He opened up the back of his truck and carefully surveyed his arsenal, looking for the biggest, baddest, most excruciating instrument of death he owned. It was more than just his job this time; this time it was personal, and Heinrick DeGuay was not a man to have on your bad side.
He grinned down at his cache: …too small… too messy… not messy enough… He wondered if God had an arsenal for smiting people; big, long crates full of lightning bolts and locust bombs. Heinrick reckoned he had to considering that man was created in his image.
Deciding that he was never going to decide, Heinrick closed his eyes, reached out, and grabbed whatever he touched. When he opened his eyes he smiled. He knew exactly what he had been reaching for.
He zipped up his splatter suit (things tend to get messy in Heinrick’s line of work) and made sure his weapon was calibrated and armed. It was, of course. Heinrick kept all his weapons armed and loaded.
The lights inside the house were out. He had killed the lights on purpose to draw his targets out. As soon as he was sure he had a clear shot he would turn the power back on and flood the house with light. He wanted his targets to see him in their last moment of life. He wanted them to know.
And he wanted to watch them die.
He saw movement in the darkness through the window so he threw open the door, flipped on the lights, aimed, and fired.
The two cockroaches slid across the linoleum, hitting the far wall in a powerful stream of pressurized liquid poison. They immediately recovered and skittered off under the tiniest of slits in Heinrick’s kitchen baseboard; but he had gotten them, gotten them good, and Heinrick knew that when they fell asleep they wouldn’t be waking up. They couldn’t. What kind of exterminator allows cockroaches in his own kitchen?
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