The House Charuzu Empire: The New Hires

Just around the corner, tucked in the dark cut of Sycamore Street, a beat-up blue Chevy sat idling low like it had secrets. Inside, a man lounged in the driver’s seat, one hand clutched around a crusty burner phone, the other knotted tight in the tracks of a cheap synthetic ombre wig. A woman lay draped across his lap, head bobbing in a lazy rhythm slow, sloppy, and vacant.

Slurp. Slurp. Gag. Slurp.

Her jaw moved like a broken machine, wet sounds filling the stale air of the car.

Her eyes were barely open, glazed like fogged-up windows.

Whatever he dropped in her vodka and cranberry soda had long since kicked in.

But he wasn’t paying her no mind.

Ruin’s eyes locked on the burner screen, watching a red dot inch along a street map like it owed him money. He tilted the phone slightly, revealing a busted brown leather wristwatch on his arm strap frayed, gold stitching unraveling like a secret.

“Target’s pulling in now,” he mumbled.

With a grunt, he shoved her off. She flopped against the passenger door like a ragdoll, letting out a dizzy giggle,

then another long, slurrrrrrp like her brain hadn’t caught up to the fact the job was over.

His foot hit the gas.

Two blocks away, was almost home. Her body still throbbed from that “light” fall at work

HR called it minor, but her spine had opinions. As she reached for the radio to kill whatever commercial was droning, something didn’t sit right.

The street shimmered ahead like it was holding its breath.

Then came the scream. Not from a mouth, but from steel on steel.

The Chevy burst from the alley like hell had coughed it up.

It slammed into her Camry full force. Metal twisted.

Glass exploded. Her head snapped sideways into the window. The airbags hit with a thunderclap.

Screeching. Shards. Blood.

Then silence.

Ruin didn’t even glance at Lotus’s car.

Instead, he dragged the woman from the passenger side, limp, and moaning, and flopped her into the driver’s seat like a used coat. He adjusted her arms around the wheel, letting her slump just enough to make it look real.

Lotus blinked through the crack in the glass. Her vision was streaked red, unfocused. But she saw him. And she knew him.

Her lips parted. One breath. One question.

“…but why?”

Then her world went black.

He stepped away from the wreck smooth and cold, brushing glass off his sleeve like lint. No panic. No rush. Just precision.

He sat back down, lifted the phone to his ear, and spoke into the quiet:

“It’s done.”

Click.