“Ohhh, Tyyyyler!” I sing, hopping down to the cold tile floor, my bare feet not making an ounce of sound as my toes connect with the hard surface. I walk over to the small metal table holding all of my tools, picking up a crimson-stained set of pliers.

Naughty, Alice.

How very unsanitary of you to not have cleaned up properly when you have all the equipment you need at your disposal. No, no…This won’t do at all.

I set them over on the counter to deal with later, this time picking up a pair of needle nose pliers, waving them at Tyler, “These look like good fun! What would you like me to rip off first, fingernails, nipples, or should I pull your eyes from their sockets?” I grin.

“You’re gonna fucking die, bitch. My men will be coming through those doors any minute, and when they do, I’m going to shut you up with my dick, and then I’m going to beat you to a bloody pulp before I skull fuck you and leave you here to FUCKING ROT!” He screams the last part, laughing hysterically–his eyes wild and crazed.

I let out a drawn-out sigh, shaking my head, almost feeling sorry for the lad. All my patients go through the motions. Fear, denial, anger, acceptance—It’s always the same.

Every. Single. Time.

I don’t expect this time to be any different, but I’m just giving them a taste of their own medicine, a bitter spoonful of the same poison they inflict on the world.

Reaching into the small pouch of my dress, I retrieve an old, tarnished pocket watch glancing down at the time.

I’m late.

“Tell you what…I’ll give you thirty seconds to decide. Fair?” I ask, tipping up my chin to meet his gaze.

“Please, lady! Please don’t—don’t do this!”

“Twenty-five seconds, Tyler. Better hurry.”

The pounding of our hearts is the only thing I hear. His from fear, and mine from the addicting thrill of ridding the world of these special kinds of bastards, one by one.

“I—I can give you money! Whatever you want, just name it. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to kill me!” He pleads, but why would I want his money?

Money can’t give me what I want…What I need.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“FUCK!” He yells, struggling against his bindings.

The watch’s tiny hands reach towards the twelve on its cracked face, and I flip it over, showing Tyler as the last second of his free will ticks by, I watch eagerly as all the sense of hope he had drains from his eyes, “Times up, love.” I whisper in his ear before plunging the sharp tip of the needle nose pliers into the cavity of his left eye, gripping the soft ball of tissue and yanking it from his head. He writhes beneath me on the table, his screams bouncing off the pristine white walls of my operating room and straight to my core.

My blue gloves are now splattered from the blood gushing from the small open hole in his head, and I can’t help but to giggle at the poetic justice I find in my choice.

Talk about an eye for an eye—am I right?