it was a gloomy day at the office. murder files poured into detectives inboxes almost as fast as the rain did.

it was almost 11 o’clock. two were left in the building; working diligently to crack their current case.

“detective morales. it’s getting pretty late, we should head home. call it a night.”

morales was smith’s partner on this file. he was her higher up as she was an intern. normally, someone would be promptly fired for drinking on the job, but smith felt a strange urge to keep a close eye on her. he let it slide.

“only if you take me, smithhhhyyyyy.” morales slurred, drunkenly.

smith chuckled. “i’d be happy to give you a ride, as long as you promise to show up to work tomorrow without a hangover.”

“yeah yeah whatever, boss. you know, i find it real funny that the lead suspect in this case’s last name is smith. what’s your first name, smithhyyyy?” morales could barely keep her eyes open. smith doubted she knew what she was asking.

his normally rosy face quickly changed to a shade of porcelain.

“n- now morales. you look a little sick. let’s get you home okay?”

his tone switched from shaky to demanding as the raining outside intensified.

“why smithy? are you the killaah?” she wrapped her arms around her boss’ neck seductively. the beer in her breath crept up into smith’s nostrils, the scent riling up even more.

he sat there. looking at her with cold eyes and and pursed lips.

he shoved her off of him. in so slamming her into the table and seemingly snapping her out of her drunken state.

her hand was on her taser.

his on his gun.

morales, stupidly, backed into a wall, cornering herself.

smith approached her and kept her pinned there, helpless.

the only barrier between them the barrel of his gun.

“you wanna know my first name, huh? curiosity killed the cat. curiosity killed the cat.”

the phrase looped over and over, his voice mirroring a broken record.

smith must’ve forgotten morales had a silent panic button.

the cops, who ironically worked under smith, were rapidly approaching.

“tell me your first name, smithy.” morales asked calmly.

his response was sharp and quick; as if he had said it a million times.

“wesson.”

he shot her. the bullet grazed her scalp yet missed her brain.

the scene quickly became bloody as she fell to the ground in agony.

the police stormed in, taking smith into custody.

“it’s over for you, wes.”

smith, better known as wes, smiled as he was thrown into the back of police car and and wondered who his next victim would be.