Biochemist

Watch them suffer.

Watch them writhe.

Watch them as the gasp their last, their pitiful life freed from their mortal filth.

He watched the man fall to the ground, grasping his swelling throat.

“It’s a shame, you know.  So many just like you, hopelessly loyal to whatever being offers you a shred of wealth.  It’s a shame that you’re all expendable, that I might have to recite this very speech to countless numbers of you.  I could very well watch you choke to death, but, my friend, I’m offering you a choice.”

The man, dressed in a dark winter jacket and all but his face covered in black cloth, pulled out a small vial filled with clear liquid from the folds of his coat, and brought it to the blue face of the choking man.

“This, my friend, is an antidote.  I can give it to you if you want to cooperate.  Or you can choke to death.  It’s your choice.”

The choking man nodded furiously, desperate to survive.

“I’m glad you chose this way.”

The dark coated man grabbed another item, a needle, unsealed the vial, and proceeded to fill the syringe with it.  Grasping the man’s head to hold it still, he jabbed the needle into the grotesquely bloated neck.  The man began wheezing, sucking in air that was finally allowed to him.

The other forcefully picked him up and placed him on a chair.  The victim was a small, pudgy, and frightened man, dressed in an inexpensive tweed sports jacket.  Sweat beaded on his brow and wet his shambled brown hair as he watched the other man pace before him impatiently.

“Now that you’re willing to negotiate, Mr. Brown, where is Henry Warrigal?” the assailant inquired.

“I-I told you.  I-I d-don’t know,” the man known as Mr. Brown replied.

“That’s a shame.  Here I wasted an antidote on you, a fairly costly antidote I may add, and I thought you would actually talk.  No worries.  I have plenty of worse poisons on me right now,” he replied.

“B-but I don’t—“

“I have this one poison that makes a person feel like he’s burning from the inside.  Eventually the mind overloads from the pain and dies.  Now I’m sure I have it somewhere in here...” the man said, digging in his pockets.

“I-I—I d-d—He’s hiding in the warehouse on 24th and Palm.  24th and Palm.”  He nodded furiously, trying to add credence to his claim.

“24th and Palm, eh?” the man said, looking deviously at the quaking Mr. Brown.

“Y-Yes,” he stuttered.

“Why thank you.  I knew you would cooperate.”  He reached inside his coat, and pulled out a dated revolver, manufactured in the 2000’s.  “Unfortunately, keeping you alive would be a liability.”

Mr. Brown looked at his attacker, overwhelmed with fear as the man grabbed his head and pressed the cold muzzle against his temple.  The man cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger.