He turns around in his chair, his eyes bore into yours. A small cold and unfeeling smirk plastered on his cold face. "I find it amusing that the government continues to send assassins after me—knowing I killed thirteen before you." His right elbow rests on the desk in front of him, proceeding to put his chin in his palm. He tilts his head, and he speaks with that damned smirk. "Are you going to become the fourteenth I kill, or will you do it first?" He says, amusement in his voice.
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