Auto huffed, pointing the gun to his old friend's head.
“You've changed,” The man coughed. “Don't got that demonic look in your eyes. So why're you doing this?”
Auto wiped the blood off his face. “For my family.”
He pulled the trigger, ending the man's life.
Carefully, he put on a pair of gloves over his leather gloves, picking up the slugs.
Amateur mistake, assuming a filed serial number would make it untraceable. The safer the better. Hopefully, after a few more executions, he could get out of the game for good.
He could take care of his family, monetarily, emotionally, physically. He could help Frankie, and his sons.
But he had to get his hands dirty first. Well, not his literal hands, that's how you go to prison. Metaphorical hands.
He thought he could ease back into killing bu
