It was cold, dark, windy and wet in the city. It had been raining all day. Still, the man in the white hoodie had stood still for the last half an hour, not caring about the water pouring on him. He shivered and flexed his arms. He wished he would have brought some coffee. He had no idea how long he had to wait.
After another – equally wet and horrible – half an hour he stirred up from his coma he had slipped in. Legs numb he took a few steps to the side and to the other one, yawning and stretching a bit as the man he had been waiting for the last hour stepped out of his apartment and into the darkening night.
The waiter smiled and as his target got out of sight, he crossed the street and walked into the apartment door. The lock looked like it had been broken and replaced several times – luckily, the quality of the current lock wasn't the best and looked like it had been violated before. With a standard lockpick, the hooded man silently opened the lock and slipped in.
Filthy, smelling, dirty. The assassin looked around the apartment. Empty booze and pill bottles everywhere, dirty clothes, rotting food, blood... the main reason why he was there anyways. The man he was after was a murderer and a rapist. Surely, assassins had been fighting templars since the beginning of time, but from his angle, every wrongdoer needed justice – or, to be exact, their victims and their families needed.
This man had killed young girls. Dozen of them. But, he hid from the police, always changing places and faces so nobody would catch him. It had taken a month to find the current place he had been staying in, and if he was currently moving, it would start again.
The man took a bottle besides the heap of stinking rags he presumed was a bed. He opened the cap and smelled the liquid the bottle was still half full of. Ethanol. Just as he thought. Without touching anything, he took his backpack and pulled out an identical bottle, pouring half of the liquid in it away from a window to a dumpster under it, then throwing the original bottle there too before carefully placing the fake bottle in it's place. Otherwise the same, and with the difference of one letter – the bottle contained methanol.
The man looked at his wrists. No use for the blades today. Nobody would question that the old drunkard had just accidentally drank poison.
Smiling, he left the apartment and closed the door behind him.
The deed was done.