I lift my shoulders to block my ears as I fumble desperately for my earplugs. My fingers search in vain as they come up empty. I have a suspicion, but I hope it’s not true.

My manic internal pondering is confirmed as the mob flaunts multiple pairs in their outstretched fingers, their leering gazes sparkling with mutual humour.

‘Looking for something?’ one of them mocks.

No, not now, not yet. It’s too soon. How can they know already?

‘So, I think we need to have a chat, don’t we?’ the speaker continues.

I reach to clap my hands over my ears but there are already people beside me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them behind my back, leaving me exposed.

The speaker continues. ‘A little birdie told me that you have a magic trick to show us.’ I avert my eyes and stay silent, trying to avoid what I know is coming.

‘No? Shame... but I think we should give it a try anyway. Don’t you?’ Grinning maniacally, they start, ‘I he-‘

‘Please!’ I beg, ‘Please I’ll do anything for you, anything, just please don’t-‘

‘I heard a rumour that you should shut the hell up!’

And just like that, I know it is all over for me. My jaw clamps immediately shut as if on command, and I know that they know. For a moment they are in silent disbelief, not knowing where to look; at their maleficent leader, or at their prisoner who can’t help but do what they’re told. The silence doesn’t last long, however, as a laugh begins to spread around the room, growing in volume and malicious intent. Amidst the hysterics, the speaker continues.

‘I heard a rumour that you have to do whatever I ask you.’

‘I have to do whatever you ask me.’ The voice that replies feels detached, like it didn’t come from my mouth. But it did. And I know that I can’t take it back.

‘I heard a rumour that you’re good at getting rid of people. I want to get rid of someone. You’re going to get rid of them for me’

‘I’m good at getting rid of people. You want to get rid of someone. I’m going to get rid of them for you.’ The voice inside my head is screaming ‘NO!’ but my body doesn’t listen. It can’t listen. It’s not it’s fault.

‘I heard a rumour that the Ambassador and her family are staying in the hotel on the corner of 66th street. You’re going to take this key, and this gun, and you’re going to let yourself into their room and kill them.’

My mouth opens ready to involuntarily reply, but before I can they add - ‘And I heard a rumour that you’re not going to say a word’. Silently, I take the key and the gun, legs carrying me somewhere that I don’t want to go, to do something I don’t want to do.

Three solitary shots. Then silence.