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Guess whoās on his bullshit again wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Meet Smitmore. Just Smitmore. Grumpinati agent whoās probably got a deep and dark tragic backstory that I havenāt decided yet woop.
- Mid 30ā²s
-6ā²6
-probably has skeletons in his closet
-Do not get on his superiors shitlist
-Seriously, if they give the order, he will kill you
Anyway quick story to give an idea wooooooooo
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He always loved the marshmallows the bigger grumps gave him. He couldnāt read, but he could always tell when they were coming from the smiling grump holding one on the packaging alone.Ā
āHere you are.ā They would always say, before backing away quickly. They were so nice, giving him his favourite all the time.
They were even helping him! They were teaching him how to read! Mother never bothered to teach him.
She never gave him any attention.
But that didnāt matter anymore! He felt like he belonged here, with these grumps. They cared for him, they gave him his favourite snack, they kept him safeā¦ The list went on.Ā
He felt happy.
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The training they were giving himā¦ Hurt.Ā
Every time he tried to sleep his body screamed in protest from all the sore muscles, and any sleep he did get wasnāt enough. They just kept him going.Ā
But he would do anything for them. They were doing it for him, to keep him ready for the world out there. He just wished he could get another hour of sleep.
He looked at the bin across the room, where an empty packet of Smitmoreās peaked out. He always felt better when he had those. Everything just feltā¦ more bearable when he had one. It just felt right, having one of those in his paws.
Before he realised it, his paw was unconsciously reaching out to the packet, even though it was empty. What was he going to eat, the leftover air?
He huffed out a little laugh at that. He just wanted them all the time. It was silly, in a way. It was the ones that he got given by the ones teaching him that tasted the best. Anyone else just tastedā¦ Off.
He wondered why.
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Follow orders. That was all he knew now. He was fine enough with that, at least it gave him purpose in life.Ā
Just. Follow. Orders. His superiors drilled that into him from the speaker. He knew they were scared of him. Of what he could do. But he didnāt care about that. All he had to do was follow orders.
He looked down at his feet as he sat in the taxi. He had to take out someone who was threatening the anonymity of the whole operation. It didnāt matter about subtlety. He was one of many. He just had to take them out, and get away before he was caught. That was all.
Not that he was in any real danger, it was just a lot easier on the higher-ups, as he was told.Ā
Just follow orders.
As the taxi came to a stop and he paid the driver in cash, he hopped out without a word, staring at the building in front of him. His target was in there.Ā
Without any hesitation, he made his way in, heading to the fifth floor.Ā
Less than two minutes later, a gunshot rang out.
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He just had to wait until the police cleared out, then heād be picked up. That was how it always went.
He wasnāt called out for this type of operation often, but whenever he was, he got the job done. For the good of the world.Ā
As he sat on the park bench, waiting patiently for the call, a childās cry echoed out suddenly, catching his attention.
āOh, itās alright Jimothy, itās just a scrapeā¦ā A parent comforting their child. They had a nasty fall, didnāt they? āLook, see? Itāll heal fine!ā
The child looked up at the parent, eyes wide and brimming with tears. āReally?ā They uttered, hopeful.
Their parent smiled, nodding firmly. āYeah. Now, how about we go get that ice cream you wanted?āĀ
An unfamiliar wetness trailed down his face, surprising him. What was that? He lifted a paw to his face, touching it silently. His fingers were wet.
Was he crying? Why was he crying?
He quickly wiped it away. No point bringing attention to himself.Ā
āPsst.ā A voice whispered nearby. āDonāt look. Youāre good to go, thereās a cab nearby, waiting for you. Donāt worry about paying this time.ā
Right. Follow orders.Ā
He stood up quietly. Report back, then he can think about this.
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His room was bare bones nowadays. Why bother decorating when he was out most days?
His bed creaked loudly as he sat down, looking at the dirty carpet below. He was raised to forget his past, to be someone anonymous for them to use as they wished. That was his purpose in life.Ā
Yetā¦ He cried when he saw that. Why?
What was he missing?
What did he lose?
He let out a breath, looking to the ceiling longingly. Who was he?
He wanted to find out. He needed to find out.
How could he do it though? With all the measures in place, he couldnāt so much as poke a toe out of line without being questioned.
His face steeled. He had to get out. He didnāt know how, but he would.Ā
