The Perfect Killing (Cold, Surgical, Absolute)
Version A: Cold, calculated assassination
Jack Dawkins had decided.
The captain would die.
Not loudly.
Not sloppily.
Not with witnesses or chaos.
But quietly, like a tumor excised from the body of the colony.
THE PRE-OP PLAN
Jack treated the assassination exactly as he would a complex surgery.
He mapped the target.
He studied the weaknesses.
He analyzed the captain's habits with clinical detachment.
Captain Gaines always drank before bed at precisely 22:00.
He always dismissed his guards at 22:30.
He always visited his study alone at 23:00 to "count silver" that wasn't his.
And most importantly—he trusted his wife's tea.
Jack didn't trust Peggy, not at all.
That's why he took her.
But he extracted what he needed:
every detail of the captain's home layout, the hinges that squeaked, the floorboards that groaned, the window that didn't lock.
Jack's mind processed the information with terrifying efficiency.
This wasn't revenge.
This wasn't emotion.
This was a procedure.
THE SETUP — STERILE AND CLEAN
Jack entered the captain's estate the night before.
Not to kill.
To prepare.
He left behind:
a thin thread of nearly invisible wire tied to the curtains
a small wedge of wood under the carpet
a vial of scentless anesthetic powder tucked into the tea jar
and a tiny shard of metal positioned exactly beneath the captain's desk leg
These were not weapons.
They were instruments.
Instruments for what came next.
THE INCISION — THE MOMENT OF ENTRY
At 22:47, Jack stepped through the unlocked window the captain never bothered to repair.
No sound.
No hesitation.
His breathing was steady—
the slow rhythmic pattern of Sunfreezing Fire Breathing: First Pulse.
A technique Belle could imitate but never master.
It made him faster.
Calmer.
Sharp as a scalpel.
He moved through the study like smoke.
The captain entered at 23:00, as predictable as the ticking clock.
He never noticed the faint glitter in his tea.
He never noticed the chair leg that would break if leaned on too hard.
He never noticed Jack behind him until—
click.
The door locked.
THE PROCEDURE — BLOODLESS
The captain turned, confused, already dizzy.
"What—who—"
Jack stepped forward.
His voice was ice.
"You've been poisoning this colony with your opioids.
You framed the mayor.
You let boys die in my hands."
The captain tried to raise his pistol.
His arm shook.
He collapsed into the sabotaged chair—
and the leg snapped.
He hit the floor with a dull crack.
Jack knelt beside him.
No anger.
No hatred.
Just precision.
"I'm removing a disease," Jack whispered.
He placed two fingers on the captain's neck—
found the carotid—
and applied just enough pressure to cut the blood flow.
The captain struggled for twelve seconds.
Then six.
Then none.
A quiet stop.
A clean finish.
Jack checked the pulse out of habit.
Flatline.
THE CLOSE — NO TRACE
He wiped the area.
Reset the desk.
Removed the wedge.
Collected the wire.
Closed the window.
The captain's death would be blamed on:
a fall,
mixed with drink,
mixed with stress,
mixed with age.
No suspicion.
No trail.
A bloodless assassination executed with the cold precision of a surgeon.
And when Jack stepped outside into the cold night air…
He breathed once.
Slow.
Deep.
Controlled.
The job was done.
The colony was one step closer to cure—
and farther from corruption.
Belle Fox, Watched from Every Direction
The captain was dead.
The colony whispered.
The mayor's assistant panicked.
The nobles sensed a shift in power.
But Belle Fox had no time for whispers.
She was too busy changing.
BELLE'S MOTHER SEES THE SIGNS
Lady Agatha Fox watched her daughter across the dinner table, fork frozen in mid-air.
Belle did not gossip.
Belle did not brag.
Belle did not beg for new dresses.
Belle was writing.
Again.
Her journal open beside her untouched meal, scribbling diagrams of sinews, angles of incisions, breathing rhythms, and strange footwork that resembled some foreign martial art.
Agatha spoke gently:
"Belle… darling. You've been out until seven every evening.
You skip gatherings.
You ignore the books I bring you."
Belle didn't respond—only muttered:
"…exposure time… no, too long… incision angle must be sharper…"
Not a single word about parties, noble sons, or dresses.
Her mother's eyes narrowed.
Her daughter was obsessed.
And not with society.
THE REFUSAL THAT SHOCKED THE ROOM
At dinner two nights later, Agatha announced:
"Belle, Lord Wright wishes to discuss a marriage arrangement—"
"No."
Belle didn't look up from her journal.
Agatha blinked.
"You didn't even—"
"I said no."
Lord Wright's name—wealthy, powerful, desirable—meant nothing.
Belle only turned another page and practiced tiny hand motions under the table:
finger placements like a surgeon preparing for an operation.
Her younger sister, Charlotte, stared.
That wasn't the Belle she knew.
That wasn't polite.
That wasn't noble.
Something was happening.
Something big.
CHARLOTTE DECIDES TO FOLLOW HER
Charlotte whispered to her friend the next morning:
"I'm going to see where she goes. She sneaks off after the hospital. She's hiding something."
Her friend gasped.
Charlotte simply smiled.
"I'm her sister. I know Belle. When she becomes quiet, it means she's doing something dangerous."
She planned to trail Belle that afternoon.
No carriage.
No servants.
Just quiet steps after her sister, who thought no one saw her slip through the west gate.
AGATHA'S WORRY GROWS
Belle returned home later than ever—7:15.
Her clothes slightly rumpled.
Ink stains on her hands.
Her gait different—stronger, more confident, like someone who had been practicing physical movement.
Agatha watched her enter the house, then whispered to herself:
"That is not the walk of a lady…
That is the walk of someone preparing for… something else."
She made her decision.
If Belle wouldn't tell her…
She would find out herself.
BELLE, UNKNOWING, HEADS FOR JACK'S CLINIC AGAIN
As she closed her bedroom door, she whispered:
"I'll get better today. I have to. Jack trusts me now… Even just a little."
She didn't know her sister would follow tomorrow.
She didn't know her mother was now suspicious.
She didn't know the colony was shifting under her feet.
She only knew one thing:
She wanted to be worthy of The Doc
The Fox Women Grow Suspicious
The colony felt different after the captain's death.
Less loud.
Less certain.
More dangerous.
But one household noticed a different kind of change — a change that had nothing to do with politics, and everything to do with Belle Fox.
BELLE IS NO LONGER THE SAME
For the past week, Belle left her home early, spent all morning working with Jack at the hospital, and disappeared every afternoon until seven o'clock in the evening.
She would come home exhausted… but glowing.
Not with romance.
With knowledge.
She ignored her dresses.
She ignored social invitations.
She ignored her mother.
All she did was read, write, sketch and practice strange motions with her hands and feet — motions that no noble girl should even know about.
One night, during dinner, Lady Agatha Fox tried to speak to her gently.
"Belle, darling… you've been returning very late. Are you meeting anyone?"
Belle didn't even look up.
"No."
Her mother frowned.
"Where do you go?"
Belle kept writing, drawing diagrams of anatomy in her journal.
"Somewhere important."
"And what are these drawings? I've never seen you look at anatomy with such obsession!"
Again, Belle ignored her.
Agatha felt a shiver.
Her daughter wasn't behaving like a noblewoman.
She was behaving like someone hiding a secret.
A large secret.
THE MARRIAGE REFUSAL
Two nights later, during a quiet family dinner, Agatha made her big announcement.
"Belle, Lord Wright has shown interest. His estate is wealthy. He wishes to begin—"
"No."
She didn't even raise her head from her journal.
Agatha froze.
"Belle. You will not disrespect the proposal of—"
"I DO NOT WANT HIM," Belle snapped, eyes sharp and filled with certainty. "And nothing you say will change that."
The entire table fell silent.
Her little sister Charlotte stared, wide-eyed.
Belle Fox had never refused a wealthy suitor.
She had never raised her voice.
She never chose anything other than what was expected of her.
But tonight?
Belle closed her journal, stood up, and said:
"I am studying. And I won't marry anyone."
Then she walked out.
Agatha Fox clutched her wine glass with trembling fingers.
Something… or someone… had changed her daughter.
CHARLOTTE DECIDES TO FIND OUT
Charlotte peeked into Belle's room later that night.
Belle wasn't sitting like a noblewoman.
She was kneeling on the floor, moving her hands in strange controlled patterns.
Breathing deeply.
Silently.
Focused.
Not the movements of a dancer.
Not a lady.
Movements of a surgeon… or a fighter.
Charlotte backed away slowly, heart racing.
The next morning she whispered to her friend:
"I'm going to follow Belle. She disappears every afternoon after the hospital. I'll track her steps. Something is wrong."
Her friend gasped.
"You'll get caught!"
"I'm her sister," Charlotte said with a determined smile. "She won't notice. And I need to know what she's hiding."
AGATHA MAKES HER OWN PLAN
Lady Agatha sat alone in the parlor that night, staring at the doorway where Belle had walked out so boldly.
Her daughter had changed.
Her daughter was hiding.
Her daughter was keeping secrets.
And Agatha Fox, protective and sharp-eyed, realized something she had not before:
Belle was slipping away from the world she was raised for.
From her mother.
From society.
From everything.
Agatha whispered:
"I will find out where you go, Belle. Even if I must follow you myself."
BELLE, UNAWARE, PREPARES TO RETURN TO JACK
In her room, Belle tied her hair back and whispered softly to herself:
"Jack said today I'll learn more. I have to be worthy… I have to prove I can keep up."
She packed her notebook, straightened her clothes, and prepared to slip into the afternoon streets.
She had no idea that tomorrow…
Her sister Charlotte would follow her.
And her mother would begin watching her every move.
And the lies around Jack Dawkins — doctor, thief, genius, murderer of the captain — would start tightening like a noose.