I had been watching Blaine Anderson uncomfortably long. I knew something was up, if he was just any other person I doubt I would've noticed, but when holding someone at gunpoint is within your impending future, you pay attention to that someone a tad more than a regular person. The car engine brought me back to life from my one-way staring contest. I quickly looked away, distracting myself by counting all the light posts we passed on the way to our destination. I could practically feel him shaking when my head whipped back around to examine him some more. I decided to go with my first instinct, moving a little closer and putting my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, uh buddy? Are you doing okay?" I said as if I was talking to a little kid who had just fallen and skinned their knee. He immediately flinched away from my touch and nodded his head. I raised my eyebrow but never made any movement to give him his space back. He coughed and practically choked out his one word response.

"Fine." He said just like a nervous 7 year old locked in a room with a dozen monsters. I couldn't put my finger on why he was acting so strange, maybe he was taking the "Don't talk to strangers" adage somewhat too seriously.

The brakes screeched when the taxi came to a stop. I had told the driver and subject I was late for a job interview at some kind of tire shop I had seen on the way in, it wasn't the best excuse but it fooled both of them. I handed the driver the money I needed to pay plus a little tip. I figured I'd get Anderson to give in to my charm sometime, fate brought me here, and I wasn't just going to let this opportunity slide out right between my fingers. This was the perfect time to turn up the charm to level 14.

I leaned towards the target, smiling as innocent as humanly possible while still managing to look sexy, I placed my hand between us and spoke quieter than before.

"You know, after this interview, if you have some spare time, would you want to maybe go for lunch? My usual partner cancelled this morning; I'm just looking for someone to keep my company." Flashing a toothy smile before adding a short " I mean, only if you want of course."

The subject shifted in his seat and stuttered out that he had plans already, avoiding eye-contact with me the entire time. I actually laughed at how bad of a liar he was. He looked like he was about to throw up and my laughter died; curiously I looked him up and down about 3 times then averted my eyes to the door handle. I opened it half way and rotated my head to say one last thing.

"It's cool, maybe some other time? Call me, we can make plans." I smirked and reached into my pocket for a pen. I grabbed his wrist which made him gasp in fear.

"Relax..." I soothed, scribbling my number onto his forearm. Not my real number, I'm not that simple minded, please. I persuaded Michael into including a work phone a couple hits ago. It seemed to work well so he let me keep it for a while. At the bottom I wrote "Trent" and let go. Anderson's skin was warm but had goose bumps all over. The target was literally going to vomit if I made another move on him. I giggled and gave the guy a wink, getting out of the taxi and thanking the driver was the last thing I did before closing the car door and scurrying to the entrance of the tire shop. I retrieved my sunglasses and pushed them up on my nose. The taxi had just left and I arrived at the conclusion to wait a good minute before walking the couple miles back to the coffee shop. There had to be something very wrong with that man, nobody in their right mind would decline a lunch date with one Kurt Hummel. Fate obviously had just wanted to play a little mind game with me. I groaned, already knowing that Blaine Anderson would not be calling.

I looked up to the sky; the sun was barely peeking out over the trees. It was beautiful, even for someone with a cold heart; it still put a smile on my face. The walk back was spent thinking about how nervous the subject was. This is probably what Michael meant by a bit of a challenge. I massaged my temples and let a big breath out of my mouth, willing myself to think. My eyes fluttered open after some time.

"Oh God," I grunted. This was going to be harder than I had first thought, for Blaine had something the professionals like to call Paranoia. I'm sure you've heard of it. I assumed I should sit down when inside and plan things out over a well-deserved latté.

After I had sat down with my steaming beverage and pulled out my notepad from my bag and clicked my pen, I wrote his name on the top and all the symptoms I witnessed today. I took a quick sip of my latté and continued to write. The next thing to figure out was how I would get him alone; the more paranoid the person is, the more they'd like to be in a familiar environment with familiar people. I began to think he still lives with his parents. It would be funny but not in the least bit helpful. My job was to gun this man down; if I can't get him alone with me then my job becomes difficult.  I clenched and unclenched my fists about 20 times before placing my pen gently back on the paper and neatly writing a single word and underlining it.

Trust

In order to get close enough to Anderson to shoot him, I'll have to earn his trust, every ounce. He will not be as oblivious as everyone else. One of the common symptoms that comes with Paranoia is over-awareness. If he senses something is wrong, he is gone and I don't get my money and will end up getting fired or getting the entire company in trouble with the law. I shiver just thinking about it; I would hate to cause all my co-workers and boss such interruptions. Sounds dumb coming from an assassin who has most likely caused a lot of people pain after slaughtering the people they love, but it's different because I know these guys; they are pretty much my only friends. No, not friends, I don't have friends. They're the only people I wouldn't want to hurt on purpose. Yeah. That sounds better.

I didn't realize I had been sitting in that café for more than two hours with a cold coffee cup. Time really does fly when you're plotting a murder doesn't it? My stomach was growling when I stepped outside. I thought it wouldn't hurt to take a quick detour to pick up one of those microwavable meals for now and maybe some more for later.

The grocery store was freezing, as any usual grocery store is. Could have been colder; it sure felt like it. I rubbed my arms in an attempt to warm up. After a while of roaming around I found the freezers and opened the one with the frozen microwavable meals inside. They had chicken fried rice, spaghetti Bolognese and fettuccini alfredo. I bought some of each and carried the bags home.

By the time I had gotten home, changed into a pair of sweats and had eaten 3 of those meals, it was getting close to 8pm. I'm honestly surprised I'm still in good shape; the way I eat I should be 200lbs. It could be the exercise I get that's keeping me in good shape though.

Clicking the button on the remote, I settled down on the couch to watch anything that was on. I soon found myself day dreaming about Blaine Anderson. The way his skin tone clashed with mine and how his eyes seemed to pierce your heart with a single timid glance. I knew it was wrong, but it wasn't fair that he had to look so god damn attractive. Just when I was about to wonder what his hair looks like without gel there was an unfamiliar ringing somewhere in the house. It wasn't the house phone or my phone but another one. I became aware that I had left my work phone on the bedroom dresser and pattered off rather speedily to fetch it. Sure enough, it was the one that was ringing. I answered it by flipping it open and throwing the phone against my ear. I didn't have to guess who it was considering the only people who had the number was Michael, 3 poor deceased folks and Blaine.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound bored.

The person on the other line cleared his throat and coughed. I held in a chuckle and forced myself to pay attention.

"Hello?" I repeated.

"Hi, Trent?" Blaine asked, sounding nervous as if he had dialed the wrong number.

"Yes, who's this?" I said calmly, hoping my attitude would rub off on him, but didn't much to my dismay.

"B-Blaine." He responded quickly before adding "The guy from t-the taxi." He stuttered.

"Oh Blaine, hi! What is it you wanted?" I retorted, sounding way too happy yet again.

There was a short silence before he answered my question.

"I... Uh..."

END OF CHAPTER 3