Two years after DoC...
Somewhere in Junon...
-An Introduction-
Streaks of rain glinted on the glass window like thin jagged teeth with every flash of lightning. Safe indoors from the onslaught of water outside, I peered down at the glistening pavement below, the moon's reflection in the puddles indiscernible through the raindrops' distortions. But the cozy single bedroom apartment above an affluent café seemed distinctly apart from the storm. A tiny warm space, one of millions in this city, expensive, slightly decrepit, but nevertheless it was shelter. It was someone's home. But it wasn't mine.
I gazed down at the digital display on my phone. No, it wasn't time yet. He wouldn't be home for at least another half hour. Retreating from the window, I moved into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. Empty economy-grade food cartons, a few dented cans, a single loaf of bread, and some leftover restaurant take-out in the fridge. That was all. But I was hungry and I still had some time to kill.
Popping open the lid of the take-out, I leaned on my shoulder against the far wall opposite to the door, the katana still firmly sheathed low on my back. Cold noodles. Delicious, actually. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered momentarily. Storms in Junon were frequent and power-outages hardly rare. After Meteor, all sorts of strange weather phenomena began occurring. I've heard Edge gets very snowy this time of year. Not that I would know.
The light patter of sudden footsteps grabbed my attention. Someone was slowly ascending the staircase from the side alley of the closed café below. No, it couldn't be him. He was early. I put the open food container on the kitchen table and raised my right hand slowly to rest on the hilt of the weapon near the center of my back, lowering my eyes to the door. My own footsteps were soundless as I moved out of the kitchen, back into the darkness of the hallway.
The entry door emitted several clicks as a series of keys were turned in each of its numerous locks. A pity he thought simple locks would keep him safe.
He entered. I was motionless, confident in my concealment. The target was a lot shorter than I expected, and balding. A picture can only say so much, I suppose. But the face was identical. It was definitely him. His shoulders slumped with an air of self-defeat, his eyes straining in the dim lighting from the still-flickering lamp. He cursed the storm outside, removing his raincoat and muddy boots. I was waiting. For exactly the moment I had set up.
And then it happened. The man stepped into the kitchen and froze the moment his eyes fell on the open take-out container sitting squarely in the center of his tacky green and orange tablecloth. Realization hit him. He was not alone.
In one fluid motion I stepped forward, unsheathing the blade with practiced precision. It was much lighter and easier to maneuver than the previous weapon I had encumbered myself with in the past. This katana was different, but not necessarily favorable. All thoughts aside, the thin blade swiped majestically in a beautiful half circle towards the target's neck.
"Wait!" He let out a pathetic cry, his eyes wide with terror.
Tensed muscles held the weapon taut against his flesh. I waited, curious what this one would say.
"Your eyes! Y–you're a m–m–mako user, aren't you? Listen, buddy, I….I got a whole bunch of it on me! You can have it! Just take it and d–d–don't hurt me!" he pleaded.
Did he really confuse me for those junkies on the street who would murder their own mother for another pill? I glared back at him.
"Please!" he begged.
Without reply, I pulled the katana slowly towards me, centering my footing. The metal swung back at him, my wrist twisting upward gracefully. The sound of steel slicing through bone and blood tore through the air. The muffled gurgling of his scream sputtered to a halt almost instantly. Wrenching my katana out of his body cavity, the carcass fell forward onto the floor, blood pooling in an obedient oval around him.
The wound was clean. I wiped the edge of my sword on the dead man's shirt, and picked back up the container of cold noodles, finishing the rest. Done and done.
I emptied his pockets, producing three slender green pills amongst other useless trivialities. So he was telling the truth. Not that I would have spared his life anyway. A job's a job. And it would be foolish to let these go to waste. The pills went into my pocket and the empty take-out container went back on the table.
I entered as a stranger and I left as a stranger. It's always better that way. I never knew his name, or even why he was a target. I considered ordering food from that noodle restaurant in the near future as I departed with phone in hand, dialing my boss's number.
Straight into voicemail. I left a message, as I always do.
"Order 22 is filled. Inform the customer."
Just another number.