Michael rubbed the ache from his wrists as the corner-store punch clock beeped him out for the night. 11:59 p.m., same as always. The night air was humid and stale, thick with exhaust and the sharp stink of garbage from the alley behind the store. He didn't notice it anymore.
Four hours of sleep, maybe five if he skipped dinner. Then back on shift by 7 p.m.
It didn't matter. The rent was due in three days, and his paycheck had already vanished into overdraft fees and instant ramen. Again.
The walk home was short — just across the street and up three cracked flights of stairs to his box of an apartment. The A/C was busted. The mini-fridge hummed louder than the fan. The floor tiles in the kitchen had started curling like old paper.
He kicked off his shoes, cracked open a warm can of beer, and collapsed into the wobbly chair in front of his aging laptop.
Same routine, different night. He booted it up and opened the browser. No new emails. No messages. Just the same noise — clickbait, bad news, worse news, ads pretending not to be ads.
His fingers drifted over the keyboard. Out of habit more than interest, he opened a fringe forum he used to lurk on when he had insomnia. Deep threads. Anonymity. No rules except don't be a cop.
Most nights it was just rants and conspiracies. But tonight, one thread caught his eye.
[Off Topic] — "How illegal is it to hire a hitman IRL?"
Michael blinked.
It wasn't sarcastic. The user wasn't joking. The post was weirdly casual — short, rambling.
"Not planning anything, I'm just curious. Like, are there actually places on the dark web or whatever? Is that stuff real? I mean… hypothetically?"
No replies. No downvotes yet. Just… floating.
Michael stared at it longer than he meant to.
He could've ignored it. Should've, probably.
Instead, he clicked "Reply."
"That kind of question gets flagged. Delete this post if you don't want the FBI breathing down your neck."
He hit send. Closed the thread. Opened a new tab.
Then hesitated.
Back to the post. Still no replies. Still just… hanging there.
He clicked the user's profile. Throwaway account. No history. No karma.
Michael didn't know why, but the question stuck with him.
How illegal is it, really?
He opened a private tab. Started typing phrases he hadn't let himself Google before. Just out of curiosity, he told himself.
"hire a hitman dark web real"
"how to anonymously contact someone for hit"
"hitman market online"
The results were predictable — hoaxes, cautionary tales, arrests, scams. But buried in there were stories. Some real. Some maybe real. Enough to make his stomach twist.
He leaned back in his chair.
His cigarette pack was empty. Again. He stared at it like it might refill itself if he waited long enough.
Outside, a car honked once and kept going.
Michael tapped the edge of the laptop.
The idea had been a joke. An absurd little thought, like holding a lit match near your skin just to see how close you can get.
But the more he sat with it, the less it felt like a joke.
He wasn't looking to hurt anyone. Not really. But what if someone else was? What if that post was real?
And what if he replied… differently?
He opened a new DM to the user.
He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Finally:
"Are you serious?"
He hovered over the Send button.
No one would see this. No one would care. It was just a message. Words in the dark.
He clicked Send.
The cursor blinked in silence. No reply.
Michael stared at the screen for a long time.
Then he added one more message.
"If you are, I might be interested."