“What the hell, Eve!” screamed Paul, staring into the now lifeless eyes of his friend David. Steam was still rising from hole between his eyes.

“He was weak,” replied Eve nonchalantly, kicking the body onto the tracks as she lit up a cigarette.

“He was autistic!” he shouted back, angry that he couldn’t even get her to argue her point.

“I told you not to bring him.” She leaned on her old truck, taking a drag.

Paul stared at the slim, raven-haired girl and wondered how he had ever been attracted to her. He continued to shout at her.

Suddenly, he found himself staring down the barrel of Eve’s black 9mm.

“Shut it, Connelly.”

Something brushed Eve’s ankle and she bent to pick up a small gray kitten. The menace left her eyes and she cooed to the little thing, stroking it’s head. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Eve scowled, tossing the kitten roughly onto the tracks where he and David were quickly squished into oblivion.

Paul stared at her in horror.

“What? He was weak.”