This morning there was no radio, no backup, it was a one-man operation. A dark-clad figure walked briskly down a debris-covered street, exhaling a white trail behind him in the half light of a Monday morning in early September. He approached the driveway at the very end of the street as if he had only one purpose in life. His footsteps slowed as he stepped from bitumen to brick, and he glanced down at a plastic-wrapped cylinder at his feet. Excellent, he thought, so far so good.

The man slinked down the driveway, pausing at a green shed at the bottom. He had considered using bolt cutters for this, but they would make too much noise. The padlock on the shed was only a Yale, and withdrawing a snapped-off hacksaw blade from his pocket, he began to work on the tumblers. Ten minutes later, and the lock popped open, squeaking ever so slightly as he twisted the hasp free. The door ground open a foot, and the man glared at it as if he could somehow silence it with his wrath. The far wall of the shed was all he was interested in, for its shelves were stacked neatly with power tools. "Yes, you please," he muttered, picking up a chainsaw. After, checking the machine had fuel, he slipped back outside, securing the building as quietly as he had entered.

Chainsaw balanced triumphantly on his shoulder, the man moved silently down the front of the house, past the front door, and to the last window. He placed the chainsaw down under a shrub behind him, then turned back to the window. It was open, far enough for him to get in, but not far enough for his sinister companion. Of course, he could climb through, and open it further, but no, that was not part of the plan. After all, why damage a perfectly good fly screen? A curtain fluttered gently just the other side, and through it he could see nothing.

The world was quiet, but not silent. Birds happily exchanged their good mornings, and a diesel bus moaned in the distance, stopping for no one so early in the morning. An almost peaceful breathing emitted from just inside the room. The man's senses piqued as someone stirred at the other end of the house. He pressed himself against the wall of the house and waited. The front door was being opened. Again, there was no real reason to wait for this, seeing as he knew where the spare key was kept. A tall, balding man emerged, sporting brown dressing gown and slippers. The intruder remained motionless until the older man was level with the front of the house, heading up to collect his paper.

It was the work of a moment to snatch up the chainsaw, and bolt silently to the front door. The door operated noiselessly. With a single glance in the direction of the driveway to check that head of the house still had his back turned, the man disappeared inside. No one else was yet awake as far as he could tell. Immediately to his right was the door to the living room, and he passed through without a moment's hesitation. The fireplace raged beside him, burning his cheeks compared to what the temperature had been like outside. A large dog looked dopily up as if disturbed from sleep. They knew each other well, and not a sound passed between them. In the past he would have told the dog to get off the lounge where they knew they weren't supposed to be, but not today. Today, he didn't really care.

Two steps were all that was required to cross the threshold to yet another door. The handle turned easily, but the wood was jammed tightly in the frame. He pushed harder, hearing the father returning. The door swung open with a splintering crack, and he fell into the hallway. Picking himself up, he slammed the door shut again, catching it at the last minute to inch it the rest of the way. Vicious weapon still in hand, he tiptoed down the hall to the door to the room he had been standing outside a minute earlier. The sign he had put on it was still there, and he sneered as he read it.

He entered, closing the door behind him without a sound. A dark-coloured ball of fur rested on the foot of a bed just inside the door, and revealed itself to be a cat as the man took another step into the room. The cat raised its head to give him a look of incredulity, as if rather than to question his intentions, to say "You humans are a strange lot". The cat sat up, but refused to leave its spot on the bed, but the man ignored it. Occupying most of the rest of the bed was an amazing phenomenon.

A woman, still in her teens, lay sleeping, nestled between pillows. Her hair was tangled and tousled, and she wore no makeup and no bra. Her face was expressionless, the lips that had kissed him were barely touching each other. The man placed the chainsaw on the floor, and turned on the fuel tap. If she wanted physical attention so much, he would give it to her. He disengaged the kill switch, and looked back at the sleeping figure. Why had she pretended to love him? Come to think of it, when had she publicly announced it? She'd wrapped him around her finger, just like she must do to all the others. She claimed she had never lied to him, and yet she no longer considered anything she had ever said to him to need backing up.

She said she would rather be dead than not be his any more. Well, now was her chance. He placed a foot on the chainsaw, and gripped the pull-start. His eyes ignited as the engine burst into life. The woman on the bed stirred, but it was too late to care. He raised the saw above his head, and grated down at her, "I can make you howl. And vise versa. Let's get down to business."

She opened her eyes, and a terror-stricken look spread instantly over her face, but she did not scream. "What are you doing?" Apparently the answer to that wasn't completely obvious.

"I'm removing another menace from our streets." He spat the words through his teeth.

"Wait. I want to tell you something before you kill me."

He was sick of listening to her lies, but he obliged her. His whole body froze at her next sentence. But, the night she had been out with that other guy instead of him? The weeks she had refused to talk to him? The broken promises she pretended she didn't care about? His mind raced, and so did the saw. He couldn't think any more. The man lowered the rotating blades back towards himself, aimed directly at his own head. Suddenly the girl could see no more as her vision was blocked by a red splatter.

Due to concern raised around this writeup, I would like to clarify that yours truly has not harmed any other noders in the making of this writeup. Would I really use accurate details in something like this so someone else can carry it out?