In a world o' creepies and crawlies, you gotta stay to ya-self. Not everyone is a-safe an' sound inside an' out. Sometimes they're the targets. Other times, they target you. It's like dog eat dog or survival o' the fittest if ya wish to be fancy.

Now, I'm about to... erm... 'retire', but you should hear this. This story I'm about to tell ya, it ain't pretty, but I'm a-guessin you don' mind. I was the best - still the best, mind you - killer for hire, rivaled only by the equally as infamous Mr. French. I'm sure you've heard o' him; he's on the front page more than he's on the train leadin' all the way out over yonder. I mean, you have heard bout that letter to the editor stunt back in August?

Now that was... below the belt, so to speak. I'm sure poor ol' Mistah Georgie was near scared to death. That's the difference between me an him. He stalks his prey, a-lookin for the right time to strike, the time when nobody's lookin an his blade can cut as deep as the sea. Me? Well, darlin, I don't waste no time lookin for it! I set the target in my sights. Then after a lil squeeze, they're no more.

I don't usually use them blades you see there. A bullet is always faster than a hand. This... this is just a lil extra insurance. I'm better than any trickshoot gunslingin sharpshooter out there! I'm a sniper surgeon. I bet that pocketwatch o' yers that I could remove a kidney from ten city blocks away.

I jest, I jest. Goodness, that look on yer face was worth more than that pocketwatch. I could getcha kidney from ten blocks away, but I only point a gun to intimidate or kill, neither o' which I wish to do to you.

But that Mr. French, he would steal ya kidney from ya very body if ya ain't careful. Not many live to tell his tale after meetin 'im. I'm one o' those few. Ya see, it all started back when Milin still called the shots. The target I had that night was already killed. I was dead tired from all the runnin from them pesky police. There's a short cut not a soul knows about. You can cut right on through Crow's Cemetery to get from Arlington to West Vine an back. Oh, honey, there's a reason not a soul knows bout it, but never mind that right now.

I was a-walkin between the gravestones when I noticed somethin. Somethin didn't sit right with me. It's always good to trust ya instincts, because just as I pulled my gun, I felt somethin sharp an painful on my neck. I've had more than my fair share o fights. That there was someone tryin to cut my neck.

But - alas! - my beauties saved me! You could cut my neck, but I'm gonna fire some rounds before I go! I had my gun raised to the head o' my assailer before the blade could do real damage to my lil neck. We both stood silent as the night around us. There was a drop o' my blood slitherin from my neck over my collarbone. Shivers sped down my spine, but there was no way he'd getta see that.

"Isn't it a little late in the night for you to be walking all by your lonesome?" he mocked. I could see the smile even he rid his face under the brim o' his hat like a coward.

Now, I ain't one prone to random acts o sass, but this boy was gettin on my nerves. "Isn't it late for such a lil boy to be without his mummy?" I said to him, even though he had quite a few centimeters to the tip top o my head.

"Quite the accent for someone who works on Berard." Berard Street was quite the upscale place to work for a country lass like me, but he had no way o' gettin that knowledge without goin through me.

"Oh, you seem to know me very well," I continued. "Perhaps we know each other. Maybe if you told me ya name it'd jog my memory."

He chuckled. "Very well, Louise Maria Cunningham." My finger tensed around the trigger. "I am known as Gerard French, but you may know me as Mr. French. It's a pleasure to finally you, Miss Sniper Royale."

So this kid knows my real name and who I am. I woulda squeezed the trigger without a second thought, but this blade to my neck was quite the troublesome thing. "You know quite a lot for such a lil kid," I told him. "You shouldn't let ya mummy do all the work. Responsibility is a good thin for a child like you to learn."

"Well, the very fact I'm almost done with a job speaks volumes," he informed me.

So someone paid for my death. "I wonder who would wanna hurt lil ol' me," I said. I acted innocent. Sometimes ya just gotta fake it til ya make it. "Surely you have the wrong lass."

"How about this. I'll kill the man who hired me," he bargained. "It's silly how people pay in advance." Now, this kid still held his blade to my neck. I wasn't gonna be fooled by a trick like that.

"I'll believe you once you remove ya blade," I responded. "Besides, that's quite a dangerous toy for a youngin like you." He smirked. I kept my gun pointed as he lowered his blade and backed away into the shadows. The next day, Mistah Georgie was in his office. His throat was ripped open.

I grew from a reporter to an editor, and I continued to grow in infamy as a killer for hire. Then, one day, someone sent in a classified askin for my services. 'To the blood born royal, meet me in the Tav Tuesday at two. - Vash' The kid who called 'imself Vash was a good ol' regular o' mine. He's sweet as a pea, so I waited for that Tuesday to come alon'. We met at the lil hole o' a tavern on East Vine in the early mornin' hour. He told me the name o' the target.

A certain Mistah Gerard French.

Now, there's a lotta things I coulda done. I coulda killed im right on the spot o' turned 'im down, but I decided to met 'im again. I traveled to where Vash said he'd be, and I before I could knock on the, a young girl opened the door. "Name and business," she snapped.

"Louise Cunningham. Business." She nodded and allowed me in. I followed her down a hallway with cozy decorations. She knocked on a closed door once, twice, thrice, and opened the door. She let me in before closin it tight behind me.

Mr. French was sittin at a desk, writin somethin out. He glanced up at me. "Hello," he greeted all nonchalant. "What would you like to be called today?"

"Miss Cunningham," I replied. He chuckled, but continued writin. I coulda sat down in a chair in front o' his desk, but I continued standing. Call it pride, but I was taller than 'im.

"What brings you here today, my dear Miss Cunningham?" he questioned. I shifted my feet. Even when he's sittin down, I felt small. I considered drawin my gun, but I decided against it. No need to be hostile.

"Just Miss Cunningham," I corrected, "but I've just been given a new target... I'm sure you'd find im fasinatin." I noticed that for a split second, he hesitated in his writin.

He continued writing. His script was rigid and scratchy. "And just who might this dapper young gentleman be, my dear Just Miss Cunningham?" he questioned.

"I think you know im quite well," I continued. He let out a breath and placed the fountain pen on his desk.

Gerard looked up at me. "And what are you gonna do?" he asked. His hazel eyes met mine.

I stared back in those windows to his soul. "Consider us even," I said, then promptly left. I waited for the day that we would meet again and I'd get the rest o' my pay. Before he could even greet me, I shot a hole clear through his head. I caused a panic, but I was able to slip out o' the window in the hallway.

Now, that wouldn't have shaken me a bit. I'm a killer for hire, I can't let those things get to me. Death shouldn't affect me. But here comes a week later another assassin sent Mr. French to the pearl gates.

I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me.

You see, we weren't exactly even, me and Mr. French, but I guess you'll never hear the reason for that now. Ah, why not? He had more kills than me. I wanna beat im so bad… and that assassin was one o' the people I trusted, one o' the ones I taught. I hope you don't mind, but after this she's gonna get a little visit from me. She's the only other one who knew the shortcut across Crow's Cemetery. I'm surprised ya own sister didn't tell you.

No, no. Calm down. I'll be with you shortly after I get ya sister. It'll be over before you know it. It'll be over before you hear the-


Summary: If I tell ya we're even, we're gonna be even til the last o' our days. My entry for the October 2015 WCC! Please vote and review!

A/N: Hope this is spooky enough for you guys, ha ha. Thanks to a certain person for inspiration. :)