I'm not one to bitch about the system—hell, it barely ever hands out missions anyway. When it does, though? They're these drawn-out bastards, dragging on for weeks, months even, like some divine homework assignment I never asked for. Hovering there in the back of my skull, unfinished, clawing at me every time I try to sleep, their weight pressing on my eyelids like lead fingers in the dead of night.
Except for the one that gifted me Madison. That was a whirlwind—one steamy night, one perfect seduction, and boom, my queen was mine, claimed and crowned in sweat-soaked sheets, her moans still echoing in my ears like a victory anthem.
The others? They festered. Lingered like bad hangovers, sour bile rising in my throat at the memory.
But last week, one finally clicked shut. Paid off in ways I didn't fully grasp until right now, the metallic tang of gun oil thick in the air, mixing with the faint, acrid bite of Helena's perfume as she strutted away.
[DING! MISSION COMPLETED!
