[Number Five: REPERCUSSIONS]

He decided not to kill you; against your wishes, no doubt.

For when you looked at him,

he felt empathy.

He felt sorry that he would kill those putrid humans he loves so much.

Your form lay unconscious beside himself as he got down on his knees; a tight frown creased his lips.

"Dammit," he tugged his slim fingers through his midnight hair, mulling over his decision. Why did you requested your own death? Why did he spare you of such a morbid request when he would have just slashed any other person up?

He was loosing it.

He confused himself.

You woke.

Blinked.

You were inside a hospital room.

Someone sat beside you, close to your bedside.

Fur coat.

Black hair.

They watched you.

Red eyes.

Lips parted,

"I won't kill you."

they said.

"Consider yourself lucky."

An object was placed,

In your hand.

A knife.

Then the visitor was gone.

And you fell asleep,

to darkness.

When you were released from the hospital, you felt your pockets absently.

A hard, metallic object was inside.

'The knife.' you recalled.

On the inside of your coat there was a note.

It said in neat, legible handwriting;

"Join the Dollars.

I."