Throughout the entire history of Dead End Solutions, there had only ever been twelve First Grade Exterminators. With half of them now retired, only six remained.
Osiris. Lovecraft. Elendira. Enoch. Isolde. Asmodeus.
They were the backbone of the company—its greatest soldiers, the strongest exterminators. But with that strength came... complications.
They were nearly impossible to manage. Their power and reputations made them indispensable, but also unpredictable. Aside from a select few, the rest were unreliable at best. And that frustrated her more than she cared to admit.
Sabrina stopped. Her fist struck the door.
This was Enoch's house. A First Grade Exterminator, his massive paychecks had bought him a sizable home tucked away in one of the quieter zones of the haven—safely removed from the chaos of any myutant rampage.
She knocked again, her hand drifting to her earpiece before stopping.
The door creaked open.
Behind it stood Enoch—broad-shouldered, well-built, his long hair fell over his glasses, his equally long beard tied off at the end with a rubber band, his torso was a battlefield of faded lipstick stains.
"...Sabrina," Enoch said, a woman walking behind him, just as naked. "I can explain."
"So this is why you didn't help the haven," Sabrina said coldly. "You let hundreds of thousands of innocent people die. How does that make you feel?"
"What's this bitch trippin' about?" The woman muttered, now clinging to Enoch's arm, her fingers lazily stroking his chest. "Baby, come back to bed. The other girls are waiting."
"Can you give me a second?" Enoch asked, a sheepish smile on his face. "Kinda busy here."
"Don't take too long, baby," she said, sauntering off.
Enoch rubbed the back of his head and sighed. He stepped aside, nudging the door open wider with an open palm.
"Please... come in."
Sabrina didn't step in immediately. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a gas mask. Even from the doorway, the stench inside was overwhelming, an unpleasant mix of sweat, smoke, cheap perfume... and something else she had no desire to identify.
She strapped the mask on and stepped inside.
The house was packed. Dozens of women lounged, slept, and grazed across couches, floors, even countertops. The whole place looked like a warzone of indulgence. Sabrina nearly gagged behind the mask as she made her way into a cleaner room tucked away from the chaos.
"For one, you never paid me," Enoch said, now wearing only a towel. "That was the deal, right?"
Sabrina exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to shout. There was so much she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. "That's not why I'm here."
"Oh?" Enoch raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you?"
"There's an active and likely coordinated assassination attempt being planned against several targets in the haven," Sabrina said, glancing around the room. "We've identified about ten high-value targets, mostly government officials and their families."
"And what do you want from me?"
"I want you to help protect them—alongside a team of exterminators and some of the border patrol," she said. "You'd be assigned to one of the more vulnerable targets."
"Doable," Enoch said, leaning against the wall. "But if it's just bodyguard work, why call me?"
"It's not just bodyguard work."
"I figured," Enoch muttered.
"We're launching an operation against Hallian. A full-scale, forceful takeover of their territory," Sabrina continued. "Your secondary mission, once we apprehend one of their assassins, is to either kill or subdue every key member of their government."
Enoch gave a low whistle and eased himself into a chair in the corner of the room. "So that's why you picked me."
She didn't respond.
"But wait," Enoch said, leaning forward. "If you already plan on taking Hallian's territory, why wait for the assassination attempt? Why not hit them first—rip the curtain open?"
"Because we need proof," Sabrina replied. "Something concrete. We let them make the first move, then respond."
"Couldn't we just stage it?" Enoch asked. "Grab one of our many fine criminals, offer a reduced sentence for a fake attempt?"
Sabrina shook her head. "Too risky. If someone recognizes him, or the plan leaks, the whole operation collapses. We'd lose political cover and the moral edge."
"So instead, you're going to let someone try to murder a diplomat and hope we catch them?"
"It's cleaner that way," she said, flatly. "Safer. No loose ends."
Enoch leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I see."
He paused.
"Well," he added with a smirk, "as you already know, killing people costs extra."
"Whatever," Sabrina said, still glancing around. Unlike the rest of the house, soaked in perfume and debauchery, this room was clean. Sparse. Maintained with deliberate care.
A small sanctuary in a den of sin.
And for good reason.
On nearly every wall hung a photograph of Enoch and his family—two boys with the same dark, flowing hair as their father, and a woman with striking features. But more than anything, it was her smile lines that stood out: soft, graceful, ever-present regardless of the angle or lighting.
Those people were long gone now, taken by a myutant attack ten years ago, during one of Enoch's extermination assignments. Sabrina still remembered the moment he returned, collapsing into her arms, sobbing like a child.
The man in those pictures no longer existed. That well-groomed father had unraveled into something ragged and feral, his beard now swallowed most of his face, as if trying to hide the man beneath. A man broken. A man who didn't want to be seen.
Maybe that's what had hollowed him out. It likely was. Sabrina had tried before—encouraging him to remarry, to find a new life, to claw his way out of the pit. But instead, he buried himself in women and smoke. Maybe he was chasing companionship. Or maybe he was just searching for a smile that resembled hers.
She would never know for sure.
Sabrina rose from her chair, her eyes lingering one last time on a faded frame near the door.
"Your payment will be sent once you link up with the squad from border patrol. That alright?"
"Sure, Chief Khu!" he replied, snapping a sarcastic salute.
She turned to leave. But the words itched at the back of her throat, words she hadn't wanted to say, but couldn't hold back.
"Enoch."
He paused, towel slung loosely around his hips. "What is it?"
"You're almost fifty," she said softly. "You need to stop this. I won't tell you how to live, or how to mourn, but... this? This isn't it. You'll never replace what you lost, but I promise, there's someone out there who can help seal that hole in your heart."
Enoch didn't say anything. He just watched her—silent—as she opened the door.
"I can help..." Sabrina paused, hand resting against the frame. "If you ever feel like meeting someone new, or just talking about it... I'm here."
"Noted," he said quietly, watching her step through before the door shut behind her with a soft click.
She stood there for a moment, just outside. Sarah's face—Enoch's wife—flickered in her mind like a ghost pulled from memory. Her hand hovered near the door, brushed it gently, then withdrew.
As much as she wanted to stay—wanted to say more, push harder, maybe even fix him—she couldn't. There was no time, and maybe it wasn't her place.
Sabrina tapped her earpiece. The line clicked on.
"Juliana," she said, already walking. "I'm headed over."