The Professional

I found the revolver in a plain brown box. It was small and heavy and it fit my hand as though it was specially crafted for me. I checked the cylinder. Six rounds. I wondered who left it here, what a fully loaded pistol was doing in a box.

And then it spoke to me.

Gripped in the palm of the hand it was destined for, it whispered its purpose. I have own a great many Tools over my life, performed a lot of Jobs, but I never had anything like this revolver before. All the other Tools were just things in comparison. They did what I wanted them to do, but it was always just me using them to get the Job done. None of them had ever told me what they wanted, not before the revolver.

I slipped the pretty little thing into my pocket and cast the box aside. I could already feel that sublime little tug in my mind indicating that a Job would be coming soon. Good, I needed the money. I don’t remember when I ran out, but I was hungry, cold, tired.

And I wanted to do a Job.