The hallway was dimly lit, casting shadows on the hitwoman as she moved silently down the corridor. She wore all black, her silenced pistol clutched tightly in her hand as she scanned the room numbers with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. She had a job to do, and she was going to get it done no matter what.
As she approached the first door, she hesitated for a moment before kicking it open with a swift kick of her boot. Inside, she found a teenage girl sprawled across her bed, her laptop open and a dildo on the nightstand. The girl looked up, startled, and the hitwoman raised her gun, ready to pull the trigger.
But then the girl spoke. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were my tutor. You're way hotter than that loser."
The hitwoman lowered her gun, amused and slightly flustered. "Nice try, sweetheart. But I'm here for someone else." She closed the door and moved on to the next room.
In the next room, she found a girl in a cheerleading uniform, bent over her desk with her pants around her ankles and a vibrator in hand. "Oh, shit!" the girl exclaimed, startled. "I thought you were the coach! He's always walking in on me like this."
The hitwoman chuckled and shook her head. "Nope, not him either. Sorry to disappoint." She exited the room and continued down the hallway.
In the third room, she found a girl in a goth outfit, sitting in front of a mirror and applying black lipstick while listening to heavy metal music. "Who the fuck are you?" the girl snarled, glaring at the hitwoman.
The hitwoman smirked. "Just a friendly visitor. No need to be rude." She moved on to the next room.
In the fourth room, she found a girl in a nerdy sweater vest, hunched over a textbook with a pair of glasses perched on her nose. "Excuse me, miss, I'm looking for someone," the hitwoman said politely.
The girl looked up, annoyed. "Can't you see I'm studying? I don't have time for this."
The hitwoman raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. A know-it-all, huh? That's cute." She moved on.
In the fifth room, she found a girl in a preppy blazer, sitting on her bed and texting on her phone. "Hi there," the hitwoman said, smiling.
The girl looked up, uninterested. "What do you want? I'm busy."
The hitwoman chuckled. "Busy doing what, might I ask?" She glanced at the girl's phone and saw a sext message. "Oh, I see. You're a little minx, aren't you?"
The girl rolled her eyes. "Please. Like you could handle me."
The hitwoman grinned. "Oh, I can handle plenty, sweetheart. But that's not why I'm here." She exited the room and continued down the hallway.
The hitwoman repeated this process, finding various girls in various states of undress and various levels of rudeness. She began to enjoy the game of it, the thrill of flirting and teasing and dodging bullets.
But eventually, she reached the senator's daughter's room. And when she kicked the door open, she found the girl in question, naked and tied to the bed, with a masked man standing over her, ready to rape her.
The hitwoman's face darkened, and she raised her gun, ready to end this once and for all.
"Sorry, sweetheart," she said to the girl. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for him."
And with that, she pulled the trigger and watched the man fall to the ground, dead.
The senator's daughter looked up at her, terrified and grateful. "Thank you," she whispered.
The hitwoman nodded, then turned to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing," she said, pausing in the doorway. "Next time, try locking your door. It's basic safety, sweetheart."
And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving the senator's daughter to wonder just who that mysterious woman was.
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