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Finishing The Job

She slid into the driver’s seat, wincing as her shoulder brushed the leather surface. Blood from her hand smeared the shifter. She slid the key into the slot, twisted, and the engine rumbled to life.

She sighed, grimaced, slipped the car into gear, and pressed the accelerator, gently at first then harder and harder. When the pedal reached the floor, she backed off. There was still time.

The weapon under her arm and shoulder was still warm. It was heavy. And ominous. And necessary.

The world sped past the windscreen, a blur. Her last thought was “time to end this”.