((Underneath the brief description was a crude map scrawled showing a Greek restaurant near Brooklyn. Next to the map was an equally crude drawing of what was supposed to be a patch... or something. It had three chevrons with what appeared to be a ship's propeller.

Apparently, this schmoe owed a lot in gambling debts in the short eight months he was in New York. Or where-ever the hell he worked. It didn't matter to Lefty as he rounded the corner to the little mom and pop restaurant. It wasn't his job to think, just to work.

Lefty then spied him through the front door. The description matched, but the man looked a lot more intimidating than he imagined, at least moreso than the those magazine paintings. He was hunched over a pamphlet with the title 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner' typed on to its front. His cover layed beside his arm, a little dingy. The tacky floral print tablecloth greatly contrasted to the dark blue crackerjack uniform he wore. Neat but aged, the brick of ribbons suggested he served in the World War.

He walked in, all business. He wanted to make it quick, he already The day had dragged enough already. He ignored the old Greek man's heavily accented greeting as he washed glasses from behind the dry bar.

The old sailor laughed to himself still reading the pamphlet, "This is plain horse shit."

"Speaking of horses, Mikis, I've been told you need to pay up."

The amused grin turned upward, his eyes previously blocked by his thick, jet black eyebrows, shone an eerily bright grey. He smiled a big toothy smile, complete with chipped teeth from previous fights. He cackled a smoker's laugh and looked him in the eye.

"Either someone's playing a cruel practical joke on you, or you're about to get one helluva story to tell, Shortstop."

Lefty grimaced, wrinkling his own scar, "I'm not going to repeat myself, Mikis."

Kotsokalis folded his hands under his chin, seeing that Lefty was all business, "I'm going to give you three options; one, you turn around, leave, and pretend this didn't happen. Two, you sit down, have a cup of joe, and chat with me. Or three, you can shoot me in the face with that gun you got there and learn the hard way."

Lefty pulled out his M1911 Handgun from his coat jacket. The old man fled to the back kitchen uncomfortable and knowing what was about to happen. He then pressed the barrel on to his forehead right above the left eyebrow. The old sailor didn't flinch.

"Shoot me."

"What?" Lefty couldn't help but be perplexed.

"Go ahead, shoot me." he glared into Lefty's eyes. The guy must've been suicidal... But he had to oblige. Squeezing the trigger, the all too familiar flash and bang resounded through the restaurant. Red and pink spattered across the table behind him, dripping from the edges. What was left of old Mikis' head forced his body backward, leaning the chair back on the rear table. His body quivered, garggled, then went limp as blood began to soak his uniform.

Lefty sighed. He turned to the exit, a little too happy about shutting Mikis up. He reached for the door knob when he heard gurgling again.

'Wha...' Lefty looked back to see his chest rising and falling again. His blood ran cold. He walked toward the body again, trying to get a closer look. That's when Mikis sat himself upright again.

The little color Lefty had drained. The corpse shivered, red tendrils flicked to and fro, extending from the gaping hole in his head, collecting the bits of brain and shards of bone scattered throughout the rear of the restaurant. The tendrils would then put the bits and pieces back together like a puzzle, or recreate heavily damaged tissue. The skin creeped back onto his skull in a web of red as his hair colicles and eventually, hair reformed.

Mikis popped his neck, stretched his jaw, and then his arms. Then he sighed, and opened his eyes. His right eye was rolled backward showing only his whites. It then rolled, independently from the other, to the left, to the right, up and down, and then a full circle before it finally seemed to acclimate.

Left wanted to do something. He didn't know what. The best thing from his training was to put another one in him just ensure that it wasn't the worst nightmare he'd ever had while completely sober and conscious. But his logic was telling him to just walk away. Or shit himself...

Then Kotsokalis snickered, popping his knuckles and bearing a now wicked, vicious grin, "You know I wonder, if I break your face, will it grow back like mine?" as blood still dripped from his neckerchief...))

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Commission for

She wrote the story(I tweeked it a tad), where Lefty, my hitman, meets up with her sailor Roger or "Mikis" as he's named here. She let me pic a moment in the story to draw, this is the first one that came to mind.

See in her story Roger is an immortal. So if he did ever run into Lefty, it would end badly for lefty. Seriously, Rogers HUGE compared to Lefty, the only reason they look similar in size is because Roger is sitting hahaha. And if this ever happened to Lefty, he definitely wouldn't make a very cool escape. He'd probably shit his pants and run away practically screaming. Haha Lefty's not cut out for this kind of hit.

I hope you like Tenshi! And because it's military related 10% of this commission is going to Wounded Warriors Foundation!

Holy crap this pic took me forever haha.