The sick shing of a blade being withdrawn shivered through the stagnant air. Its owner took slow, measured footsteps toward the prone body on the floor.

“I told you, I repeated myself one hundred times over – never try to interfere with my business when money is on the line.”

The body quivered on the cement.

“Never try to dabble in what you don’t understand. Never look me in the eye with the look of one who believes he is in control.”

The man on the ground gave a soft, low moan. The pale squares of moonlight coming in from the outside illuminated his form.

The speaker sneered, face shrouded in the darkness, and brought the knife down. The gray cement was dyed a new color.

“Never,” he reiterated one last time, and he sheathed his knife and walked out of the tower.