The persistent hum of the city barely registered over the insistent clamor in my head. Another day, another craving. This one, however, was particularly insistent, a deep-seated urge that always followed the same recurring dream. Not a dream, really. A flashback. The same one, every time. And no, I wasn't going to tell you about it.

My contract with T.H.E.M. meant I couldn't just pick off an unsuspecting tourist from Hollywood Blvd. But a girl had needs, and Zeke, my perpetually disgusting boss, usually had a 'quickie' to satisfy them.

I called him, bracing myself for his usual theatrics. "We all go a little mad sometimes, Marion," he drawled, his impression of Anthony Perkins grating on my last nerve. I suppressed the urge to vomit. "Good morning, Zeke. I’m in serious need of a quickie."

His slimy insinuation about 'consorting' with agents made my nether regions shrivel. "You know what I mean, you fuck-monkey," I snapped, knowing he didn't mind the back-talk. He pretended to consult a planner, a performance I’d seen a thousand times. Then, the target: Senator Gene Keeley. A skeezeball politician, ripe for a humiliating end.

"You’ll be taking Misk with you," Zeke added, his voice dripping with false concern. Misk. Mary Sue. My designated annoyance. The thought of spending even a moment more than necessary with her made me want to scream.

But I needed this. I needed to kill.