Final Straw
"This isn't good or bad. It's just the way of things. Nothing stays the same."
The cloaked figure crept stealthily over the moonlit rooftop, sliding through the shadows without sound. He paused, perched on the edge of a parapet, and his keen eyes spotted the dark window across the street where his target waited; unaware that this would be her last night on the earth. Unseen in the darkness, his eyes narrowed, thought the rest of his pale face remained a hardened mask of unfeeling stone.
He leapt off the parapet, his cloak a billowing shield in the case that a random passerby might look up, so they would see only the starless night so common in the grubby downtown sector of the industrious city. Grasping the edge of her windowsill with one strong hand, he took something from behind his ear and put it to the pane of glass. A red light blinked on the small, round piece of plastic, and then there was a quiet electric hum before it dropped four stories to the ground below, no longer attached to the vaporized glass.
He hoisted himself through the now empty window frame, slipping quietly into his target's apartment. He quickly came out from behind her curtains. They were white… the color of purity and innocence and angels…
The color of everything he despised.
The color of everything he wasn't.
With a growl, he tore his thoughts from the pointless path they had taken, and turned them once again entirely on the task at hand. A layout of the small apartment had accompanied his orders, along with vital stats on the target, and a few need-to-knows about the area. Lines converged and images flashed in his mind as he calculated exactly where he was and where he needed to go from there.
The living room; watch for the wires stretched across the hallway. If she hears something, it's all over. Bedroom is down the hall, door to the right. She sleeps with it open. Easy in, easy out. Do the job. Do it right.
He could hear the words spewing from his informant's disgusting green lips, as she held the file in her bony hands.
"Do it right and maybe Ambrose will let you live long enough to slaughter another helpless weakling."
He hated it, but he couldn't stop. He had no choice anymore. He was in too deep.
He could hear the slow, even breathing of his target as he approached the bedroom door, and felt a primal sort of rush at the power he held in that moment. The door was opened, as the file had said it would be, and he could see a body lying peacefully on a bed, under a thick, ancient looking bedspread. He crept in to stand next to the person.
A woman.
He was almost surprised at that. Females, especially from that planet, were rarely a big enough threat to the tyrant to require any form of recognition. What had she done? He wondered for a moment, and then decided that it didn't really matter. He raised his hand, a glowing ball of light appearing above his palm and growing exponentially bigger. He stared at it, face unfeeling.
This was his job.
This was what he was good at.
His eyes traveled to the face of the woman, now softly illuminated by the sphere of power that would soon be used to end her life. She was beautiful. Her skin was glowing porcelain, her features were arranged perfectly, and she her face held the most ethereally peaceful expression that he had ever seen. It was a shame she had to die.
He aimed the ball of light and prepared to complete his mission.
DISCLAIMER: This counts for this chapter and those hereafter; None of the characters belong to me, and I definitely don't own DBZ. If I did, this story wouldn't be here, as I'd be too busy rolling in my oodles of money to write it.