The Nudge

It was the year of lost souls and the mercenary had just collected the fruit of his labour. At his feet lay a warm corpse still foaming at the mouth. Dead from a self inflicted prick of a needle and the push of a syringe pump. The dragon had taken his soul and left his scrawny remains on a filthy carpet, in a squalid flat, in what was supposed to be one of the better areas of Glasgow.
Above him stood an angel, cold, dark with an air of still menace. His constant stare prying for the slightest hint of life that may be left in his burden…

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