[ WP ] Everyone is born with a unique tattoo on their ankle . Whenever you 're responsible for someone 's death , a copy of their tattoo appears somewhere on your skin . Your best friend 's tattoo just showed up on your wrist , even though your best friend is alive and sitting right next to you .

*Disclaimer: I did n't really follow the prompt but I thought the idea was fascinating and explored it a little in a different way. * 
 
 `` Hey man, could you pass this to the blonde lady over there for me?'' I asked, holding out a cup of coffee to a man on the other side of the counter. 
 
 He paused for a moment, clearly a little annoyed, but he glanced at the growing line behind the counter and acquiesced, grabbing the cup from me. I watched carefully as he maneuvered around chairs and handed the coffee to the woman I had pointed out. She thanked him, hardly noticing his lack of uniform, and took a sip before gathering her things and standing up. 
 
 I turned away from the line of customers and slid off my apron and company hat. A chorus of groans erupted as I slipped away through the employee door. I felt bad for a moment, somehow more guilty for inconveniencing caffeine-deprived commuters than for what I had just done to the woman. No matter, someone else would come in before too long and I did n't have the time to stick around. I grabbed a bag waiting for me by the back door and stuffed my apron into the trash on the way out. 
 
 *** 
 
 `` Is it done?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' I said. 
 
 `` Inspection.'' 
 
 `` Yes, sir.'' I said, removing my clothing piece by piece. 
 
 It would be an odd thing to the casual observer. We were in a brightly lit office building, the top floor in fact, and here I was, naked as the day I was born. My boss looked me over critically, searching my skin for new marks. 
 
 `` Turn.'' 
 
 He was as succinct as he was ruthless. I obeyed his instruction. 
 
 `` The funds have been deposited. Are you ready for your next assignment?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 He slid a folder across the table to me. I put it into my bag, knowing better than to open it there. 
 
 `` Thank you, sir.'' I said, nodding to him before pulling my clothing back on. 
 
 *** 
 
 `` Hey, Javier, would you be able to run this soup to table four? I've got to run all this stuff over to the twenty top in the corner.'' I said, shooting a pleading look to the other server in the kitchen. My hands were full with plates already and both tables needed their food now. `` Please, Javier? You'd be doing me a *huge* favor.'' 
 
 `` Fine, fine.'' He said, rolling his eyes. `` You owe me, new kid. Who gets what?'' 
 
 `` You're saving my life here, man.'' I said, sighing with relief. `` The bisque goes to the mom, the minestrone goes to the dad. Nothing for the baby.'' 
 
 He nodded, grabbed the soups waiting on the line and taking the tray out to my table. I set my plates back down, waiting behind the kitchen doors and watching him through the small glass windows. 
 
 He set the soups down on the table, exchanging a few words with them before leaving them and doing a round to check on his own tables. I watched them each blow on their spoonfuls and taste their dishes- my cue to leave. I ripped off my serving apron, heading for my trusty bag near the back door. 
 
 As I made my way towards the exit, Javier came back into the kitchen. He stopped for a second, staring quizzically at me. 
 
 `` Hey, where are you going, man?'' He asked, throwing his hands up. He was pissed, and rightfully so. I saw two new tattoos darken on his arms before I darted out the back door. 
 
 As I moved through the night, I glanced at my own skin. Perfectly clean, perfectly innocent. 
 
 I felt bad, but only for a second.
