Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on nothing more than what my mind decides to conjure, and is meant solely for the purpose of entertainment. I’ll make the decision to continue or not continue based on how well this post is received and the feedback it generates. I hope you enjoy!

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So beautiful, so deadly. The gleam of the blade catches the light and, for a brief moment, the sparkle blinds me. Taking a deep breath I place the gun at the small of my back, hidden from sight by a light fleece pullover. The blade, roughly twenty-four inches from tip to hilt bottom, will sit nicely in my sleeve. Adrenaline starts to course through my body. The thrill of the hunt already heightening every sensation.

The streets are bathed in phosphorescent light as the sun disappears below the horizon. hundreds of people, oblivious to the assassin walking among them, go on about their daily routines. He pauses at the corner to watch a young woman scold her child; the child merely smiles for a brief second and then feigns sadness. Another woman walks over and hands the first a small brown bag. Apparently dinner, as it is for so many within the city, would be takeout.

Turning and heading down the street, the assassin pulls his ball cap down a little further over his face as though to shield it from the wind. It was forty-three degrees, but the threat of severe cold weather loomed over the city like a heavy fog. Tonight would be perfect for this mission. Most people would be so concerned with getting home and trying to stay warm as the cold front hit that he doubted anyone would notice him even if he were not trained to be invisible.

A bus stopped at the corner just then, the last few passengers scurrying off like mice as the driver turned the signs off in preparation for heading back to the depot. Among the passengers was the target, a thirty-eight year old man dressed in a fashionable, yet obviously inexpensive, suit carrying a small messenger bag. His nose was slightly crooked, and as he exited the bus and paused to light a pipe the scar the right side of his face became visible.

You picked the wrong group to double-cross mate, these guys don’t believe in warnings. Either you do your job or you meet people like me.

The mark glances up the street before turning and heading away from the bus, and the assassin follows. He already knew where the target was heading, already knew that the apartment would be empty, even already knew that the target’s date would not get off work for another two ours, leaving him plenty of time to accomplish the hit and get out of the city before this schmuck would even be found. After they went south four blocks the mark turned and entered a small brick building. There were only eight apartments in this little community, which really was nothing but a renovated office building owned by a frail old lady and run by her son.

With the street deserted, not uncommon for this section of the city after nightfall, the assassin slipped into the alleyway between the apartment building and a neighboring restaurant. The alley was really more of a crack, no more than two feet wide. He turned and pressed his back into the brick of the apartment building and placed his feet against the opposite wall, and in only a few moments’ time made it to the rooftop and over the ledge. Earlier in the day he had removed the lock from the access door on the roof, and without making the slightest sound he eased into the hallway as the mark closed his apartment door.

This is too easy. Either this guy isn’t really anyone special, or he just happened to see information the Conglomerate is afraid of…

The assassin waited for a moment, ensuring no one else happened to be going in or out of the other apartment at the end of the hall, and then moved silently to his target’s door. Keeping his back to the door his fingers worked swiftly, and in less than a minute he had the door unlocked and had slipped through into the foyer. Easing the door closed behind him he pressed his body into the recessed coat closet and waited until he heard the shower running to move further into the apartment.

The messenger bag was tossed onto the couch, and as he passed by on his way to the bathroom the assassin grabbed the bag and slipped it over his neck and shoulder. The job was only to kill the mark, but it never hurt to know more about the players in this line of work. Such recon work had saved his life in the past and had become a natural part of every job since then.

Steam billowed out of the bathroom, and he could hear the mark singing an excruciatingly off-key version of Hurt’s Rapture. He deserved death simply for making the assassin’s ears hurt. A slight grin broke through the assassin’s stone-like demeanor as he moved into position. The target raised his voice as he reached the chorus, the last words to ever leave his lips being, “life is gone this way” as the assassin deftly sliced through his larynx, through the carotid artery, and, using the shower curtain itself to contain the mess, gently lowered the man into the tub.

May you be half an hour in heaven before the devil knows you’re dead.