The train pulled away from the station and Jackson checked the area around himself before leaving the platform and heading for his bus. A nightclub thumped somewhere behind the buildings and the dark sky seemed slightly grey from the city's light pollution. There were few shadows out in the road, but he tried to keep his guard up nevertheless. Checking his wristwatch, he noted that he had a few minutes before the 3:15am bus left for his side of town. His train had originally been late, so the driver must have overshot trying to make up for lost time – something that could easily be done in the early hours. Even so, Jackson hated having to wait for his bus.

He leaned casually against the shelter, flipping the collar of his jacket up against the early morning chill, and considered doing up the top button of his shirt. He eventually decided against it. A young nurse eyed him warily from the cracked plastic seats and he flashed her a smile and a nod before turning himself away from her in what he knew was a non-threatening manner. The last thing he wanted was to stick out in anyone's mind.

He stifled a yawn; after a sixteen-hour day he could feel how late it was. One of the streetlamps flickered overhead and he glanced up and down the road with grey-ringed eyes.

He hated night finishes.

A gentle hum and hiss drew his attention back to the road and his bus turned the corner, stopping by the shelter. He flashed the driver a pass with his local name on it and slid into an old-gum spattered seat close to the front of the coach. The fabric on the seats was fraying, the floor of the bus was sticky, but he was nearly home. A young, drunken fellow was lounging in the seats opposite him and giving him a long, hard stare.

"Hey, hey bud." The boy swayed into more of a sitting position and blinked blearily. "Ch…change? Spare change? S'warm onna bus…"

Jackson shook his head and stared out of the window. "Sorry, my friend. All out."

Suddenly the foul stench of stale beer and oil hit him and he turned back to find the boy sitting beside him, his face almost touching Jackson's own. He noted that the kid's clothes were, in fact, shredded and filthy.

"You gotta have something," the boy slurred, grasping for a lapel. "You dressed all smart like, you gotta… it's your duty…"

Jackson fixed his cool blue eyes on the kid's and pushed him away with the back of his arm. His unwanted companion looked a bit surprised at the retaliation, but tried to lean in again. Jackson exhaled sharply in annoyance, slipped a hand up to the boy's shoulder and pinched a nerve, holding him as he spoke quietly and pleasantly into his ear.

"Kyle, I'd really hate to have to leave you on the sidewalk for The Man to find but you got to pick your targets more carefully. I never did like his petty street kids and I certainly have no time for you. Fortunately, I don't think he does either so what's one kid missing to him, huh?"

Kyle blinked again, focusing on Jackson's face and his eyes widened in horror as he realised which Manager he was sitting next to.

"Hey, hey… I'm sorry, right?"

Jackson let go of the kid, who scrambled back across to his previous seat, looking a little bit worse for wear. Once he was sure no one was looking, Jackson snuck a hand up to his throat and massaged below his Adam's apple. Trying to speak in a low voice always left his vocal chords feeling raw and gravely. He'd need a lozenge when he got home. Leaving Kyle balled up on the coach, he pressed the bell for his stop, thanked the oblivious driver courteously and stepped off the bus. As it pulled away with a hiss, he gave Kyle a tiny mock salute and started the four-minute walk to his home. It amused him that the small-time Managers of the city still let their boys pick bad targets for their petty crimes, but it was becoming an irritation.

The heels of his shoes clicked gently on the sidewalk, and he found that most of the main roads were deserted. His jobs almost always ended this way – someone was removed, something changed hands (usually cash), he hopped on the next flight, train, bus – whatever it took to get home – and he walked into an empty house. On this note, he stopped in front of an unimpressive annex on a row of terraced houses. A light was left on, as always, and he sighed inwardly before checking his surroundings. Finally, he pulled out the keys for multiple locks and entered his home, flicking the lounge light on as he went.

Yep, an empty house.

He locked the front door again, and paused, letting his forehead rest against the cold wood. The clearest thought he'd had all night ran through his mind.

Lisa, I might have to steal you. I'm pretty sure it's personal now.