//I had a good idea.
Slightly graphic and gorey, I'm working on descriptions...also, let's say pre-fatherhood Sebby, oof.
I was gonna post it as a starter but...

Fûck it all was all Sebastian could think at that moment. He was tired of getting shot down with stupid words his finger tightening on the trigger. He wasn't someone's pawn, the useless body to be thrown without a care if he made it out alive. He was his own puppet master, no one else could claim him as a puppet. No one could find his trigger words and force them against him, pulling on his strings to raise the gun, yanking on the threads to slit a throat, to let vocal cords tear and blood wash over him. He was no one's fücking puppet.

His breathing was laboured with burning anger, eyes alight with a hatred fueled anger. Yet his hand holding the pistol never shook, like he'd seen some men when they were angry. His hand didn't shake while cleanly slicing off a man's tongue to shut him up, to keep him from using his father's old sayings to manipulate him. His hand didn't shake now with a shiny new pistol against a sweating man's forehead. A regular client. One he despised. One who thought he could be the puppet master.

A sick grin, a terror striking one formed on Sebastian's face. Russian Roulette was the game he was playing, and the one he knew well. He knew how many empty chambers it'd take till the bullet finally fired out and ripped open flesh. He knew even after spinning the barrel a couple times with crimson fingertips. People forget he can be scary. People forget that he can be heartless and cruel.

"There are no strings on me," he sang in a threatening tone, making the man whimper in agony. He should've known not to tug at the tiger's tail. Now he has to pay, now he is the prey. He was never the master. He would never be the master. Sebastian whistled the rest of the innocent song, finally pulling the trigger. Nothing, just like he thought.

Just seeing the flinch almost made him laugh. He reached the end of the song, fake fiddling with the gun, as if it was acting up. He wanted fake relief in the man's eyes. He wanted to make him suffer.
Oh, how he missed being like this. The monster he made himself, the monster he was happy as. Twisted and blood hungry.

He put the gun to the man's head again, taking his time to pull the trigger. No shot. Three more to fake frustration at the gun, three more to have a false relief on his victim's face. He pretended to tinker around again, then fired the next shot. The weak laugh from the soon to be dead man was utterly hilarious.
Did this man really think that a cut out tongue would satisfy Sebastian? The man USED him! The man was CRUEL to him! No one gets to do that anymore.

Two more. Sebastian started the lyrics again, whispering them under his breath. A sadistic grin forming on his face as he did, loving the relief turn to fear. Loving the sweat build up again. Perhaps he was enjoying this too much...after this was done, his kitchen floor and clothes would need washed. And blood and brain matter is a hassle to clean, especially when there is no working machines in a crap apartment.

One more. The man was getting cocky. He thought the angered assassin didn't even load his fûcking gun, that he just snatched it and was trying to blow his head off. Oh, how soon he'd find that anger sharpens the blonde's mind. Well...not see, but whatever.

No more. Now for the fun. Sebastian turned, growling under his breath. If the man could speak, he would be mocking him, wouldn't he? But what a pity that as quick as he turned around, he spun back and fired the real shot, watching the death before him with those fire filled eyes. Slowly his fire went out...and just like that, he was calm. Frowning, he tilted his head, ripping the tape off the corpse's bloody mouth.

He stared at the second most hated man on his list for a moment, thinking of what to say next. Well, say to himself, the man was dead. Bullet through the skull, a clean shot. He smirked, proud of just how beautiful it all played out.
Giving up on figuring some quirky quote to spit out at the dead man, he repeated a lyric from the song he whistled and mumbled throughout his little game.

"I've got no strings to hold me down..."