He had waited months for this night. Months of patient planning, honing weaponry skills, studying his primary target. During the purge, he would happily kill anyone crossing his path. He wanted one person in particular. Not just to kill, but torture—punishment for deserting him.
He knew her well. Knew where she would run and hide. Becoming an instant widower would be quicker and cheaper than divorce.
The alarm sounded. Heavily armed, he stepped out of his front door. Barely saw the machete gleam in moonlight, before it buried itself in his chest.
His wife... widow... knew him too well.
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