Welcome back to TRUE ASSASSINS, the only podcast brave enough to drag history's deadliest operators out of the shadows! This week, buckle up buttercups, because we've got TWO tales of vengeance so scorching, they'll leave you questioning everything you thought you knew. Prepare yourselves for a double dose of darkness ripped straight from the pages of Orlando Madsbrine's TRUE KILL!

Episode 1: Scarlet Letter Slayer: This Puritan Town Ain't Big Enough For Her and Their Sins!

Alright, folks, picture this: a seemingly shamed woman, branded for life with a big ol' scarlet 'A'. You'd think she'd just curl up and cry, right? WRONG! Our girl, Hester Prynne, wasn't about to let a bunch of holier-than-thou Puritans have the last laugh. Instead, she flipped the script and turned their precious piety into their worst nightmare. Forget your knitting circles, these ladies were getting cryptic, blood-red warnings stitched into their linens by Hester's "dagger" of a needle. One adulterous deacon even found his tunic blooming with a scarlet accusation – talk about awkward at the next sermon!

But Hester wasn't just handy with thread; she knew the forest like the back of her hand. Suddenly, the magistrate's pantry was looking mighty bare thanks to some strategically placed rot and blight – a little "witchcraft" with a wink, courtesy of Hester. And that fire-and-brimstone reverend? Let's just say his next sermon was cut short by a surprise ingredient in his wine – a little something to loosen his hypocritical tongue permanently. Even her former flame, the revered Dimmesdale, wasn't safe from her slow burn of justice. His big public confession? Hester hijacked the show with a reveal that exposed his cowardice and their entire town's delusional faith in him. Years later, they whispered tales of the 'Scarlet Avenger'. They thought she was a shadow of the past? Oh, they were in for a grim surprise!

Episode 2: From Pickpocket to Phantom: When Oliver Twisted the Knife on His Exploiters!

From the bleak fog of London's underbelly crawls our next avenging angel: Oliver Twist. Forget "Please, sir, I want some more"; this Oliver wants payback – served ice cold! Fagin's den of thieves? Still stinking of greed. But Oliver wasn't there for petty theft anymore. He'd graduated to a different kind of "handling" – the kind that involves sharp objects and silent takedowns, thanks to a new mentor. First on his list? The Artful Dodger himself, looking a little less artful with a blade where his charm used to be. Fagin's bellow of rage? Followed by the chilling realization that his little pickpocket was now a ghost with a vendetta.

Our boy Oliver wasn't stopping there. Corrupt magistrates choked on "gifts," cruel workhouse matrons met a silent end in their beds. The underworld, once his prison, now whispered his name with a mix of terror and a strange kind of hope. Even Fagin, swimming in his ill-gotten gains, couldn't escape the phantom footsteps and the poetic justice of a noose. Oliver vanished back into the fog, leaving behind a city where the predators suddenly felt very, very hunted. He was no saint, but in a world of darkness, he was a shadow of retribution, a twisted echo of their own cruelty.

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