Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Kalama, Open to 1)

“I swear if he talks to me like that again then I’ll cut his balls off.” The petite woman hissed, eyes focused on her phone as she walked through the crowd. Another mission perfectly performed and for what? Her boss to bitch at her because she killed a few more people than was required? He’d sent her on the fucking job to begin with so why was he complaining now? He knew her method well enough by now. “Stupid spaghetti loving piece of shit.”

Kalama didn’t even know why she even bothered to work for the scumbag any longer anyway. His influence was waning among the bosses and sooner or later, he was no doubt going to get bumped off by one of the others. They were a pack of ravenous wolves, jostling for position and attempting to climb the ranks. Honestly though, the green haired woman could respect that desire, probably the only trait of theirs that she did.

Perhaps it was time for her to move on in search of greater profits and gore. She’d hung around Italy for too long anyway and the boredom was beginning to set in. She wished for greater challenges, more perilous missions and more enjoyable prey then the scum that she was being sent out to kill. Yet, that was all there was at the moment, until open war began again. The place where she truly thrived.

Her mood was sour enough but it only became more so when she almost walked straight into someone else coming the other way, causing her to almost drop her phone. “Get out the bloody way!” She snapped, paying the person barely any heed as she tried to barge past them.

It was her instincts and devout training that saved her from having her face meet the concrete, a hand quickly shifting from her phone to the incoming ground, using it to push herself over and perform a rather acrobatic manoeuvre to return to where she started, on her feet. To those watching, it would seem impressive but to Kalama, it was just as easy to her as breathing. She wouldn’t be very good at her job if a redheaded bimbo like the woman who tripped her could catch her out so easily.

Speaking of her, Kalama was damn quick to turn around and get in the woman’s face…or as close as she could given the significant height difference. “No but if you want to eat my fist then keep talking like a smartass. I’ve had enough of twats who speak nothing but shit for one day.” That was putting it mildly and even her spiritual pressure was coated with frustration and rage. It was as if she were a miniature volcano, just waiting to reach the point where she blew.

“Pfft. No fucking chance of any guy doing that. I’m into tits, not dicks.” Kalama replied coarsely, completely unbothered about revealing such a thing. Another day, another place, she might have just hit on the woman before her but right now, the only form of hitting she wanted to do was with a clenched fist. The laughter was annoying beyond belief and the redhead had a look in her eyes that was just asking for trouble. Forget her fist, maybe Kalama should stick a knife in her chest and be done with it. This woman had the spiritual pressure of a Hollow anyway so who’d give a fuck if another one died? It’s what they did.

“An employer who likes to bitch on a daily basis if you must know.” She went on, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Not that I expect you to know much about working. You guys just fuck about on Earth, don’t you? Can’t say I blame you though. This place must be better than the shithole you come from.”

“A question that I’m asking myself as we speak.” The green haired woman answered honestly, the thought of shoving her zanpakuto straight down his gullet a rather pleasant one. “I’ve got no loyalty to him and if I don’t slaughter him, somebody will probably beat me to it. He’s been doing nothing but finding more and more enemies lately, each of which would like to have his head on their mantlepiece. It’s about time I cleaned up things anyway as I’ve learned not to hang around too long.”

A smirk crossed her face then although it wasn’t a look that would paint her as a ray of sunshine. No, it was a smile of anticipation, her imagination beginning to conjure up precisely what she wished to do with her employer. Perhaps this hollow was right and as a crackle of lightning briefly flickered through her spiritual energy, she clenched her fists. “A little murder is just the tonic for my frustration.”

“You’re a bitch but you’ve got some good ideas.” She added after a moment, a backhanded compliment if there ever was one.

“If I want to rip his heart out, I’ll go to his big mansion out of town and have some fun with that first. He’s always going on about how much he’s spent on the fucking place and I know that most of his money is invested in it. It’s about what you’d expect from a mob boss, saunas, pools, the high life and all that shit. He’s got most of his family living there too and making a display of them would no doubt freak him out. Wife, two daughters, two sons. More than enough to have a little fun with. He’s got a live feed in his office too so he'll see whatever happens.” Kalama replied, her response rather in depth. “Dickhead is just asking to get fucked over.”

Just thinking about it all was churning the rage and frustration within her frame, her thoughts filling with images that no one would probably want to see. It was invigorating though and the temptation to carry out what she’d described was becoming almost too much. No matter how many years went by, her desire for death and destruction hadn’t deserted her for a moment. She was still the monster from all those years ago, thriving on the front lines of battle, butchering everything that stood in her path. Bliss.