[Sadrain]

December 5th, Chicago. Sewer #17.

Amante's words were like an open fire. Inwardly, she winced, even though not a muscle moved on her face. Leila sometimes let her self to be vulnerable in words, but the more time passed, the harder it was for her face to change to reflect her feelings. It rooted in the time that for each frown, quivering lip, or smile, she would get beaten. It was safer to spur hateful words than to cry.

"If you haven't noticed, lying is the only way to get what you want in this world. Or else you get stomped on, like a snail, by a bigger liar," the girl replied stiffly. Her voice grew monotone again now. Amante was indeed strong, to bear such pain and still lecture her. Such a waste, pity, pity. And still, annoying as hell. He was on his finish line, yet, he tried to appeal to her, and did a pretty damn good job at it, too. Leila would admit only over her dead body, though.

"No one is born wanting that," she replied simply and pushed the air out of the syringe. Indeed, just fifteen years ago, the thing Leila had wanted the most was for her mommy to be healthy. The girl's jaw tensed for a moment, as if she was fighting something inside - maybe tears. But that was just a second, and then it was gone.
"But you see, even your noble honesty has given you no one 'to miss you', as you put it. So, I rather give the world what it gave me."

She injected the poison and looked in Amante's face. Her eyes were now more human like than cat and they looked nearly dead, void of emotions, except at the very depth. "My mission? No, none of that is my mission. But all of it is my job. Only when I am done with this, I can carry out my mission." It had occurred to Leila, that after this she would have the blood of countless people on her hands, even if indirectly. But she would also be the one who ends the tyranny. It was all so difficult to explain, to even understand, the girl felt like laughing. "At least I have a goal to make me fight on, 'till the very end, unlike you. Your noble cause isn't that worth fighting and living for, apparently."

Amante's next question hit her mentally. Leila said nothing, simply averted her gaze, staring at the wall. At this moment, when she had just dealt a death to a man who carried some principles of her father, she could not call their names, speak of them. Her goal might not make her methods right, but she was far beyond redemption by the age of fourteen already, her hands pushed into the blood bath and stained for eternity. Still, their name was untouchable for her in moments like these.
"It will be all over soon," quietly Leila said, suddenly. It wasn't sure if she meant his life, her mission or job (what was the difference between them anyways, to Amante?), or something completely else.