I can’t do this anymore., he thought as he trudged the pathway towards the door.

His tools by his side, he came closer to the home of his next victims.
I must escape from this.

He could still remember the screams of his last kills. The screams of all those he has exterminated. They haunt him every day, in his waking hours, even in his dreams.
The screams never went away.
Who would’ve thought there was such a thing as a killer with a conscience, he chuckled, humorlessly.

He stopped, a few feet away from the door.
I can’t.
But they were counting on him to do this job.
There was no escape.

* doorbell *

“Good afternoon,” he said, when the door opened. I’m about to commit murder in your house, he didn’t.
“Oh good, you’re here!” the housewife answered.
“The bugs have infested the kitchen. I’m glad you came!”

I’m sorry, little ones he thought, a tear forming in his eye as he set up his tools. But it’s just a job.

“Where are the little buggers?”