Lead by voices and chattering, clinging of glasses and champagne being poured. Palms overhead him, in palm of his hand a gun loaded to kill a bitch. Now came the time, he kicked the doors into a colossal living room where the meeting took place.

*The camera was just behind him now, zooming on the face of today’s lucky lady, twenty-something-years old coquette, then it paned all around the room quickly capturing the cowardly faces of these fake people spotting his gun. After that, the cameraman rapidly moved the lens’ interest on his cocked gun and on the frightened faces of two bodyguards, they almost assuredly carried a piece, her dad paid them to as the script stated. Weapons hidden under their dark almost not-blue suits, hidden away by their raw doggish faces, were good for nothing now, like his daughter is. *

Shooting, blood and infernal cries of attenders. He unloaded four rounds totally just then, all of them hit the spot, bullseye, dog’s eyes. Both guards fell to the floor one with just a half of face missing, second’s head was blown off whole. Brainage spilling everywhere and the tapestry is getting pretty gory, blood’s ruining the carpet and Picasso is getting cummed on by the squish.

Some nice miss collapsed with her face covered in brain and her lackey puked, high ranking people these are.

*The director is satisfied with this shot, he loves it, the director of lives. The director living in his fucked up doped mind. The shooter of these exquisite cinematographically perfect pictures. No need for retakes, let’s roll.

Camera, action. Fuck you EMILY (fucking interns), SHUT UP ALREADY AND GET ON YOUR MARK…

Camera, action.: *

The music got his hands steady, trembling, steady again. It made him happy, don’t wanna be happy, he’s down, up, now down again, his eyes are all colors. What to do, what to do? The killer’s instinct is not there when he spots her.

His powerful six shooter just clicked after turning. He aimed it at her, aim is unsteady. Still got enough bullets to devastate this pretty daddy’s princess to absolute shit creek, let daddy watch, call him.

Gasps for air and boots running panicked around the wooden floor, but not her, she stood there, calm like a cat. What the fuck is happening?

He was used to worse situations, bloodier ones with more brutal and dismembered corpses, yet this one scared him like none before. He raised the weapon and aimed it at her head, just then hesitated. Just shoot her and leg it you coward!

“Oh, it’s you,” were her disappointing last words before he unloaded two gruesome shots point blank in her belly first piercing her ovaries. The second shot went through her hip, shattering bone, it went out in the back and landed in escaping bystander’s shrimp cocktail.

She squeaked and flew against a wooden wall with quite a force. He’s sharper usually, but today the tremor got him crippled, he performed badly. She would’ve been dead by now, one in the head one in the heart, clean work, blood all around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, botched fucking job, how in the fuck am I gonna get paid? Do you even expect to get paid after this circus? You still got two bullets left, do her in and collect her.

Often he would just blow the head off of the target and scan their ID chip, get paid by the smart contract on the blockchain automatically, but she wasn’t dead yet, means no scanning and no payment. She went down fast though, lay there on the floor bleeding from her fruitful hip and belly.

Fainted, just barely alive, shit, still alive. Why can’t these fucking people just pay their debts? He couldn’t pull the trigger on her again, not when he saw her beautiful face once more. Aim it at her whorish head and blow her to pieces, nobody will ask questions, no one’s here anymore.

By now the room was empty apart from two dead dogs and a bleeding cat. He holstered his weapon coked up as he was and kneeled by her, she breathed lightly. He picked her up in his hands. Felt her soft plushy ass and proceeded for the door. Now you must certainly kill her you perv, you don’t wanna get her running around with memories like this. Shut up!

Kaz laid her down in his car’s backseat and ran around to the driver’s side. He panicked. What the fuck am I doing, am I d-doing, where’s the nearest h-hospital? His onboard computer set the coordinates. That’s miles away, c-can’t make it.

He stepped on the pedal and his veteran roared, drifted, through the hazy night followed only by a foggy moon. Hold on tight baby, soon we’ll be sipping drinks on Mexico’s sunny beaches. He dreamed a plan for the both of them. Did you too dream up your kid’s names already you fucking faggot?

Her eyes were rolling around the innards of his smelly car. A peculiar mix of alcohol intoxication and having your fucking cunt blown off by a hollow point magnum bullet filled the atmosphere. She saw purple flashing lights of streetlamps. Wind fluffed her raven hair, blood soaked deep into the leather seats.

A quick look in the back mirror, saw her twitching on the backseat, bleeding like a stock pig, fuck. He looked deeply in her eyes, so darkly blue, as ocean, as he called them before. She seemed somewhat conscious still.

Kaz just flashed back, microsleeped to that first time he met her before, in a downtown bar, then the beastly fucking in that yellow motel, her blue eyes and sweated black hair, they fucked like animals the whole night, consumed one another. There was no love in it, that developed later, in him.

Room smelled like rotting tuna, like shit smeared on the sheets, farts in the air, cum on the wall, her dripping saliva on his unwashed balls. He never had a girl this clean, this young, rich. And she maybe had a fetish for bum’s like him, for dangerous killers living paycheck to paycheck. But he liked it, it was real, somehow. The scars in his back, clawed in, felt real, salted and bleeding, just as she is now. Fuck you bitch, die already so I can get rid of your disease-ridden body. Party whore skank.

As fast as he went, nothing is faster than death when it comes to paying what you’re due. He realized it too late and before he entered the city on the cross section of the rich people’s district and the sub urbs he pulled a u-turn and went back, now to the side, onwards for the woods. She was dead already, her eyes were just now a noise of white filling with red, colors, fucking colors filling my car, who’s gonna clean it? Did she just puke her guts out?

Light jazzy tunes played in his car, not entirely cognizing of the situation. That’s a nice piece of meat you scored yourself tonight mate. Shut up.

He stopped the car, lights aimed at overgrowth. Stepped out, he reloaded his revolver first, old habit. Lighted up another cigarette, checked the watch, reading around three in the morning and then he just dumped her on the side of the road. Like a fucking roadkill, that’s more like you, you fucking psycho.

Full of regret and disgust he didn’t even scan her ID chip to get the reward. Let the wolves have her, she’s too good for my gray ass. Another transaction in the blockchain, just another transaction going void nothing more. That’s what her life’s worth to the system.

He then went back to the gas-pump owned by ma and pops, called his boss: “It’s done.” But he withheld the info that neither of them’s gonna get paid. Fuck that greedy motherfucker, fuck them all.

An apartment is cold in these nights, even colder when it’s devoid of human warmth. His always was. It’s never too late for a drink, or too early in his line of work. He drank three quarters of strong boozy bourbon and passed out exhausted on the hardened concrete floor. Tommorow’s another day, another hustle. Day after day, drowning his human feelings for the benefit of professional effectiveness, or perhaps for the amazing ignorance of the world around him. What’s done is done, it feels so bad. What once was happy now is dead. It all returns to nothing …