[ WP ] You are a professional pickpocket . You 've just picked someones pocket only to discover that the thing you have stolen is truly horrifying .

A coldness seeped down his hands. There was wetness too, but it was an afterthought. Slowly, a feeling of dread began taking hold of him. Looking down, only the briefest look of confusion passed his face. Then the realization sunk in, and with it the burning urge to find the man - no, *thing* - that he lifted this from. 
 
 The days do n't always end like this, and it did end after what he found. Usually, they consisted of chuckles to himself in quite bars or coffee shops. The occasional splurging on a fancy drink or a nice meal after a hard days work. Sure there was still work to be done, card numbers to be sold, ID information to be harvested. But for now, quietly, a little drink was well earned. Besides, these days would be short lived. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was caught, or worse. There were a few close calls too. Some that almost scared him away entirely. But then there was always the payout. Now, he was in so deep that it did n't matter what happened to him, only that the right people got the right amounts. He was always careful about where and how he worked. Never working the same place twice, always wearing a disguise of sorts, and never getting the marks attention. Distractions were his strong suit. Having a pretty girl at the spot made his lift easier. People were always focused on the pretty girl to notice a slight bump or nudge. Hell, the ladies were even easier than the men when there was a skirt that just lifted a little too much. The quiet condescension was sure to keep their attention away from whatever shape he took that day. A quick sideways glance just affirmed his instincts, and made the grab all the smoother. Countless marks, countless lifts, all without a hitch. Well, almost all. 
 
 This... This was different. There was no pretty girl. No distractions. The mark was easy enough to suss. A quick glance to the face showed soft pudgy features. The drab hat, the ill-fitting clothes, and that ridiculous overcoat. Who still wears those things, and in the spring? The slightly shaded glasses would make it harder to see where the eyes focused, but then he liked a challenge. Nothing worthwhile comes easy, eh? He followed the mark a few paces behind on the street, and waited till he got on the bus. It was a crowded bus, perfect for what he needed to do. He waited a few stops, and knew that in the shuffle and hustle of people getting on and off it was only a matter of time before the bumping and jostling would drive him closer. Pretty soon the jarring physical contact of a stranger becomes less and less urgent, and more of a pesky annoyance. Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself closer to the mark. He studied the way he moved, if he instinctively reached, his reaction to people's prodding. There was an air of silence about the mark, he was quite, almost too quite. And his gaze drifted off out the window. Perfect, a man in a revere, maybe this would n't be so hard after all. He saddled up next to the mark, held up the newspaper as if reading it, and looked sidelong at the man from under his dark shades. He waited till just the right moment, when another jolt from the bus, and stray elbow nudged just right - and he swiped. Grasping every so lightly with two fingers he pulled the small envelope from the inside pocket of the ridiculous overcoat. But in that instant he felt the mark tense, and a twitch on the face, he would swear he snarled, but then that calm cool silence took over. For a split second he thought he was caught, he was anticipating the run and the inevitable shouting, but it never came. The mark relaxed back into his revere, and he went back to his reading, then carefully maneuvered away and off the bus inconspicuously. When he managed to get alone he took out the small brown envelope. It reminded him of the type you get at a bank after withdrawing large amounts of cash. As if holding such a large amount was taboo and not to be done with bare hands. Best wrap the significant paper with some of the less than significant variety. But this was different. The paper felt different. And rather than clean edges on the sides denoting a fat stack of cash there was a lump in the middle. A rather long lump. His curiosity got the best of him, he could n't wait any longer, what if they were rocks? Diamonds maybe? But this was softer, and he knew diamonds did n't come in that weird oblong shape. He peeled back the flap and peeked inside. 
 
 There was pink. Just a little dab, smeared here and there. It was a light pink, a childish color really. His mind raced for a second before the pieces feel into place. It ran through countless explanations before finally coming to rest on the only one. He tipped the envelope into his other hand and took a long hard look. 
 
 There lay a little finger.
