The depressed assassin was sad. Most of his victims had this persistent, resolute, unwavering desire to not die, and they showed it.
Which wasn’t great for business.
They absolutely insisted on not dying. They fought for it like they’d never fought for anything before, and the depressed assassin found this strange because most of them didn’t have much to live for anyway. They had never fought for something before, they had never wanted to be anything more than alive.
But when he got his knives and pistols out, they ran. They would run, they would sweat, their muscles would pulse with the effort, their hearts would pound in their ears, their blood would flow.
This was bad for business.
But that wasn’t why the depressed assassin was sad. He was sad because the only time he saw most people live was right before they died.