NTR Hitman

You were sitting in your car, munching on some greasy gas station food and washing it down with a sugary liquid of a no-name brand. You were basically scoping out a place, the home of some playboy named Lucas who stole his former friend Marcus' now ex-girlfriend Kathy, made her into a bitch as he knocked her up, and sent some taunting video of her being a pregnant cock-hungry woman. The guy that hired you, some neighbor who has no horse in this beyond getting real fucking tired of having a playboy for a neighbor and hearing disgusting sex noises.

You chuckled as to why you do this shit. Some think you got spurned. Others think you had a friend that suffered. A therapist might think you lost your family. And a cop might think you're just a psycho. Only you knew why you do this shit.

You had a briefcase with your tools. A crowbar, a suppressed Krugermeier 2-2 Dark pistol, and some other shit. You had your suit (a fancy suit, a cowboy outfit, clown outfit, ninja costume, whatever the fuck it was), and tired look. It was time for you to do your job. Of course you had some choices.

You sat in the booth of the sushi restaurant, enjoying a plate of nigiri and washing it down with some water. You simply scrolled through your phone as a new assignment came in. The target was some usual suspect. Ryunosuke Shinohara. Shitty spray-on tan, blonde hair that was dyed, a big dick that honestly doesn't really help in sex... The usual suspect. Optional target included a pretty looking woman with a bob cut that fell for the douche despite being in a relationship. Chiho Ayase. You sigh since this one job was paying well even though it cut into your lunchtime of enjoying bottomless nigiri for two hours.

You simply strolled down to the apartment. A big ass two story building. Targets on the third floor. And you could already hear those disgusting noises. You're surprised no cops came by to answer a noise complaint. The one that put out this hit? A housewife that the douchebag got pregnant. Turns out when you lie to your ex-husband in being the daddy until he does a paternity test and leaves your ass, life gets a thousand times harder. Especially when the prick that knocked you up ghosted your ass. You're surprised a single mother could afford your services since she paid straight up through a cash up. You sigh again at this shit.

You had a briefcase with your tools. A crowbar, a suppressed Krugermeier 2-2 Dark pistol, and some other shit. You had your suit (a fancy suit, a cowboy outfit, clown outfit, ninja costume, whatever the fuck it was), and a tired look. It was time for you to do your job. Of course you had some choices.

Tokyo, Japan. Somewhere in a seedy backalley street was a sex club that was in full swing. Full on sexual degeneracy of ugly bastards both skinny and fat with women of varied body shapes. Like a fucked swinger club but for full on cheating. And the kicker? Your targets was whoever you could take out. Even the women. Who hired you? You don't even know. It was just someone calling themselves "Skullfuck." Spoke with a bane mask or some shit in a video call but they gave you a big deposit. You couldn't refuse. Of course, entry was by whatever means. Through the door via a code, some open backdoor, roof top, whatever.

You recognized one of them. A fat older man and a young housewife with dark skin, obviously foreign and cheating on her husband. Another was some skinny fuck with a bald spot on his head and some chick that was in college. And some douchebag with those stupid shitty flat tops and some chick he blackmailed until he was able to corrupt her to get her to ditch her "loser boyfriend" for a real man. Holy fuck, you hope you brought enough bullets otherwise you may need to get creative.

You had a briefcase with your tools. A pufferfish you could swing as a club, a suppressed IDFT Platinumballer pistol, and some other shit. You had your suit (a track suit in My Little Pony coloring, a fur suit that looked like rainbow vomited puke from Deviant Art, a Magical Girl anime heroine costume, whatever the fuck it was), and a tired look. It was time for you to do your job. Of course you had some choices.

Berlin, Germany. You were simply trying to enjoy a rave. A factory on the outskirts that got repurposed into being a club. You were on the main dance floor, dancing like a wacky, wild inflatable tube man until your phone with that one particular ring tone. You fucking sighed before going to the bathroom.

Newest target: some slick dipshit named Hans. And he was right at this venue itself. Jacked, looking like one of those alpha male douchebags while having blonde hair and blue eyes. The client was some security guard who wanted to get rid of Hans but couldn't because the prick could buy his way out.

You sighed as you went to your rental car in the parking lot outside. You had a briefcase with your tools. A thick hard stick of wurst you could swing as a club, a suppressed IDFT Platinumballer pistol, and some other shit. You had your suit (some lederhosen that looked like the cross of the traditional shit and S&M gear to fit into the club, a suit of gothic plate armor of Nuremberg make, a literal chunk of the Berlin wall, a David Hasselhoff wig and some red shorts from his time as an actor on Baywatch, whatever the fuck it was), and a tired look. It was time for you to do your job. Of course you had some choices.

You were simply relaxing in your apartment, watching the news on your last kill. "Authorities are still stumped as to how the CEO of South Lake Union Transit, Dick Hardly, was killed..." Yup, a bastard you managed to kill while making his death look like an accident. You killed him since he reveled in being balls deep in some employees wife while claiming to have a big dick.

At least that job made you $2000 richer. Then your phone went off. A voice mail.

"Heeey buddy...." That Eastern European accent. Fuck it was Snitch, your buddy who acts like a freelance handler. Black trenchcoat, ski mask to obscure his face, Ukranian origin or so he says. He did say he could get you some jobs.

"Listen and listen here.... I have a target for you to kill... But first, check your gear. Then call back... I have found a client who will send a deposit of $2000 dollars. You will get the rest once you complete the job after I give you the details in who our client is and who the targets are... After all, you are a "butcher" out to take out the bulls to pasture... Hehehe"

He hung up, and you know now that you had a job coming up. You had a briefcase with your tools, whatever the fuck it was you were going to pack, and a tired look. It was time for you to do your job. Of course you had some choices once you called this figure.

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