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The cold wind of a beautiful desert night was all I had to call my own that most amorous of all evenings as its frost bit softly and yet blew just as swiftly across my muzzle. As I drove onwards that night with my windows rolled down across the sandy plateaus of whatever state I had happened to be in, I knew deep down I cared little for the direction I traveled or even for the amount of time spent on the road. Instead, I focused on the distance of it all; myself just wanting all that could be made in miles between me and the past I knew full well I was running away from.

The night remained brilliant however. The shine and the luminescence that showered down from the stars that stretched endlessly across the expanse of the dark highway I traveled on remained blazon and glorious as each little flit of light shimmered brightly above me, and yet there I couldn't help but sit and think, in earnest, how funny it all seemed and made me feel; as though the wishes of the sky seemed to sparkle in contrast to the muddled darkness of what I felt comprised my hollow hole of a soul.

At the end of it all though, my world was as it should be and perhaps should have been since along time ago though; I alone, left with overwhelming feelings of fatigue... hunger... and guilt. But what else could a Doberman of a status like my own expect to know though, especially after everything I had done?

I have hurt people and have ended the lives of those both saintly and otherwise. I've also shook hands of evil and snapped necks of good. Such is my calling and at the prime of my life, I stood on ceremony as a demon by all accounts and definitions of the word, and yet for the longest time pride alone was what held my head high and above the influence it poisoned; the respect of clients and employers all I even needed for the justification and means to it all.

However, after this last hit requested... subsequent to this last mission taken, I just can't bring myself to be the contract hitman codenamed "Fifty-Two" anymore; not after this last kill. And as you can I'm sure guess, I just don't have the heart left for it... or rather the pieces remaining with which I can barter for my soul back. I'm empty...

Nevertheless, even if it means I'll be on the run for the rest of my life, I don't care. I don't deserve the right to flee. What killer does? Though the fact can subsist that even if all triggers pulled and clothesline strings taut were to save my own skin from an agency who'd hunt me otherwise, who was I to abuse natural talents and just give in to shadow? Did that not just taint my being instead and make me somebody not worthy of existence anymore anyway?

Seeing as the thoughts only grew heavier then on my mind and threatened as they went, I immediately knew I risked crashing the car or had to pull over. Opting for the latter and better of my options, I found myself pulling off onto the next exit I could on the stretch of asphalt; though the nature of its end destination was both a mix of surprise and an oxymoron for even me to behold.

As I looked around and petitioned for any available parking space that could be obtained as I came up on a rather conspicuous building was when I stumbled across the foundations huge overhead signage, the bold looming lettered entrance of which read across as "Three Winds Casino"; though it should rather have just said the last place in the world I should be.

After turning the ignition off I parked and listened for the silence of the engine, but my mind however instinctively drove to thoughts of wanting to not stop here; though the smell coming from my body and the weight of my eyes argued otherwise. I was, for all intents and purposes, stuck, but come hell or high water I knew I needed the rest...

Following that conjecture, I took a slow hesitated breath then and stepped out from my car with the same emphasis, wondering then, if at all, it was good idea to leave the vehicle in such a wide open area setting such as this was. In the end I figured what harm it would bring the fact remaining it was the dead of night and no one in the agency would think I defected right away anyway... I hope.

What really mattered to me at all as I made my way to the entrance of the place was the wonder of how I had made it somewhere at all in my currently drunken stupor; but as the beats from a backside café began and the familiar jingle of winners receiving their rewards for patience rang and thrashed around in my head, I began to lobby around the notion instead but dismissed it just as quick if it wouldn't had just been better to head back to car and sleep in the trunk...

"This will not end well." I thought as I begrudgingly took step after step then while pushing the turnstile door that lead me into the building. It felt heavy, almost unsurpassable, but for a guy who's broken into many places before, I knew the challenge meant nothing.

Afterwards, as I labored drunkenly over to what looked like a reception desk, I was mindful still to keep both eyes wide open and a well meaning paw abroad my chest gun holster the entire time, wondering and waiting if someone would undoubtedly approach me for my crimes against humanity?

To my fortune however, and for the foreseeable future, I only saw the eager smiles of gamblers both young and old drunk on something other than shame; though for a few you'd have a hard time discerning the difference between.

"Name..." I heard someone say but dismissed instead as I looked around at the breadth of the place, noticing immediately how it was littered with a tinsel and shine of a familiar Christmas time very obvious throughout. What bothered me to see about it in truth though was how I had forgot it was already the season for reason... and wondered then god what had my life become that I murdered someone on the eve of Christmas?

"Sir, if you can't show me some sort of identification, I'm afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave." I heard the busy receptionist yelp finally, but this time to shut her up, I reached into my inner coat pocket, innocently glossed over the pistol with optional silencer attached I had concealed within, and instead pulled out one the many fake ID cards I carried on my person; a man of my history not shy to the fact some anonymity is a must in some to most situations.

"Thank you Mr. Halberd. And will you be staying with us tonight or just hitting the casino floor?" She questioned as she typed away at fake information I knew not when what body I had stolen it from so long a time ago.

"Hmm... sorry... was lost in thought miss. And additional apologies approved for earlier transgressions of mine. Yes though is my answer to both questions imposed. Thank you." I said with a grin, my tone and mannerisms so unnatural on purpose she'd just think me a kook and dismiss me as such.

That was who I was though; this Mr. Pretender...

Want to know from a tool and tip of my own craft and cunning; always have an alias for each persona you superimpose. Speech, body language, syntax... it is all a list of inexhaustible reasons people are the way they are and what makes them such, but if you study the form, really commit to learning the history and principles of a man, it is than that you can be them flawlessly.

That skill with knowledge or a curse of rather, is why I am after all renowned as the infamous hitman "Fifty-Two"; a master of fifty-two separate personas with which I can become at the slightest of thoughts, although to be honest, if my own identity is a part of that same equation anymore I can't say, being that it's been so long since I was him I wouldn't know how to be anymore.

"Well here is your electronic key for your hotel room; fifteenth floor, suite number fifty-two. Also, a complementary player's club card loaded with few credits, courtesy of the house, as our way of welcoming you to Three Winds Casino; we hope you enjoy your stay with us." As she silenced finally and handed me my care package of goods and leaflet handouts, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the room assignment itself.

"Thank you. I hope not to cause too much trouble while I reside." I chuckled then as I walked away from the desk and towards the elevators that indicated they ascended up to the rooms proper, myself trying to pass off the laugh as casual at the moment though the truth of the sentiment itself gnawed at my heart; myself wondering if it was just another lie I was telling myself.

Though at first it took awhile to find, but after discovering my room down and a little to the left from where the elevator had dropped me off, I finally arrived at my destination proper. I took a moment then and stared at the door hard for minute, wondering if at all somehow it was booby-trapped already and set to explode. However, as I watched over shoulder the passing graces of just a janitorial crew and a young couple, I made up my mind to just insert my hotel card key and hope for the best.

With the hum of an all too familiar beep of acceptance resounding outwards from the door system itself, I pushed it open slowly as possible; expecting the worst scum of the earth to be behind it. To my great surprise and confusion however, I was met solely with that of a dim glow coming from a tabletop lamp, completely overshadowed next with the smell of clean sheets and bleach. To its credibility it would seem genius, but to a trained man like myself, it was an obvious of all tells that the room had literally just been cleaned as I was being registered downstairs; though hotel chains would have you believe it had been turned over top to bottom as soon as any previous occupant had left prior.

As I closed the door behind me, I suspiciously, as was my nature, observed my surroundings for a minute before I let myself fall into the lull I knew my body had been craving. Though it came as no unsuspected tell, due to past indiscretions I'd rather not go into with previous hotel establishments, I checked behind everything and anything I could; from under the bed to the venting that rest above the bed. For what you may wonder the paranoia, to which I say, always, be aware that any sort of listening/optical recording devices come in all shapes and sizes these days.

Confident in initial inspection though I knew I'd want to check again more once I woke, I finally let worry and gravity bring me down finally as I came crashing down hard onto the bed itself, the softness of which I'd compare to that a time I spent in Prague on a hunt; camped out on the rooftop of a consultant all while laying on outstretched cardboard. Though to this beds credence, I can say it at least has pillows...

"God... what am I going to do." I thought finally as I started to kick off my shoes slowly, the exposure from the rooms' cold air a saving grace as it relaxed my worn down feetpaws almost immediately. It was in that serenity that familiar cuts and bruises of which I was aware started to feel as though they can finally be on the mend; just like my heart.

"Nope... no no no!" I yelled as I shook my head from side to side, in whatever effort was possible to dislodge the memories in my mind. "I can't go back. No... no I can't. God... never again. Not after that... that... that little kid... The way he was looking at me..." It progressively hurt my head more to think about it all as I my mind accidentally drifted into dark thoughts again. I fought the pangs, the best I knew how anyway, as I punched at my chest with each insurrection of my psyche; this diversion from mental pain a knowledge of trade only the most experienced like myself are aware of being possible.

"I just wanted to be happy, just like everyone else. Not me though. Nope. Nothing for Fifty-two... I get no reprieve, or time to grieve. It's all so dirty... and void." I continued to argue with myself then as I pulled off the rest of my clothing and waddled my way over to the bathroom. "Why did I just forget and forge ahead... why me? But now, for once, I can't do that in this pitiful existence... I can't. Why?" I bellowed more inwardly as I started up the cold water of the shower then. "I was so good at what I did... I don't know how to do anything else."

As I fell forward with as soft a force as I could muster then, right into the confinement of the bathtub basin, my mind began to slip back into days long since past; my punishment for all the crimes I have committed. And as a trickle of blood began to run down my head, I thought back to simpler nights I spent drinking from only the freshest & aged of liquors, and sleeping with only the finest of men. Man was it a good time...

But in the end, as what seemed like a concussion was washing over me then, I just thought about my last issued contract; the very rationale of why I gave up the killing life. The reason I'm on the run, and lastly, the cause of my dissent into madness I can't handle alone...

Who am I you wonder? Well, I am Fifty-Two; and man have I got a story to tell you...