Blood, pooling on cement. The flicker of overhead lights inside a factory. "It's over.” the girl says, holstering her pistol, running a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair.
It looked like art, her bodyguard thought, how she tousled it and glanced at him, her face softening into something like interest, that little smile...
On the floor, the source of the blood - an expensively-suited man - coughed once, twice. "Not... quite." he wheezed. "Shoulder. No one taught you to aim... for the center of mass."
Quite coolly, the girl redrew her pistol, inspected it, and fired downwards. A splatter of blood crossed one angled, ivory cheek. A gurgling breath in, then silence, fading with the echo of the gunshot.
"I never liked him," she pouted, posing for a moment, gun on hip, eyelashes lowered at her partner. "Now, where were we..."
From the floor: "Brains."
"For fuck's sake..."